Everyone Worth Knowing (68 page)

enough—did I really have to
wait
to hear the news? Apparently

yes. I waited as Sammy rooted around in his wallet for the exact

amount and then waited again while he went to the men's room.

More waiting for a cab outside, and then another wait while

Sammy and the cabbie discussed the best route to Sevi. We were

finally on our way to his restaurant, but there was another wait

when Sammy apologized profusely but proceeded to answer his

cell phone. He murmured a bit and made some "uh-huh" noises,

and at one point he said yes, but otherwise he was vague, and

I knew in the pit of my stomach that he was talking to
her.

When he finally clicked off his phone, I turned to him, stared

him right in the eye, and said, "What did you have to tell me

before?"

"I know this is going to sound weird—and I swear I only found

out myself a couple days ago—but remember how I told you

about those silent investors?"

Hmm. This wasn't sounding like a declaration of love for another

woman—positive development, to be sure.

"Yeah. They were looking to back the next hot young chef or

something, right? You had to pitch some ideas and menus?"

"Exactly." He nodded. "Well, the thing is, I sort of have you to

thank for this."

I looked at him adoringly, waiting for him to tell me that I was

his inspiration, his encouragement, his
muse,
but what he said next

didn't really have anything to do with me.

"I feel weird being the one to tell you, but they insisted it

happen this way. The investors who backed me are Will and

Simon."

"What?" I whipped around to look at him.
"My
Will and

Simon?"

He nodded and took my hand. "You really didn't know, did

you? I thought you may have convinced them somehow, but they

insisted you had no idea. I only recently found out, too. I hadn't

even seen them since they came to brunch at Gramercy Tavern

months ago."

I was so stunned I could barely speak, and yet the only information

that seemed to process was what I hadn't heard: so far,

Sammy wasn't telling me he was hopelessly, passionately in love

with someone else.

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you're not mad," he said, leaning closer to me.

"Mad? Why would I be mad? I'm so happy for you! I don't

know why Will didn't tell me. I guess I'll get the entire story at

brunch on Sunday."

"Right. He said that, too, actually."

There wasn't time for me to process this new development,

since the cab reached the Lower East Side in record time. As soon

as we pulled up I recognized the tiny awning from the pictures

in the paper. Just as Sammy slammed the car door, I noticed a

well-dressed couple examining the sign posted outside. They

turned to us and with great disappointment said, "Looks like

they're closed tonight for some reason," before turning to find

somewhere else to eat.

I looked at him quizzically, but he just smiled. "I have a surprise

for you," he murmured.

"A private tour?" I asked with such hope in my voice that it was

almost embarrassing.

He nodded. "Yes. I wanted tonight to be extra-special. I closed

down so we could be alone. I hope you don't mind that I'll have

to be in the kitchen for a few minutes," he said. "I've planned a

special Sevi menu just for tonight."

"You have? I can't wait. What does
Sevi
mean, by the way? I

don't think I've read that anywhere."

He took my hand and smiled at me before looking at his feet.

"It means
love
in Turkish," he said.

I thought I might pass out from happiness. Instead I concentrated

on putting one foot squarely in front of the other. I followed

him into the darkened dining room and tried to adjust my eyes, but

a moment later he'd found the lights and I could see everything.

Or, rather, everyone.

"Surprise!" came the shouts. There was a cacophonous call of

"Happy birthday," and I realized I knew every single face that

stared back at me.

"Ohmigod" was all I uttered.

The small tables had been pushed together to form a single

long one in the middle of the room; all my friends and family had

been installed around it and were waving and calling out to me.

"Oh. My. God."

"Come here, sit down," Sammy said, taking my hand once

again and leading me to the head of the table. I hugged and kissed

everyone on the way to my seat and then flopped into my designated

chair, at which point Penelope placed a cardboard tiara on

my head and said something embarrassing along the lines of

"You're
our heroine tonight."

"Happy birthday, honey!" my mom said, leaning over to kiss

me on the cheek. "Your father and I wouldn't have missed this for

the world." She smelled faintly of incense and was wearing a beautiful

hand-knit poncho that had surely been made from dye-free

wool. My father sat next to her, his hair carefully arranged in a neat

ponytail, his best pair of Naots proudly on display.

I looked down the table and saw everyone assembled: Penelope

and her mom, who was delighted Penelope was in-the-know

enough to get them into the new hot place; Michael and Megu,

both of whom had specially requested the night off to come celebrate

with me; Kelly and Henry, the guy she'd been with at the

Playboy
party; all the book-club girls, each clutching what appeared

to be wrapped copies of new paperbacks; and, of course,

Simon, who'd swathed himself in what seemed like a surplus of

linen, and Will, who was throwing back his namesake martini (I

learned later that Sammy had named the house drink The Will) at

the foot of the table, directly across from me.

After repeated shouts of "Speech, speech," I managed to pull

myself out of my seat and say a few awkward words. Almost immediately,

a waiter brought out bottles of champagne, and we all

toasted my birthday and Sammy's success. And then dinner began

in earnest. Heaping platters of food emerged from the kitchen on

the shoulders of waiters, all steaming and deliciously aromatic and

placed in front of us with great flourish. I watched as Sammy sat

across the table, looked up at me, and winked. He began talking

to Alex, pointing to her nose piercing and saying something that

made her laugh. I watched them for a moment in between bites

of a delicious cumin-and-dill-spiced lamb dish, and then let my

eyes wander around the table: everyone was chattering happily

while they passed the dishes around and refilled one another's

champagne glasses. I heard my parents introducing themselves to

Kelly while Courtney told Penelope's mom about our book club

and Simon told jokes to Michael and Megu.

I was just sitting there, drinking it all in, when Will pulled a

chair up next to mine. "Pretty special night, no?" he asked the moment

he sat. "Were you surprised?"

"Totally surprised! Will, how could you not have told me that

you and Simon were the ones behind this whole project? I'm not

sure I know how to thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, darling. We didn't do it for you,

or even really for Sammy, although I am quite fond of him. You'd

mentioned that he cooked brunch every Sunday at Gramercy Tavern,

and it piqued our curiosity. Simon and I paid him a visit

there months ago, and I have to say, we were absolutely blown

away. The boy is a genius! Not only that, but he must listen when

you talk because the entire meal was utter perfection: the Bloody

Mary was served exactly how I like it, with an extra dash of

Tabasco and two limes. A copy of
The New York Times
was on

the table and already open to the Sunday Styles section. And there

were no potatoes to be seen. None! I've been brunching at the

Essex House for decades now, and they still can't get it quite

right. We couldn't stop talking about it, and we decided we'd better

snap him up before someone else did. Looks like we were

right, doesn't it?"

"You went to brunch at Gramercy Tavern? Just to see Sammy?"

Will folded his hands and raised his eyebrows at me. "Darling,

you were clearly smitten with this boy in a very substantial manner—

that much was obvious. Simon and I were curious! We certainly

weren't expecting to be so impressed with his skills—that

was a bonus. When I asked him that day about his future plans

and he began rambling on about something called a 'Houston's,' I

knew we had to step in and save him from himself."

"Yeah, he'd mentioned in Turkey that he and a few guys from

culinary school were thinking about opening something like it on

the Upper East Side," I said.

Will gasped audibly and nodded. "I know. How dreadful! That

boy is not meant for franchise work. I told the lawyer that I'd put

up all the money, but Sammy would do all the work. Except for a

standing table, I wanted to be consulted
not at all.
Better than the

goddamn government getting it, don't you agree? Besides, I was

looking for something different to throw myself into; I've decided

to retire the column."

Well, that one shook me. In a night of surprises, this might

have been the most shocking of them all. "You're what? Are you

serious? Why now? How many years has it been, a hundred? The

entire world reads your column, Will! What'll happen to it?"

He sipped his martini and looked thoughtful. "So many questions,

darling, so many questions. It's not that fascinating a story,

really. It's simply time. I don't need New York Scoop to tell me that

my column is a relic at this point. 1 had a great run for many, many

years, but it's time to try something new."

"I can understand that," I said finally. Somehow I knew it was

the right decision. But Will had been writing that column since be-

fore I was born, and it was disconcerting to think that it would

simply cease to exist.

"However, I'll have you know that I've spoken with my editor—

mere child that he is—and have received assurances that there

will always be a place for you there, should you choose to pursue

it. Now, I don't want to harp on this, Bette, but I think it's something

you should consider. You're a wonderful writer, and I don't

know why you haven't done anything with it. Just say the word

and we can have you in there, first as a researcher and then, hopefully,

in a sort of apprentice reporting position."

"I've actually thought about that, too," I said, saying what I'd

sworn to keep to myself until I'd had a chance to think it through a

bit longer. "I do want to try some writing. . . ."

"Excellent! I was hoping you'd say that. Frankly, I think it's

long overdue, but certainly better late than never. I'll call him

tonight and . . ."

"No, not like that, Will. You're going to hate this—"

"Oh, dear God, please don't tell me that you want to cover