Up & Out - Ariella Papa [67]
“I can only get you into the dining room for lunch at two-thirty,” says the woman at Acquavit, trying to call my bluff.
“What about the day before?”
“All of my seats for two at lunch are at two-thirty.” Oh, right, because that is an obvious time for the Western world to eat lunch. I will not be defeated, though. I am determined to get into that place. My money is good and I plan on spending twenty bucks for a superb experience.
“I’ll take it.” Now, if I could just find a date it would be perfect. I fear I will have to sacrifice my reservation because all of my friends have jobs.
It’s pretty much the same sad story at the next few places I call. No reservations, dinner at eleven o’clock. I even wind up getting the fax number for one of the places. This city wants to thwart me.
The only place I don’t call is Nobu. They only offer a Restaurant Week lunch and I’m still having flashbacks to my dinner there with Seamus. I hope he hasn’t spoiled it for me. I am going to have to go to exorcise my demons soon, but I swear I will never, under any circumstances, forgive Jewel Bako for being the place he took one of the myriad of his other girlfriends.
I imagine the hostess at Nobu mocking me for trying to make a restaurant reservation at a time when it is certain to be packed. We are booked for the entire week and the entire week after that and, oh yeah, way into August. And you know what? Those people are willing to pay full price because they have actual paying jobs. And by the way, they also have boyfriends who don’t have handfuls of other girlfriends. Those people are good friends with Nobu. They call him “No.” And, by the way, I eat rock shrimp tempura whenever I want it and sometimes I even leave some on my plate, because I get to gorge on it all the time. Of course I don’t gorge because I’m a tall, thin, beautiful person—the only kind who is supposed to come to this place. Buh-bye.
I don’t think I could handle it.
My phone rings. I think about screening it, but quickly rule that out. Everyone knows I’m unemployed and what else would I be doing on this beautiful summer day but sitting in my apartment imagining that the hosts at the major restaurants are out to get me? I take a deep breath and answer the phone.
“Hey, it’s Kathy. You’re home.” She did just call me.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sitting on your couch?”
“Um.” I look around for a camera. I think I might be getting paranoid-contact highs from Tommy. “Yeah.”
“I am so jealous—I would give anything to get out of here. I hate work. You are so lucky.” It’s all about perspective.
“Thanks.”
“Did you check your e-mail?”
“Um, no.”
“Well, I sent you some ideas for the flower arrangements and I wanted to know what you think.”
“For what?”
“For the tables.” Oh, right. The wedding. How could I forget?
“Okay, I’ll check it out.”
“Are you okay? You sound down.” Because I’m not squealing with joy about the chance to decide between lilacs and Easter lilies?
“No, no. I’m fine.”
“Have you talked to Beth lately? She hasn’t returned my calls.”
“Join the club.”
“She’s getting just as bad as you were when you were working on your pilot.” I’m not sure what to say to that. Is she trying to remind me that I used to have a life? I suspect she regrets it from the little noise she makes in her throat. “So next week is Restaurant Week.”
“Really?” Duh.
“Yeah, and I know that money is tight right now and that you and Tommy really aren’t together or anything.” She is tripping all over her words and I feel bad for being bitter at her. “Anyway, Ron and I were thinking maybe you two would like to go out to dinner. Ron got reservations at some Italian place downtown.”
“Thank you, Kathy.” She means well, even though she’ll probably force me to talk about seating arrangements all night.
“Let me talk to Tommy. This feels suspiciously like the double dates we used to go on in the past.”
“Well, you could bring someone else