“Take care of my baby, kid,” James said referring to his truck and then handed the valet a hundred dollar bill.
“Thanks, James. I saved the back corner of the lot for you and nothing will get anywhere near your baby. I swear,” the young man replied as if he knew James. Again, I admit I was impressed. What girl wouldn’t be? No matter how abrasive or uncouth James could be, seeing a man with the power he apparently had was kind of arousing. We went inside and the same thing happened. The hostess, a blonde of maybe thirty in a crisp white blouse, short skirt, tights and heels, all in black, approached James as if she knew him.
“Monica! Looking good,” James exclaimed, gave the woman a big hug and lifted her from the floor.
“James, nice to see you,” she greeted us after the big hug and then added, “Nice to meet you, Miss Navarro,” and extended her hand.
“Thank you,” I said, shaking the woman’s hand and feeling like some kind of movie star or something. What the heck was going on? She sat us in a private room near the back of the main dining room. Just James and I seated at a table big enough for a dozen people, James at the head and me to his left. Still the room had an intimate feel. The walls were dark wood with several pieces of modern art hanging on the walls, a fireplace with a small log burning and a single guitar in a glass case. I lingered on the guitar for a moment wondering why a place like this would have a guitar as decor.
“That belonged to a friend. He was killed in a plane crash traveling to a show. His wife gave it to me,” James remarked seeing my interest.
“I’m sorry,” I said. Again, James showed a softer, sentimental side like when he pet his truck proudly.
“Shit happens and life goes on,” James mused as if he didn’t want to dwell. We read over the menus in silence until Monica returned to take our order. I ordered a petite filet and James ordered a bone-in ribeye steak. James took control of the rest of the order, however.
“A heaping side of mac and cheese, grilled mushrooms and uh…how about some of the sweet potato fries,” he told Monica. I found the side dishes odd for such an upscale restaurant. Mac and cheese? Really?
“Drinks?” she asked.
“I’ll take a Coke. What about you, Simone?” James asked me. I expected him to get a beer or maybe a cocktail, but then I remembered Peter telling me he was a recovering alcoholic.
“Just water with lemon,” I said. I wasn’t much of a drinker anyway.
“You sure?” James asked.
“Yes, thanks,” I replied. He shrugged and Monica left us. I assumed he came here a lot because they all knew him. I was still surprised they knew me. They took us immediately to this private room and so I guessed he had made reservations and told them my name. Nevertheless, I was flattered by the thoughtfulness.
“You know, you could have ordered some wine or something,” James offered. I wasn’t sure if he was just telling me it was an option or if it was his way of letting me know I could drink even if he didn’t. Then he added, “You’re paying after all.”
“What?” I asked. I was paying? I guess I was the agent and he was the client. That’s how it was usually done. The agent usually bought for the clients. Peter told me it used to be a rule when Samuel Roland was alive but Victoria had abolished it to save money. However, it never occurred to me since James had asked me out.
“Fraulein Vicky gave you an expense account, didn’t she? I’m guessing that’s a no by the look on your face. Well, I’m sure you can submit the receipt and get reimbursed or something,” James told me. I saw the prices on the menu and my credit card might be able to withstand the bill. Maybe. I know James could tell I wasn’t prepared for this, probably because the blood drained from my face. “Problem?” he asked.
“No, I…um…,” I stammered as he began to laugh. I frowned as he seemed to take delight in my dilemma but James was just laughing at his own joke as it turned out.
“Don’t sweat it. You really don’t know anything about me, do you?” he asked. My frown turned to confusion.
“I know a little. I know what Peter told me,” I said in my defense though it was pretty weak.
“Well, Pete didn’t tell you much. I own this place. Dinner’s on me, little girl. I thought you might have figured it out when I told you about the guitar or when everyone knew my name or when I ordered my favorite sides from the menu I helped design. But you wouldn’t know that would you?” he mocked and laughed again. I suppose I should have guessed but still I didn’t like him laughing at me.