No less than thirty seconds later, the restaurant's manager came running in and with his round face blazing red, he apologetically led the couple to another table hastily being set at the back of the restaurant.
And no more than thirty minutes later, the waiter who had dared to seat the reserved booth was shown to the door, his work uniform in hand.
The following day, a new manager arrived to take the place of the last, a man who none of them had ever seen set foot in the restaurant again.
The lesson was not lost among the rest of the staff and no one had ever had the least thought of seating anyone other than the white shirted man in that booth, even if it remained empty all day and the restaurant had to turn people away at the door because all seats were taken.
Sara could not say why, but the barman's story made her shiver, as if a goose had walked across her grave.
What kind of man does that? And who could he possibly be to have people fired on the spot just for seating someone at his booth?
She could not say except that it felt like power...raw, unflinching power framed in implacable exigence. Sara felt it again, that fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach she had felt when the barman had finished his story and she knew as she lifted her drink to her mouth that her nipples were pressing tight against her own white shirt.
A large man shouldered by her and then turned suddenly, his thick arm sweeping in a wide arc as he gestured to a companion. Except that he had not seen Sara, nor the virgin cocktail in her hand as it made contact with his broad forearm.
In slow motion, Sara saw tomato juice arc up into the air before tracing a red curl that slumped down to streak her blouse in bright color.
And, with all the grace of a rumbling bull, the man turned on her and said, "Hey! Watch what you're doin', you stupid bitch."
Sara's mouth dropped open as she held her arms raised, stunned at what just happened.
The man's friend laughed and clapped him on the back, acting as though he had just heard the best joke ever invented.
Then, Sara felt cracks fissure across her vision, heat rushing up as her tears fell.
"Oh, looky there, Lou...you gone and made the lady cry," said the smaller of the two.
Lou's face twisted as he searched for his wittiest reply, then said, "Shut yer face, or I'll give you a real reason to cry...bitch."
Sara did not want to break down like this, but in an instant everything fell apart. She could not imagine walking back into her office this way, covered in tomato juice. She could try washing it out in the ladies' room sink, but the shirt was silk. While it would dry fast, the tomato juice would never come out...probably not even with dry cleaning.
The tears rolled thick and heavy as she saw in a rush how the rest of the day would unfurl in one long cascade of events that would lead to losing her job, not to mention being thrown out in the street. Her room had to be paid by the week. She didn't even have a real apartment to call home. Just a room. That she even had a job seemed like a minor miracle after the strangest interview she had ever had. But now that she had it, even if it was a temp position, she could not imagine going back to desperately scanning the want ads for the next thing, for anything.
The cacophony of sounds in the restaurant drifted to silence in the seconds that followed. Sara was frozen as time crystallized around her. The barman's face turned to her, blank and without compassion. In the crowd surrounding her, smiles lifted upon the lips of some, others turned their heads, unwilling to feel any need to help.
The large man his friend had named Lou was already turning away from her when Sara saw him suddenly do an about-face.
He took a single, shaking step forward, then Sara saw that his eyes were bulging in their sockets, his visage turning more and more red. It was if he was having trouble taking a breath and she could see a thick vein standing out upon his forehead.
Over his shoulder, Sara noticed his friend shrinking back, his own eyes wide with what looked like terror and that was when she heard a low voice say, "Tell the lady you're sorry."
The voice that said it had an edge to it. Almost as if the words had been growled out.
Then, Sara looked past the shoulder of the now very red in the face ogre to see a blindingly white shirt and amber eyes looking steadily back at her.
There were strong fingers wrapped around the brute's thick neck from behind and she could see the tips of those fingers had gone pale with the terrific pressure they exerted upon the man's flesh.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...."gulped Lou, his eyes bulging even more in their sockets.
The low voice from behind Lou spoke once again, and asked, "Is his apology acceptable, Miss?"
Sara searched for what to say, but before she could formulate any sort of coherent reply, her hand flew of its own volition to land a slap upon the big man's face. The sound it made cracked like a whip through the room and silenced the last of the voices murmuring in the crowd.