Star Dust (A Paladin Adventure)

Dates and other downers

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Two nights later, I got out of the Uber outside the city's most exclusive restaurant. As myself, I wouldn't get in the door, but a doorman held it wide for me after ascertaining who I was meeting. A maitre d' who looked like he was reserving judgement on me until later led me to Mr Wayne's table. I was the first to arrive and checked my watch. I was actually right on time. I bet myself that he'd have an excuse when he showed up that revolved around business, whether to reinforce his importance or as an actual reason, I wasn't sure.

I was a chapter into the paperback in my purse and had consumed a little over half of the not-ample breadbasket that the waitstaff had finally bestowed on me when I'd finally had enough and was about to call for an Uber driver. I found Wayne looking down at me with some consternation when I looked up at his arrival. I looked at my watch; fifteen minutes late.

"I was about to give up on you, Mr Wayne," I said pleasantly, closing the book and putting it and the phone away.

"Oh?" he looked startled. "Please call me Bruce."

"I figure I've been stood up if I don't hear anything from my date after a quarter hour. Call me Emma."

"I'd planned to," he said, still looking a little off-balance. We accepted menus and I saw that unfortunately, it was a tiny food restaurant with pretensions. There were no prices on my menu but lots of descriptions that included "scent" and "trace" and "essence." Geeze. I needed fuel for my metabolism, not a word game. I'd have to stop on the way home for takeout. I had a couple of mini Snickers in my bag that would probably tide me over. I could escape to the bathroom and eat them quickly. We made small talk as we decided what to order. An explanation of his lateness was not issued, which, frankly, was a bit of a mark against him. He ordered for both of us. I hate that. I know that it is meant as a courtesy, but it implies that the woman's preference has been vetted by her date and also that she can't order for herself. The waiter slunk away obsequiously, and the sommelier approached. My input was not sought; Bruce and the wine guy chatted and discussed, and finally an old bottle of red was brought forth. Bruce swirled and sniffed and sipped, and the sommelier finally poured me half a glass before leaving. Bruce mentioned the grapes that the wine was made of and the flavors I was supposed to be tasting. I mostly noticed the acidity and tannins. I'm not really much for wine; I prefer light, fruity whites to reds, a sweet sparkling wine to champagne and beer to wine in general. I didn't suppose there was a beer to be had here.

However, I was on a date here and it would be rude to make a fuss. Most women would swoon to be taken here by the city's preeminent bachelor. I decided to look at the visit as sort of a sociological outing. Bruce pushed the breadbasket closer to me. Really? A big guy like that and he's not even eating the itty little rolls? He had to have eaten before he came. Bastard. I ate the remaining two rolls (they were slightly larger than a quarter) before a composed salad was presented; my plate had five leaves from different plants, a thin crescent of avocado, a tiny section of citrus fruit, and a bold swirl of dressing smeared on the plate. I tried to make it last as we discussed the regional NFL teams, but there was only so far that five lettuce leaves will stretch. He wasn't a fan of hockey, and I wasn't a fan of baseball. We tried to find some common ground in other interests, but I think we were both relieved when the entrees arrived. I had two lamb medallions the size of a half-dollar, artfully sliced, with a pan sauce, three green beans, and an almond sliver.

I could have cried. After consuming my dinner (what there was was scrumptious) I excused myself and hid out in a bathroom stall while I snarfed down both Snickers bars. It helped. For dessert there was a drop of white chocolate mousse the size of a Hershey's Kiss, garnished with a miniscule mint leaf, which I also ate. It was too small to really determine what kind of mint it was. Small cups of coffee were served--decaf, I was informed, no cream or sugar was offered. I studied my dining companion. He seemed no more at ease with me than at the start of the meal and was remote. Depressing.