Wow!
It felt great to be working again.
"Johanna, the coffee goes IN the cup, not ON the guest. Clay, smile, you're catering a birthday celebration for the city of Long Beach-- not a funeral. Scott, a guy at table 4, handsome, mid-forties, a lawyer I think, just asked for your number-- if you marry the guy, I'm your maid of honor. Okay! We're ready with the Creme Brulee's right??? Right? -- okay! Let's go."
It was like riding a bike -- it came right back to me.
John Daniel was there too, keeping an eye out on my first party. I could tell he was impressed when he snuck up behind me and whispered, "I see you're married, Andrew. I bet I know who calls the shots."
"At home, it's not about food, John Daniel."
"I know," he said, "But if you can handle a relationship the way you're handling the five hundred people here tonight -- hell, even I'd marry you."
I laughed. I felt damn good. Damn good.
The end of one of these gigs always reminded me of Christmas Day when right after you open all your presents -- you work and shop and wrap and buy and cook and clean -- then -- in a minute, it's over. And there's nothing but devastation.
It wasn't my job but I helped clean up anyway. Folded the chairs and stripped the tables when I saw outside in the parking lot-- Scott, the cater-waiter, dancing like Fred Astaire. The lawyer had come through, I guess.
I went back inside to find John Daniel. He was getting the contract signed.
"Andrew -- come here, the Assistant Mayor wants to meet you."
We shook hands and he went on and on about the party -- said it was the best he'd been to and that the Mayor of Long Beach had asked for our card to do a couple of upcoming parties.
It didn't get any better than this.
As I was hunting down my sportcoat, John Daniel came up, "Drew, this letter was just left for you at check-in. Fan mail already, Drew?"
I blushed. Tore open the letter.
MY DEAR ONE
YOU WERE WONDERFUL TO WATCH TONIGHT
YOU ARE ALWAYS WONDERFUL TO WATCH
BUT TONIGHT, YOU DID ME PROUD
It was unsigned. Of course.
John Daniel called after me as I ran out to the parking lot but I got there a second too late -- just catching the red glow of tail lights. A blue sedan? A BMW? A Pathfinder? It could have been anything, but it must have been his, the way it tore out of there...
Rudy Marinaro?
I didn't know. In my heart, I had hoped the letters had stopped, it'd been over a week...
But they hadn't.
Suddenly, my evening -- my whole night-- was ruined.
