Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 120326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
After one more little panic when I think I might really be lost, I finally make it safely to Baccino’s by five to ten. Sasha told me that I’d have to wear a black pencil skirt, black ballet flats, and a white blouse as my uniform, so I bought several sets of the same outfit last week before I left. I smooth down my skirt and open the door, which is stylishly made entirely out of glass. In fact, the whole front of the restaurant is just one big glass window. There are also tables for dining outside.
Alistair is the first person I see. I’m coming to realise that he’s a bit of an unusual character, especially when he introduces me to a girl with short, black hair and a nose ring called Danni, but instead of speaking the introduction, he sings it. Danni tells me he sings everything when he’s in a good mood. I tell her it must make for an interesting work environment. She’s got this great East London accent and a talkative personality, and man, does she know her cheeses and her wines.
After an hour or two I’ve absorbed as many varieties of cheese as I can possibly fit inside my brain: fiore sardo (light cheese with a dark skin), caprino (all white), mountain gorgonzola (pale with blue bits), parmigiano reggiano (pale and crumbly), bosina rabiola (light with a white exterior), and on and on it goes.
I try to remember which ones are which, but some of them are so similar-looking that I don’t know if I’ll ever get the hang of it. It’s a good thing I worked as a waitress for a while during my first few years of college, so everything else comes fairly naturally.
“You’ll get it with practice,” Danni reassures me (about the cheeses). “You can go take a quick break before things get busy.”
I pop to the bathroom and then the staff lounge, where I have a bite to eat before returning to the floor. The place has filled up substantially now and Alistair’s standing by the door, welcoming in a group of businessmen. That’s when my eyes are drawn to the window, where I see Robert strolling by. He’s wearing a shirt and black sunglasses, and has his suit jacket folded over his arm. A small rush of nerves goes through me when I see that his dad’s with him.
As I’m clearing and resetting one of the tables, the two of them make their way inside the restaurant. It’s been a couple of years since I last met Alan, yet he remains one of the most intimidating men I’ve ever come across. He reminds me a little of Hugh Grant. Well, his character as Daniel Cleaver in Bridget Jones would probably be more accurate. Total charmer. Total wanker. Soul as black as tar.
Alistair greets them both enthusiastically and ushers them to a table for two. Once he’s seated, Robert’s eyes seek me out, and I immediately busy myself and look away. The next thing I know someone’s touching my arm. For a second I think it might be Robert, but when I turn around I find it’s Alistair.
“Rob and Alan asked for you,” he says with a smile. “You can take their table.”
I smile back, while on the inside I’m giving him a big, sarcastic, Oh, wonderful!
“Lana Sweeney,” Alan announces when I approach their table with two menus and a jug of water. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. You used to be nothing but a skinny little thing. How a couple of years can work their wonders, eh?”
“Indeed. It’s good to see you Alan,” I reply, doing my best to be polite.
“Ah, do you hear that son?” he says, leaning across the table to tap Robert on the arm. “Whenever I hear an Irish voice, I’ll forever be reminded of your mother. She was quite the looker in her day.”
I find it comical how differently Liz and Alan talk about one another. Alan speaks of Liz with this kind of wistful nostalgia, while Liz speaks of Alan with nothing but venom and distaste. I guess catching your husband in bed with another woman will do that.
“Please, Dad, I don’t want to think of my mother as being a looker. It feels wrong.”
Alan laughs. “Well, then, aren’t you lucky I didn’t call her a hoo –”
“Dad!” Robert exclaims, wide-eyed.
“Touchy, touchy,” says Alan with a crooked grin. “Speaking of mothers, how is Fiona doing these days, Lana? Is she still parading around in that policewoman’s uniform?”
I give him a funny look. “Um, yes, since she is a policewoman and all.”
Alan continues to grin while glancing down to peruse the menu. “And there was me thinking she had a fetish,” he mutters in amusement.
Robert coughs on his glass of water. Sometimes I wonder if he really is like Alan or if he’s just trying his hardest to emulate him. If that’s the case, then he’s certainly got a skewed view of the kind of qualities worthy of being emulated. But people are often blind when it comes to their parents. I wonder if maybe there’s a decent person in Robert — underneath all the bravado, that is.
“So what can I get the two of you?” I ask, keeping my expression neutral to show that jokes about my mother’s profession aren’t appreciated.
“I’ll have the eggplant and parmesan, and to drink we’ll take two glasses of the house red,” says Alan, just before his phone starts ringing. He pulls it from his pocket and dives into what I can only describe as incomprehensible “business talk.”
I look to Robert, waiting for his order. He flicks the edge of the menu and smiles up at me. “What would you recommend?”
“I’ve been here three hours. I haven’t yet had the chance to sample anything, and you know it.”
He tuts and shakes his head. “Well, that’s just not good enough. I like a waitress who can advise me on the menu. I’ll have to make a complaint to Alistair.”