Fragile Read Online Free PDF Page B

nods and puts another handful on the scale, slides them in the bag, then the oldest girl takes the melon, not too big to carry his portfolio down to the lobby and look for the restaurant on the other side of the trickling slate-backed fountain, the Atrium Lounge or some name such as that, they did a nice job with the porterhouse the last time he was here.
    Even though it’s a hotel restaurant, the plump blond waitress gives him a squinty look when he tells her he wants a table for one, as if what he has asked for is an impossibility. She swivels her head around, scanning the half-empty room with its cherry paneling and wall sconces that each generate a surprisingly dim cone of light, then brings her eyes back to him, still trying to decide whether to show him to a seat.
    â€œDo you have a reservation?”
    â€œDo I need one?”
    â€œWe generally recommend it,” she says, as if reading from a cue card, “especially after six.”
    A familiar and unwelcome sensation crowds its way into his head, coalescing into a lingering thought:
I don’t belong here.
Even though he has inhabited this earth for sixty-five years and for most of the past forty has earned a salary that places him in the top ninety-five percent of wage-earners on the planet, the feeling that he doesn’t really deserve to be here still haunts him. Ever since he can remember, a persistent sense of displacement has trailed him wherever he goes, as if he is mistakenly living someone else’s life. As if he should be somewhere else, doing something else.
    â€œThere are open tables,” he points out, his voice rising, defensively stating the obvious.
    â€œI know, sir,” the waitress says, “but we have a party of thirteen coming at seven, as well as several four-tops.” She gives the word
sir
a special emphasis that manages to convey her annoyance with him.
    â€œWell, okay then. I suppose there are other restaurants nearby.” Defeated, he turns to take his leave, though he typically tries to stay inside the hotel as much as possible on these business trips, rarely venturing outside into the nameless cities he visits. He plans his next move, the elevator ride back to the room to get a sports coat and an umbrella, walking in the rain in search of a decent place to eat. The waitress consults a laminated map of the restaurant’s tables, then reaches a decision.With a deft slight twitch of her hand, she marks an X through one of the tables with a black magic marker.
    â€œHere,” she says, jerking her head towards the back of the room. “I can give you number three.” She bolts in the direction of a large aquarium that’s embedded into one of the woodpaneled walls. He thinks of the rain again and the prospect of the porterhouse he remembers from last time and follows her. The table she leads him to is off by itself, wedged into a space between the aquarium and the swinging double doors to the kitchen. She tosses one of the thick leather-bound menus onto the table in front of the chair that faces the kitchen doors, but he sits in the other chair instead, the one with a view of the murky aquarium.
    â€œSoup of the day is seafood gumbo. My name is Maggie,” she says, back on track with her pre-rehearsed script. “Leo will be your server tonight.”
    He settles into his chair and watches Maggie waddle away, anticipating the sharp bitterness of a cold beer. A waiter swoops around the corner and bangs his forearm into the metal door with such force that the door whipsaws three times on its hinges after he’s disappeared into the kitchen. Soon, another waiter zips by, holding aloft a circular tray loaded with steaks and the humped, steaming back of a bright red lobster.
    The jaunty classical tune starts chiming on Tris’s cell phone. He quickly flips it open to stop the noise. The blinking message on the screen reveals the name and number of the caller who launched the snippet of