Rules of Civility - Amor Towles [58]
When my waiter took away the asparagus plate, I realized that I shouldn’t have had that second glass of champagne. I decided to visit the ladies’ room and dampen my brow. I slipped my left foot into one of the navy blues, but as I felt around with my right foot I couldn’t find the other shoe. I did a quick disorderly search. My eyes shifted back and forth around the room. With my toes I began a more systematic investigation moving in concentric circles as far as they could reach without changing my position. When that failed, I began to slouch.
—May I?
The bow-tied gentleman from across the room was standing in front of my table.
Before I said anything he eased down on his haunches. Then he stood back up with the shoe balanced on his palms. He leaned forward at the waist with the formality of the king’s regent presenting the glass slipper and discreetly placed it behind the breadbasket. I whisked it off the table and dropped it on the floor.
—Thank you. That was rather inelegant of me.
—Not in the least.
He gestured back toward his table.
—Forgive my wife and I, if we were staring; but we think they’re splendid.
—I’m sorry, they?
—Your dots.
At that moment my entrée arrived and the teary-eyed gentleman retreated to his table. I began methodically cutting away at my fowl. But within a few bites, I knew I couldn’t finish it. The heady aroma of the truffles wafted off the plate and swirled my senses. If I took one more bite of that chicken, I was pretty sure that it was coming back up. When they took half of it away at my insistence, I was pretty sure it was coming up anyway.
I dumped an assortment of bills onto the tablecloth. In a rush to get fresh air I didn’t wait for the table to be pulled far enough back and I toppled the glass of red wine that I didn’t remember ordering. Out of the corner of my eye I could see soufflés being presented to the elderly couple. The suffragette gave a perplexed wave. At the door I made eye contact with a rabbit in one of the paintings. Like me, it was hanging by its feet from a hook.
Outside, I headed for the closest alley. I leaned against a brick wall and took a cautious breath. Even I could appreciate the poetic justice of it. If I got sick, from the heavens my father would be staring down at the pool of asparagus and truffle with glum satisfaction. There, he would say, is the ascendancy of your intellect.
Someone put a hand on my shoulder.
—Are you all right, dear?
It was the suffragette. From a polite distance her husband was watching through his teary eyes.
—I think I may have overdone it a little, I said.
—It’s that awful chicken. They’re so proud of it. But I find it positively repugnant. Do you think you need to be sick? You go right ahead, dear. I can hold your hat.
—I think I’m going to be okay now. Thank you.
—My name is Happy Doran; this is my husband, Bob.
—I’m Katherine Kontent.
—Kontent, said Mrs. Doran, as if she might recognize it.
Sensing that everything was going to be okay, Mr. Doran edged closer.
—Do you come to La Belle Époque often, he asked, as if we weren’t standing in an alley.
—This is my first time.
—When you arrived, we assumed you were waiting for someone, he said. If we had known you were dining alone, we would have invited you to join us.
—Robert! said Mrs. Doran.
She turned to me.
—It is inconceivable to my husband that a young woman would choose to dine alone.
—Well, not all young women, said Mr. Doran.
Mrs. Doran laughed and gave him a scandalized look.
—You’re terrible!
Then she turned back to me.
—The least you can let us do is take you home.