Dinner for Two
Just in Time
Over a week had passed since the shooting. Elizabeth spent most of her recovery in her room hanging out with Jules. She had to avoid screens for the first few days, so they would sit and listen to podcasts instead of watching anything. Her parents had visited the weekend before, which was nice but also exhausting.
She enjoyed spending time around Jules. They’d known each other since their first year and had been roommates come the end. The month they’d been living together had been nice, but they were both busy people, not spending much time in the room. This was a welcome change of pace, and despite herself, Elizabeth couldn’t help but dread going back to not hanging out as much. She assumed that when she felt better, it’d be more difficult to find time.
Every time Jules went to class, Elizabeth sat in bed, unsure of what to do with herself. After a week and a change of doing virtually nothing, she had gone stir crazy. With Jules there, she felt somewhat comfortable, but that night she’d be gone for a basketball game. Elizabeth wasn’t allowed to attend because of the crowd noise, and watching the game on TV would have made her jealous; she’d get sad not being there to support the team. She and Jules had made friends with a lot of the women’s team through Chloe and Kaylee. She hated not being able to hang out with all of them. So, she swayed back and forth in bed, trying to decide what to do.
It was around 4:00 pm when she remembered James O’Donnell’s offer and his card. She went into her wallet and pulled it out. It was a simple, elegant thing. It was adorned with black-and-gold lettering for his name and contact information. She flipped it over in her fingers. It was weighty, fancy stock.
Elizabeth thought a lot about that night at the diner over the days of her recovery, trying to figure out why she had done what she had done. She’d been mulling over the details of the encounter too, trying to think of things she could have done differently. The question, “What if Mr. O’Donnell hadn’t been there?” popped into her head often. She didn’t know the answer. She had no idea if she would have done the same thing if it had just been the drug dealer’s life in peril. Maybe she just did it because an old man was in danger.
She’d been thinking about Mr. O’Donnell himself a bit too. Jules wasn’t a fan of him at all. She said he gave her a bad feeling; something was off. She said Elizabeth should rip up the card and be done with it, move on. But Elizabeth couldn’t help but be fascinated by him. Jules was right; something seemed off. Where that made Jules uncomfortable, it intrigued Elizabeth. How did he know so much? Not only about her and Jules, but also about what to do in the diner. He seemed confident in what he was doing, to the point where he was unafraid to look two armed men in the eyes and tell them to go away.
Against her better judgment, she dialed Mr. O’Donnell’s number. Jules’ voice in her head worried with every press, imploring her to stop. Elizabeth didn’t. The phone rang. Then, it was answered.
“Hello?”
“Mr. O’Donnell?” she asked.
“Depends on who’s asking. Do I owe you money?” he asked in a joking tone.
“No,” she said, laughing a little as she did.
“Then yes, that is I, though you appear to have me at a disadvantage,” he said coyly.
“It’s Elizabeth, from the diner last week,” she said.
“Ms. Brown,” he said, surprised. Elizabeth heard creaking leather, as if he had sat up in his chair or couch, as if whatever he was doing at the time was less interesting than the conversation he was having. “I was just thinking of you. I was wondering if you’d ever take me up on my offer. How are you?”
Elizabeth answered briefly. Their exchange of pleasantries went on for longer than she thought it would. Mr. O’Donnell liked to talk; that much was clear, but he was also a good listener. He also seemed genuinely interested in how things were going in her life. She found that odd, considering they’d only really spoken once.
“So, Ms. Brown, I assume your phone call was not to hear the ramblings of the elderly. How can I help you?” he asked. Elizabeth paused for a moment, debating what she wanted to say.
“I was wondering if you still had a table at that fancy restaurant you mentioned,” she finally said.
“The Menton? Of course. I was planning to go out for dinner tonight. Would you care to join me?” he said without missing a beat.
Elizabeth said yes and agreed to meet him at eight. As soon as she hung up, she realized what she had agreed to and knew Jules would be livid. Not only was she going out against the doctor’s orders, but she was meeting with a man both of them agreed was off. She’d just have to be home before Jules realized she was gone.
She also realized that she didn’t know where the Menton was. After a Google search, she determined she’d have to take an Uber and dress up. Looking at it, she wasn’t sure she had the clothes to meet the dress code. The place seemed pretty upscale.
It was getting colder out, so she needed something with long sleeves without a plunging neckline. Elizabeth put on a dress that her mom had bought her over the summer, deep blue and flowy. It had no sleeves and had a pretty lace design near her neckline; she didn’t own a warmer one. She grabbed a coat to go over everything. She decided against her heels; she decided she probably wasn’t well enough to focus on walking more than she needed to. Since she wasn’t allowed to drive, and taking the T with a concussion sounded like a bad idea, she called an Uber.
She arrived at the Menton early. It was dark out, but the brownstone’s façade was well lit. The outside was less ornate than she expected; the sign that boasted the restaurant’s name was the only real indicator the place was anything special. It was black with only a large white ‘M’ in the center. Her Uber dropped her off, and she walked up to the door.
The inside of the restaurant was more modern than she expected. A color palette of black, white, and gray made the room seem rather monotone, though refined. Quickly glancing around, she realized she hadn’t gotten the memo about wearing one of those three colors. Now slightly embarrassed, she walked up to the front desk. Before she could even speak a word, the man standing there spoke to her.
“Good evening, madame, welcome to the Menton. Do you have a reservation?”
The man wore a gray suit with a purple tie, which seemed to be the code for all the staff, and he spoke with a vague accent. She didn’t know French, but she knew it wasn’t that. He was almost certainly from Texas, trying really hard to sound French. Elizabeth mentioned she was here to dine with Mr. O’Donnell, and the man seemed to snap to attention.
“You are a young friend of Monsieur O’Donnell, of course. Right this way, Elizabeth,” he said. The way he said monsieur added an extra two syllables.
He led her through the dining room but never stopped at a table. Rather, he walked down a hallway that had a sign hanging from the ceiling with the words “private dining” carved into it. He walked over to the door labeled “chef’s table,” and ushered her inside.
A delightful blend of cooking vegetables and meat hit her as she entered. She smelled a dozen different spices all at once. Somehow it wasn’t overwhelming.
It was a large rectangular room. A large, brutalist table sat in the middle taking up most of the space, with doors at either end of the head. Lengthwise, there was a large mirror on one side and an open window on the other. The window led directly into the kitchen. Despite the table’s large size, it was only set for two.
Mr. O’Donnell was already sitting down, dressed in a black suit, with a tie and pocket square remarkably close in hue to the blue of her dress. His ring was still on his hand, glowing dimly. His old-fashioned outfit clashed with the restaurant’s modernist aesthetic.
He was speaking to the head chef, who was leaning over the kitchen windowsill. When Elizabeth entered the room, Mr. O’Donnell stood up.
