Champagne Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

shoulders. His pungent cologne stung the inside of DeShaun’s nostrils. “It’s Jenn,” Mr. Herjavec corrected. “You’ve known us for several months now. It’s okay to refer to the both of us by our first names.”
    DeShaun, eager to get away from Mr. Herjavec’s grasp, nodded. “Jenn and Berti, it is then.”
    Berti Herjavec was a decent guy, but a little too touchy feely for DeShaun’s taste. Berti was that guy who gave you a hearty welcoming hug and kissed you on both cheeks every time he saw you. He frequented the restaurant on several occasions, picking up thesometimes over a thousand-dollar tab to enjoy one evening with family and friends. He loved to tell the story, especially when drunk, of his parents’ trek over to the U.S. from Croatia with only thirty dollars in their pockets. At the age of forty-seven, Berti’s father, Dmitar Herjavec, set up shop in New York with a distant relative of the family who had moved there years before.
    Mr. Herjavec gave a quick nod and took his arm from around DeShaun. He reached inside the pocket of his crisp, white shirt and produced an expensive-looking timepiece. The platinum-colored watch was attached to a tiny silver chain and contained a huge diamond stuck smack dab in the center of one of the links.
    Berti lifted the watch toward the sun, squinted and checked out the time. “It’s getting late. I’m meeting the head of the Department of Defense this afternoon to hopefully garner another governmental contract. I hate working with those old boys, but I do love that money, you know what I mean?” He ran his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, smoothing down the spiked pieces.
    Berti may have been older, but in no way did he look it. One evening when he wrote out a check for a $700 dinner with friends, DeShaun saw his license. According to the date on the license, Berti was sixty-three years old.
    â€œWhat are you doing over there?” His wife, Jenn, sauntered across the room from the other side of the restaurant. “We need to go now. Have you forgotten we are meeting Leonard and Tina for drinks in an hour? I need to go home and change.”
    Jenn Herjavec clunked across the room, her heels clicking the marble floor with each step. For such a short woman, her limbs were long. Her pinned-up, raven-colored hair accentuated her long, slim delicate neck.
    Her neck was the only thing that was slender about her. She preferred to show off her curvaceous body in maxi, spaghetti-strapped dresses that clung to every curve. Her dangling gold earrings weighed down her lobes like tiny anchors, but matched her shimmering-tanned skin tone perfectly. The only time a wrinkle became visible on her face was when she frowned while waiting on her husband.
    Overhearing a few of Berti’s conversations, DeShaun realized Mrs. Herjavec’s teeth were as fake as her breasts. Her face was round and her cheeks, constantly flushed. Even though Mr. Herjavec was trim, and looked good, DeShaun pegged the misses at least fifteen years younger than her husband.
    â€œI’m coming,” Berti said. “Just thanking our waiter for his impeccable service.” Berti leaned over and whispered, “Impatient, but I guess that comes with the territory of Armenian women, huh?”
    Jenn sighed. “I’ve already thanked him.”
    Thank him, she did. After DeShaun had brought over the $250 lunch check, Jenn had graciously handed him a crisp one hundred-dollar bill as a tip. When she handed it to him, her fingertips lingered in the palm of his hand. Mr. Herjavec was standing not fifteen feet from them when she whispered, “You’re such a delicious waiter.” She was a little tipsy when she said it. In fact, Mrs. Herjavec was always drinking—during brunch, lunch, whatever. During late night suppers, Mrs. Herjavec always had a glass in her hand, usually filled with a red port wine. Every once in