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“I know. But you have to dress for this place, or they won’t let you in.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Judith?”
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know if it works. This is the last trick I have up my sleeve.”
At eight on the nose, we arrive at Moroccio.
After confirming our reservation, the surprised waiter looks me over with approval. He needs to believe I’m the very dignified Mrs.Zimmerman. In an artful aside, I tell him to keep my presence a secret. I want to surprise my husband because it’s his birthday, and I ask him to have a strawberry-and-chocolate cake ready for later. He agrees, pleased with my charms, and tells me not to worry. The cake will be ready. As I assumed, he leads us to one of the specially reserved spaces, and I watch an impressed Nacho as he looks around.
“A helluva place!”
“Yes, glamour personified.” I smile, hoping there won’t be any blinking colored lights for me to explain.
“But wait, what’s up with the waiter calling you Mrs.Zimmerman?”
I laugh.
“Mrs.Zimmerman is the wife of the man who’s going to pay for our meal.”
His face betrays his amusement. The waiter brings us an excellent wine we both enjoy, although I later give myself the pleasure of ordering a Coke. I see on Nacho’s face that he is really worried about the menu prices.
“Judith, I think we’re going to get in big trouble.”
“Relax. Order whatever you want. Mr.Zimmerman will pay for it.”
“Is that Eric’s last name?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The dude is rich?”
“Let’s say, he can afford a lot of things.”
“Is he married?”
“No, but the restaurant people don’t know that.”
Nacho grins and shakes his head.
I take a swallow of my Coke. “You don’t know the half of it,” I whisper.
The waiter comes back and takes our order. For a first course, we’re having lobster-and-ox carpaccio with fines herbes, and for our second, sirloin in bourbon sauce. As expected, everything is exquisite. At nine thirty, I look at my watch and imagine that Eric, my supervisor, and their guests have finally arrived. Eric is very punctual, and that makes me nervous. Knowing he’s just a few yards from me throws me a little off balance, but I still manage to enjoy my dinner with Nacho. For dessert, we order a strawberry-and-chocolate fondue. We laugh and eat, and at ten o’clock, we conclude our meal.
“Has Mr.Zimmerman arrived yet?” I ask the waiter when he comes around next.
The waiter says yes and my stomach jumps; however, sure about what I’m doing, I ask for a pen and paper.
When the waiter goes to get them, Nacho leans over. “What are you doing now?” he asks.
“Thanking him for dinner.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Probably, but I’m sure he’ll be interested.”
When the waiter comes back, I take the paper and write:
Dear Mr.Zimmerman,