An Interview
Just in Time
“Elizabeth, you look radiant. Welcome to the Menton,” he said. The chef bowed to the pair and returned to the kitchen. Elizabeth greeted James in kind and sat down across from him at the table. She looked around for a menu but found none.
“It’s not that kind of place, I’m afraid,” said Mr. O’Donnell, seeing her confusion. “The menu is already decided by the chef; we have the pleasure of experiencing it.”
She’d never had fine dining before, so that came as some surprise. The silverware was heavy, actual silver she guessed.
“I see. How did you get this table? It seems exclusive.”
“I came here with my wife when this place first opened half a decade ago and fell in love with it. She made friends with the owner on the first visit, so we would eat here whenever we wanted to. We spent a lot of money in this room,” he spoke wistfully, reminiscing.
“Your wife sounds charismatic, to have made friends that quickly,” she said, probing for answers about the man’s life.
“She was,” Mr. O’Donnell said, “she died many, many years ago.”
“I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” Elizabeth said, floundering.
Even though she’d been put on the back foot, she couldn’t help but notice the restaurant seemed new. It was all much newer than the long ago he mentioned his wife dying. She chalked it up to it being an emotional event and decided not to press it.
“Don’t be,” he said with a smile. He thumbed the ring, twisting it around his finger. Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, even though her prodding had already gotten her into an awkward social situation mere moments ago, she asked a follow up question.
“Is that your wedding ring?” she blurted. Mr. O’Donnell chuckled a little.
“No, I wear that here,” he said, pulling a chain with a simple gold band from under his shirt. “This is a curiosity I found when I was a young man, before I’d even met Ava.”
As he finished speaking, three waitstaff arrived and began bringing food. It smelled expensive, like truffle oil or something similar. They called it blanket-of-view. At least that’s what she thought she heard the waitress say. As they brought the food, Mr. O’Donnell spoke to two of them as if he knew them personally, and even spoke in French to the last one. When they left, Elizabeth asked the question that’d been on her mind since the hospital.
“How do you know everything?” she asked. Mr. O’Donnell laughed and smiled at her.
“I don’t. There are many things that I don’t know, and even more things that I don’t know that I know nothing about,” he said. She couldn’t help but smile at the oddity of the statement and the cadence of the voice he used when he said it.
“I mean, how are you aware of everything about everyone? You said my full name, Jules’ name, and even came to the hospital I went to after the diner, even though I could have been at a few different ones. You speak to everyone as if you’re personal friends with them. How do you do it? Are you some sort of stalker or something? Or a spy?” Elizabeth asked. Mr. O’Donnell cocked his head to the side.
“Oh, a spy, that’s a wonderful idea. I’ve always thought I could be the next James Bond; I already have half the name. Seeing that she seemed serious, or at least on edge, he shook his head. “I am not a spy, nor am I a stalker, though if that were a concern, I’d question your self-preservation instincts more for coming to dinner with someone you suspected.”
He leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of the wine he had sitting in front of him.
“In my young life I became a reporter of sorts. Understanding people has always been important to me, so I’m good at picking up details. I am an old man. I retired a long time ago and, frankly, I’m bored. My wife is gone, and I don’t have the heart to find anyone to fill the void she left behind; no one ever will. So, instead, I meet people. I am well-to-do, as I am sure you noticed, so I spend my days speaking to the waitstaff at restaurants I go to all too often,” he said.
“As for you and Ms. Ortega’s names, allow me to turn the question onto you. How would a man, a reporter lets say, whom had just interacted with several officers of the law, come across the name of a victim of a shooting he was involved in?
When he said it like that, she filled in the gaps. Everything he said made sense, but she still found it odd. She shrugged.
“So, why did you want to meet me for dinner?” she asked.
“Few people would do what you did the other night, and even fewer have no combat experience or training,” he said.
“And you do?” she asked again, putting pressure on him.
“Reporting got dangerous from time to time, and it wasn’t the only job I’ve had in my life,” he responded. His eyes were locked on hers; he still smiled. It seemed to Elizabeth he enjoyed the back-and-forth. “I wanted to understand more about the type of person who would risk their life for someone she’s never met because no one else was going to.”
She looked down at her plate. She hadn’t touched a bite.
“Is my interrogation over?” he asked.
“I suppose it is; your answers were satisfactory,” said Elizabeth.
“Good, it’s my turn to ask questions,” Mr. O’Donnell said. “Why did you decide to take me up on my offer tonight?”
Elizabeth thought about it for a moment, taking a beat to enjoy a little more of the blanket-of-view. It was delicious; she couldn’t tell what animal the meat came from, but it seemed like a creamy stew.
“I’m not sure,” she said, though not completely honest. He noticed her hesitation.
“You are clearly a well-educated young woman; something significant must be afoot for you to meet with a man whom you feared might stalk you,” Mr. O’Donnell said. Elizabeth responded, almost speaking over his last words.
“I’ve never had that much adrenaline,” she blurted out.
She looked down at her plate, embarrassed.
“It wasn’t just fear; it was anger and giddiness simultaneously. I can’t explain it. I was furious at the two dickheads. Scared for the poor waiter who almost died, amazed by you, and shocked by what I did. Never have I felt so excited in my life. Not before a concert, a big game, finding out if I’d gotten into college, or a first kiss, nothing compared. Yet you didn’t shake. You did what you needed to do and saved the day like a hero in a shitty action movie. And now I can’t think about anything but that. Everything else seems so meaningless. I have to go back to classes next week, and it doesn’t matter to me at all.”
Mr. O’Donnell went quiet. He turned the ring over and over on his finger. When he spoke, his tone was different, slower. He chewed on each word before he said it, as if they had weight to them. “Have you considered police work? Or perhaps becoming a daredevil of sorts, Evel Knievel?” he said.
“That’s not what I mean. I don’t have the words for what I want. I just needed to talk to you and figure out how you dealt with all that. How do you go on living your normal life after something like that?” she asked. His smile faded a little in response.
“You don’t, not really. Some can, but I, and it seems you as well, can’t,” he said. There was an ominous tone in his voice. There was silence for about a minute. He was debating whether to say something.
Before he got the chance, the waitstaff came back to take their plates and present another course. Mr. O’Donnell changed the subject, asking her about where she went to school, what her major was, the usual learning about someone questions. She did the same, asking how his life was as a reporter, asking about his wife, and where he lived. They continued to eat their meal in relative calm, with no discussion about the dinner. They stayed for the next two hours, until the courses stopped coming, and the kitchen closed. It was far longer than she should have stayed. She was unsure of when Jules would be back, and she didn’t want to deal with a lecture about being out with a concussion, much less about being out with a man Jules thought was creepy.
Mr. O’Donnell at last said that it was time they left, and both made their way to the door. He walked slower than she did, which surprised her, given the speed at which he’d moved in the diner.
“Ms. Brown, I had a lovely time talking to you tonight. I was wondering if I could make you an offer?”
They walked outside into the brisk fall air.
“What kind of offer?”
When men made her an offer after dinner, not that she went out to dinner with men often, it was to go home with them. She hoped that Mr. O’Donnell hadn’t misconstrued the night as being in the slightest romantic. She didn’t think he did, especially after what he said about his wife, but she was never sure.
“I am getting old. Well, I’ve gotten old already. I’m getting older now. Some things aren’t as easy for me as they used to be, errands and such. I’ve been looking into hiring someone to do some menial jobs for me, but I didn’t want to hire someone off the corner. How would you feel if I asked you to do things for me from time to time? Purchase groceries, pick up my mail, maybe clean my car. Things that my knees would rather I not do. I’d pay you, of course, handsomely,” he asked.
Elizabeth was taken aback. Of all the things for him to offer, that wasn’t what she was expecting. She was tight on money, and he had been nice to talk to for the night. He’d saved her life and was wealthy, so ‘handsomely’ had a chance to be a lucrative sum.
The oddities and suspicions she had of him seemed less important after their conversation. Or perhaps it just made him more intriguing to learn more about him. She still believed he was dangerous; he’d shot two men in front of her, after all. But Elizabeth was finding it hard to believe he was a danger to her.
“Sure, I see no harm in it. No promises that I’ll always be free to. I’ve got schoolwork and basketball,” she responded, trying not to seem too eager.
“Of course, school comes first. Well, I will call you the next time I need something. Until then, have a lovely night, Elizabeth.”
Editor: Lucy Cafiero
