bruise by her eye. There was no way I’d touch her, her mother, or their possessions. If I could relieve her asshole husband of some of his toys, maybe….
Suddenly, a song of profit and adventure rose to my ears from two tables over.
“So we’re leaving on the twenty-first, and we’ll be in Prague for the ten days it will take to get my eyelids done. And then! Oh, I’m just so excited—we’ll swing through Paris. I have some shopping to do. Two weeks altogether.”
The aches and pains of the preceding week dissipated as adrenaline surged through my veins. Having deposited the two margaritas, two beers, and nachos grande where they belonged, I reached for a pitcher of water and hovered by the table occupied by two middle-aged couples, waiting for an unobtrusive time to top off their ice water. A well-maintained blonde was holding court, her husband in attendance. I noticed her fifty-dollar manicure and her upscale haircut.
“Where will you shop?”
The question was posed by her brunette lady-friend, who did her best not to show signs of jealousy. Her jewelry was understated by comparison; her fingers didn’t drip gold and diamond pavé rings, she didn’t wear a Cartier watch, her neck didn’t sport a heavy gold necklace, and her ears were decorated with discreet, delicate pearl studs instead of all those multiple hoops. Her jaw was a bit tight, perhaps, but other than that, her decorum didn’t slip one bit.
“We’ll go to the Galleries Lafayette again. Their styles are so different from what you can get here in the US—so feminine and elegant and so avant-garde….”
I topped their water off and eyed their half-empty plates.
“Are you enjoying your dinner? Is there anything else I can get for you?” My smile was on, and I was unobtrusive, just as they expected. I had to make sure not to serve them too poorly, nor too well. I was shooting for dead average. No sense standing out in the crowd.
The blonde’s husband, a thin man with a shiny pate surrounded by still-dark hair, looked at me with apology in his eyes. “No, thank you. Everything is very good.”
“Oh, but, honey.” The blonde’s whine cut through the din of the restaurant’s dining room. “I thought you didn’t get enough of that guacamole.” She lifted her hooded, heavily made-up eyes at me. “Bring us more of that guacamole. And I’ll have another martini, with a twist of lemon this time.”
I nodded. “Sure. Right up.”
I brought them the guacamole and another martini. “Would you care for some dessert and coffee?” I asked. “We have a new specialty….”
The discussion over coffee and dessert always sparked an argument over dietary shoulds and should nots.
“Go ahead, Janet,” the brunette said. “You won’t have Tres Leches cake in Prague!”
Her name was Janet. That’s all I got to find out.
When they were all done, the brunette’s husband picked up the tab, which was highly inconvenient because I didn’t want to burgle them ; no, she’d been kind and always said “please” and “thank you.” I wanted to burgle her overbearing blonde companion, who probably had a whole treasure-trove of gold jewelry she never even wore anyway. Gold sold for a good bit these days.
However, not all was lost. They left an average tip—no more and no less than I’ve earned, and now I had the brunette’s husband’s credit card information. That was enough, really. He wasn’t on Facebook, but he was on LinkedIn, where he shared some personal details, from which I learned that his wife’s name was Suzanne Gould. Suzanne Gould was on Facebook, however, and she shared some of her interests in the publicly visible profile, so I friended her immediately. I used my faux identity.
Dear Suzanne, we’ve met at the Library Benefit a few weeks ago and only now I remembered to friend you—we talked about some possible projects for offsetting the government cutbacks. We should talk some more, this is a worthy cause.
Now,
Suddenly, a song of profit and adventure rose to my ears from two tables over.
“So we’re leaving on the twenty-first, and we’ll be in Prague for the ten days it will take to get my eyelids done. And then! Oh, I’m just so excited—we’ll swing through Paris. I have some shopping to do. Two weeks altogether.”
The aches and pains of the preceding week dissipated as adrenaline surged through my veins. Having deposited the two margaritas, two beers, and nachos grande where they belonged, I reached for a pitcher of water and hovered by the table occupied by two middle-aged couples, waiting for an unobtrusive time to top off their ice water. A well-maintained blonde was holding court, her husband in attendance. I noticed her fifty-dollar manicure and her upscale haircut.
“Where will you shop?”
The question was posed by her brunette lady-friend, who did her best not to show signs of jealousy. Her jewelry was understated by comparison; her fingers didn’t drip gold and diamond pavé rings, she didn’t wear a Cartier watch, her neck didn’t sport a heavy gold necklace, and her ears were decorated with discreet, delicate pearl studs instead of all those multiple hoops. Her jaw was a bit tight, perhaps, but other than that, her decorum didn’t slip one bit.
“We’ll go to the Galleries Lafayette again. Their styles are so different from what you can get here in the US—so feminine and elegant and so avant-garde….”
I topped their water off and eyed their half-empty plates.
“Are you enjoying your dinner? Is there anything else I can get for you?” My smile was on, and I was unobtrusive, just as they expected. I had to make sure not to serve them too poorly, nor too well. I was shooting for dead average. No sense standing out in the crowd.
The blonde’s husband, a thin man with a shiny pate surrounded by still-dark hair, looked at me with apology in his eyes. “No, thank you. Everything is very good.”
“Oh, but, honey.” The blonde’s whine cut through the din of the restaurant’s dining room. “I thought you didn’t get enough of that guacamole.” She lifted her hooded, heavily made-up eyes at me. “Bring us more of that guacamole. And I’ll have another martini, with a twist of lemon this time.”
I nodded. “Sure. Right up.”
I brought them the guacamole and another martini. “Would you care for some dessert and coffee?” I asked. “We have a new specialty….”
The discussion over coffee and dessert always sparked an argument over dietary shoulds and should nots.
“Go ahead, Janet,” the brunette said. “You won’t have Tres Leches cake in Prague!”
Her name was Janet. That’s all I got to find out.
When they were all done, the brunette’s husband picked up the tab, which was highly inconvenient because I didn’t want to burgle them ; no, she’d been kind and always said “please” and “thank you.” I wanted to burgle her overbearing blonde companion, who probably had a whole treasure-trove of gold jewelry she never even wore anyway. Gold sold for a good bit these days.
However, not all was lost. They left an average tip—no more and no less than I’ve earned, and now I had the brunette’s husband’s credit card information. That was enough, really. He wasn’t on Facebook, but he was on LinkedIn, where he shared some personal details, from which I learned that his wife’s name was Suzanne Gould. Suzanne Gould was on Facebook, however, and she shared some of her interests in the publicly visible profile, so I friended her immediately. I used my faux identity.
Dear Suzanne, we’ve met at the Library Benefit a few weeks ago and only now I remembered to friend you—we talked about some possible projects for offsetting the government cutbacks. We should talk some more, this is a worthy cause.
Now,
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