Your Table is Ready

I nodded to the Maitre D as I walked past him to go directly to my table. Paul bowed ever so slightly, “Good evening Mr. Harrington”. As usual, the place was packed but my table was expertly prepared by Mark. For the first time in many months I had changed my routine. My usual reservation was 6 pm Wednesdays, but I called to change it to Tuesday at 6 pm. Mark answered and he asked me to repeat this since he was surprised at any change in my routine. He probably knew there had to be a good reason for this extraordinary change in plans. And there was. This was to be my last dinner at Bon Appetit. I will be flying the redeye to Germany later this evening. This chapter in my life is over.

Without a word, Mark brought my scotch. “Thank you Mark”. He replied, “The usual, Mr. Harrington?”. “No, I have an appointment later this evening so there will be a change in plans. Mark looked puzzled but he withdrew his small pad and pen and he was ready. “I’ll have the Escargo tonight instead of the French onion soup. And I’ll have to leave soon so I will forgo the filet mignon and go right to your creme brulee”. Mark was a bit shaken by this sudden change in plans. But he was gracious as always- “Yes sir. Mr. Harrington- would you like another scotch?”. I often must mix business with pleasure, usually more the former. Tonight was special- “Yes Mark, please bring me another scotch”. 

As is my custom, I carefully scanned the room from my corner table. I had a clear view of the entrance, the kitchen, the exit and of course all of the tables. I examined every staff person and patron looking for anything unusual. I had a gift of sorts. I could see small gestures, sense shifts in tone, notice the slightest accents and catch a few words in a crowded, noisy room. This gift was probably why I found my way to this job- and why I’m very good at it.

I smiled a bit as I recalled Mark’s only, but epic failure a week ago. He was the subject of Paul’s restrained rage after he accidentally erased a couple’s anniversary reservation, then abandoned them when they were banished to the infamous alley table. It was unforgivable. But it tied into the report I had recently received. He was distracted in recent weeks. According to my supervisor Mark was likely surveilling me and reporting my movements. He was an excellent waiter but a terrible spy. I had noticed in the past few weeks that he seemed a bit tense, avoiding eye contact. He had a tiny tremor when he delivered the various courses and drinks. It’s a pity the CIA tends to recruit these amateurs. It rarely works out well.

My suspicions were further confirmed when I noted this evening that Mark glanced at his watch a few times during service. He no doubt noted the times of his observations in his report. I sighed. Mark and his handlers will pay a price. But that won’t stop me from enjoying my scotch. 

I studied the couple to my right while waiting for my creme brulee. He spoke in a hurried, nervous manner, leaning forward and pausing for some sign of understanding at least and support. He was about 42 or 43, newly divorced with 3 children, two in college. He was struggling with alimony and child support payments. The expensive wine he bought to impress her was chilled and ready to serve. I guessed this was their third  date and the dinner here was a prelude to a trial run at his place after dessert. She said little but smiled and nodded a lot. She had 2 children, both in high school. She too was divorced and desperate to escape the prison of single parenting. No, I wasn’t listening in- remember, I have a gift.  Family was not an option for me- thank God.

I left the happy couple struggling to find an emotional life raft to save them from their miseries. The wine probably helped them cloud the picture and obscure the pain. I recommended the creme brulee as I passed the table. I hoped they would have at least a taste of it. It is truly so magnificent that it almost takes your breath away.

At the door I looked back for about 30 seconds, savoring every sight, sound and smell for future mental visits to Bon Appetit. Then I summoned Jerry to get my car. He brought the Mercedes around quickly. I tipped him very generously since this was my last dinner at Bon Appetit. He thanked me with a short  “Thanks”. He then leaned forward and whispered “Goodbye Mr. Harrington. Safe travels”. I smiled slightly and nodded. Before pulling away I took a quick look in the glove compartment. The identity papers were all there. Jerry was very efficient. 

Around the corner I waited patiently at a red light. The explosion was quite intense.The light turned green and I pulled slowly into the intersection. I was on time for my flight to Germany. No need to rush. 

On the jetway I chuckled a bit as I pondered the couple at the next table. I thought this will go down in history as the world’s worst third date. Then all thoughts of the evening vanished as I approached the airline attendant. “Good evening Mr. Stevens, may I take your  briefcase? … My, it looks new”. I smiled, “Yes, it is new”. The old one was left under my table. I will miss it, along with Bon Appetit. Francine offered me a pillow and then asked “We have received your order. Would you like your scotch now”. I smiled and nodded in the affirmative. “We have a lovely filet mignon and a fine cabernet for you a bit later”. She placed the scotch to my right. She did not check her watch. 

As the jet left the ground I reflected on my life at Bon Appetit. I sipped my scotch.  I sighed and accepted the loss. I will miss Mark. He was the best waiter I have ever had. It will be hard to find another like him in Berlin.