Missing Reels (49 page)

“No, I mean, to go from so very blonde to so very red, it’s so—what word do I want, Matthew?”

“Nice,” said Matthew. “How’s that?”

Same expression on Anna, but mouth a bit less mobile. “Yes, very.” She tucked her evening bag under her arm. “Excuse us, we should see if our table is ready.”

“Sure,” said Ceinwen.

“Enjoy your meal,” said Anna.

Ceinwen watched them walk away. He didn’t look back once.

Jim had a hand on her arm. “How’d it go?”

“She’s still a major bitch,” said Ceinwen.

“Well,
I’m
doing great,” said Jim, turning toward Rodolfo as the man navigated the crowd to get to them.

“This will take a few minutes,” said Rodolfo. “You could wait at the bar if you like. We usually tell people to wait outside with their drinks, but”—he waved down the passage at the rain pounding the terrace.

“It’s too bad,” said Jim. “The view is supposed to be fabulous.”

“It’s the best part. Aside from the food, of course. You should come back on a clear night.”

“I plan to,” said Jim. “Should we get a cocktail?”

“I don’t want anything,” mumbled Ceinwen. She was staying sober tonight and besides, she figured alcohol was going to double their bill, and there was no way she was letting Jim take the whole hit for this scheme, even if it was his idea.

While they waited she tapped her foot and bit her nails, until Jim grabbed her hand and reminded her that she started smoking in the first place so she wouldn’t do that anymore. She reminded him that he’d made her leave their cigarettes at home. He tweaked at her neckline.

“Messing around with my dress doesn’t make you look very straight.” Even though Matthew knew he was gay, Jim was supposed to be on escort behavior for appearance’s sake.

“Maybe I don’t want to look straight until I absolutely have to.” He shot a look at Rodolfo, who was talking to a couple of waiters.

Who knew what they were doing at their table for six. A toast to the happy couple. She wanted to die. No, she wanted to march in there and tell Anna exactly what she thought of her manners, her hair critiques, and how she looked in those earrings. Then she wanted to die.

Rodolfo was beckoning. The vast dining room gleamed with black, white, and chrome, flowers everywhere, the tables spaced far apart to show off the fact, she thought, that they made so much money they didn’t need to pack ’em in. The views from all those windows would have been heart-stopping without the rain and fog. Matthew’s party was near the far window, and every table within twenty or thirty feet of it was occupied. Why did she come, why? So she could watch Matthew sip champagne from the other side of Grand Central Station?

Rodolfo motioned for Jim and Ceinwen to follow and walked straight to the clear space next to Matthew’s table. They stopped and Rodolfo beckoned to an unseen someone.

She was close enough to hear Harry joking about Andy at the last faculty meeting. He’d tried to adjourn early, but Harry had marched Andy through every item on the agenda, including the pastry selection in the thirteenth floor lounge. Paru spotted Ceinwen and gave her a somewhat puzzled nod. Donna looked up and waved, big and eager, like a little girl. She seemed ready to come over, but Harry touched her elbow and whispered something as his brows gave Ceinwen one big, slow raise.

A side door opened and out came two uniformed busboys carrying a table, two more carrying the black leather chairs. They set down the table, positioned the chairs, another uniform appeared with a tablecloth and napkins, flowers and cutlery materialized … all within a few feet of the big round table for six, Rodolfo directing everything with only a few gestures. Anna still hadn’t turned their way, and neither had Matthew.

Rodolfo pulled out her chair, handed them menus and in an instant he was gone. She wasn’t even sure which exit he’d used. She leaned over to whisper, “What on earth did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything, I swear. I just said we really, really wanted a table with a good view of the Hill party.” Jim twisted slightly to take in the side of Anna’s head and turned back with an evil little chuckle.

The menu was in Italian. All she could make out were the prices. “My god. I’ve never seen numbers like this on a menu.”

“It’s worth twice what they’re charging. The maitre d’ is James Bond.”

Matthew’s group was on their salads and appetizers. There was champagne in an ice bucket and the conversation seemed lively, especially on the part of Anna, who was laughing and offering comments on every dish. Anna swept her eyes over Ceinwen, then Jim, then turned her back to say something to Radha about a store in London.

Ceinwen ordered by pointing at the first things she saw. Over at Matthew’s table they were bringing more champagne. Jim ordered a glass of wine. She could barely talk, but Jim had no such problem. Was she ever going to work up the nerve to ask Miriam to give back her scarf. This year they needed to buy an air conditioner even if it blew every outlet in the place. He’d forgotten to tell her Fred called today and she should call him first thing Monday.

Suddenly it wasn’t hard to keep her eyes off the other table. “Did Fred say he’s ready to project part of
Mysteries
for me now?”

“He said, ‘Um, this is Fred Creighton, could you, um, tell Ceinwen to call me, um, when she gets a chance.’”

“Sometimes you have to drag things out of Fred, you know. Just interrupt him during one of his ‘ums.’”

“I did. I asked him if he wanted to leave his home number. And frankly that seemed to scare him. His voice got all high and squeaky.”

“So he didn’t give you the number.”

“No, he didn’t. Said Monday would be fine. Maybe you should quit calling him every week like you’re his mother and let the guy do his work.”

“If they didn’t have so many rules at that place I could probably
watch
him work and I’d have seen something by now.” Jim looked skeptical. “I bet MoMA would let me watch.”

The appetizers were arriving, and she saw she had somehow managed to order raw beef. She braced herself and discovered it didn’t taste like much of anything unless you ate the greens with it. As she tried to get a bite of bread in there, discreetly and without opening her mouth to show the beef she was still chewing, she saw Matthew glance at her as he knocked back a bigger gulp of champagne than was strictly polite. Her peripheral vision took in Anna looking, too, so fast she nearly missed it, then a flip of Anna’s hair. Now Matthew was talking to Paru, something about long-haul airplane flights.

That’s it, she thought. That’s what I get to live on from here on out. One kind word by the coat check. One turn of his head. The only word for me is pathetic.

Since that was the case, no reason to pretend she wasn’t watching. She sat up straight to get a better view, and when Jim hissed that she was being obvious she told him to watch for Rodolfo.

Some sort of pasta was happening over there; she heard the word “classic” from Anna. When they set down the plate in front of Matthew, Anna laid her hand on his arm.

“Let the expert …” she heard Anna saying. Anna took the pepper grinder from the waiter and gave it a few precise twists. Then she took the cheese and the grater and shaved a very little bit. She asked Matthew something, and she said, “Oh, that’s too much, much too much …” A few more shaves. She handed the grater back without a glance at the waiter, and the man left. She picked up the salt shaker and he shook his head slightly, still talking to Paru. “… just as you want it, caro? Are you sure?”

Matthew said something, then “Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” was the reply. With one swift move of Anna’s hand, the plate went vertical, the entire contents were sliding from Matthew’s chest to his lap, and the plate was back in its spot on the table.

“Holy fuck,” breathed Jim.

The logical next move would be to storm out, but some credit was due here. Anna was not so obvious. She put her elbows on the table and folded her hands. Harry and Donna, Paru and Radha were frantically trying to find a comfortable place to rest their eyes. Matthew was matching Anna, glare for silent glare. He seized his napkin by the corners to pick up as much of the pasta as possible and dumped the pieces on his plate. With two hands he began scooping noodles off his lap, picking them off his lapel and his tie. Anna stood up, plucked her tiny bag off the table like she was grabbing it out of a fireplace, and walked out, hips swinging and head high.

The waiter had arrived to hand over some napkins. A busboy was discreetly sweeping near the chair. The conversation in the vicinity, which for the past few seconds hadn’t included even nervous laughs, had resumed, and it seemed everyone was going to pretend that what had happened was an accident. Matthew wasn’t looking anywhere, least of all at her. He stood and walked out, too.

She moved to get up and felt Jim grab her arm.

“Here’s where you do what I say. Give it ten minutes.”

“He could be gone by then,” she pleaded.

“It’s going to take him at least that long to clean up in the men’s room, and if she’s confronting him out there you don’t want to be anywhere near it. I’m telling you, ten minutes.”

“But—”

“No. Just be glad
we
didn’t go for the pasta course.”

Somehow their main courses had arrived while they were watching Matthew get his food thrown at him. Fish, with a sauce that she didn’t like the looks of. She’d thought it would be breaded. Donna’s voice drifted their way.

“… a misunderstanding.”

“You could say that.” That was Paru.

“… couples, there’s all this pressure when you’re planning …” Radha.

And Harry now. “… no reason to come all this way and not see why the
Times
is so ga-ga …”

Jim was whispering. “I figured, absolute best-case, miracle scenario, he looks at you for a few hours, he gets drunk, he goes home and says”—his Matthew imitation was almost as bad as Talmadge’s—“‘Anna, British honor forces me to tell you that I still fancy little Ceinwen like mad.’ THEN she throws something at him. But right here?” He sat back and shook his head, lost in admiration. “That was badass. Food fight at a three-star restaurant. This could make Page Six.”

“Page Six doesn’t care about some mathematician,” she said. She picked off a few flakes of fish and when she put the fork in her mouth, it was still way too much to chew.

“You do.” She tried for a bit more fish. “Would you cheer up? This is great.” He drained his wine. “You can’t say he didn’t have it coming.”

She didn’t feel triumph, she didn’t feel hope. She just felt awful for Matthew. But she didn’t have to admit that, because Rodolfo had glided up. “Hello.” Jim’s expression was more ravenous than any he’d directed at the food. Rodolfo put a hand casually on the back of Jim’s chair and said, at precisely the volume needed to ensure his voice didn’t travel beyond their table, “I’m told the view here was more exciting than expected. Than
we
expected, anyway.”

“Really?” asked Jim. “What happened? We’ve been concentrating on our food.”

Rodolfo smiled serenely. “I won’t bore you with the details. You’ve made good progress. How about the lady?”

“It’s delicious,” she said.

He cocked his head. “Are you sure? You’ve barely touched it. Don’t be shy. If it isn’t what you want, I’ll take it straight back to the kitchen.”

“This meal has been everything we could possibly want,” said Jim. She’d known Jim almost four years, and she’d never seen such flirting from him. Talmadge, sure. This would be subtle for Talmadge.

“That’s what we like to hear.” She checked her watch. Eight minutes. She was rounding up, goddamnit.

“I’m afraid I have to go.”

Rodolfo was dismayed. “So soon? You really must let me change that. Would you like lamb, like Jim?”

“She has some work she has to finish,” said Jim. “But I’m sticking around.”

“I’m glad someone can. All these sudden exits are making me paranoid.”

“No, no, I’ll be right here. Eating my dinner. All by myself.” She picked up her purse and pecked Jim on the cheek. “Go get ’em,” he said.

“Get what?” asked Rodolfo.

“Whatever’s out there,” said Jim.

Rodolfo was still chatting, and Paru and the others were ignoring the two empty chairs—except Harry, who looked up and laid one finger against his nose. She wasn’t sure what that meant.

Outside the dining room, only a few people were waiting for their tables. No Matthew. If Jim was right, he’d still be in the men’s room. Surely he hadn’t chased after Anna, that wasn’t his style. No one getting a coat. The man came from behind the counter to help her. He handed her the umbrella and she asked, “Was there a lady here a few minutes ago—strapless dress, light purple? Burberry raincoat?”

“Yep.” He sounded glum. She opened her purse to get out her wallet for the tip and looked in the bowl to see if she could figure out the going rate. Two quarters lay on top of some singles. She glanced up and he immediately rolled his eyes to indicate his opinion. Her smallest bill was a five. At least she could improve one person’s night. She laid it in the bowl.

“Was there a man with her?”

He grinned. “You don’t have to act casual, just ask. You mean her date? I don’t know what happened to
him
. Must have run into one of the waiters coming out of the kitchen. Walked right past me after she left. I still got his coat.”

“Which way did he go, toward the men’s room?”

“Nope. Coming out of the men’s room. Went thataway.” The man pointed to the terrace.

“Out
there
?”

“That’s what I thought,” he shrugged, “but I don’t think he wanted advice.”

“Thanks.”

As she walked away she heard him say, “Anytime. I mean that. Come again.”

All she could see through the double-glass door was the rain descending and the wind blowing it into whirling patterns. She scanned in every direction and was about to give up when she spotted a chaise lounge with its back to the door and looked closer. Two feet stuck out at the end. A jacket-clad arm dangled over the side. She opened the door and paused to put up her umbrella, fighting the wind to get it open. She had to hold the umbrella to the wind side to keep it from reversing. When she got close, she hesitated.