restaurant, but she was in no hurry. She wanted to enjoy the city from inside a nice smelling car with a courteous driver.
Clair de Lune was a pan-European restaurant with a modern infusion. It was, currently, one of the hottest restaurants in town. There was a long bar with a piano player, gilded tables, ornate sconces and an expensive menu. Stella entered the crowded restaurant.
"How can I help you?" the Maître D asked.
"I'm meeting someone."
"Of course, who are meeting?"
"Um," Stella momentarily blanked. "Campbell. Campbell Royce."
"Ah, yes. He has arrived. I will escort you."
Stella followed the Maître D through a maze of stylishly dressed patrons. Campbell was standing. He was wearing a gray suit and a Klimt inspired tie. He looked clean shaven, very serious and attractive. Campbell looked at Stella openly and carefully. He was not even sure the woman in front of him was the same woman he met on that horrible night. The woman in front of him was gorgeous. Her figure, though full, seemed lush and her face was soft. Her eyes also looked like cat's eyes – the marble kind. Campbell remembered playing marbles as a child and his most prized marble was a large black one with a silvery center.
Stella looked hesitant. "Hello."
Campbell did not say anything. He was still gazing at her. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. Please have a seat. Please. Thank you. You look lovely."
Stella sat down and accepted the menu from the Maître D. "Thank you."
"You are very welcome," he said. "Your server will be with you shortly."
Stella stared at the menu. She was afraid to look at Campbell. He seemed intimidating. Distant. Completely unattainable. Stella thought of Ben. Sweet, wonderful Ben.
"Thank you for meeting me. I…I wanted to apologize. I acted horribly."
"Apology accepted. You had a bad night. Your girlfriend broke up with you."
"That was no excuse."
"You should really apologize to Carlos. The bartender. You shorted him on the tip."
"You're right. I will have to rectify that."
Campbell looked away and sighed. He felt nervous, but did not understand why. "Do you like French food?"
Stella set the menu down. "Honestly, I don't think I have ever had it. I grew up in a small Massachusetts town and, well, French food seems so expensive that I didn't have it when I moved to Boston or here."
"You're in for a treat. Do you mind if I order for us?"
"No. Please do." Stella was relieved. The menu had no prices on it and she was worried she would order food that was too expensive. Stella considered that bad taste. When someone bought you a meal you didn’t order the most expensive thing on the menu.
Campbell signaled for the waiter. A stout man in a crisp shirt approached. "How may I help you?" The waiter had a thick French accent.
"We will start with the Betteraves au Chévre rôti et Pistaches, Salade d’Auvergne and the Tartare de Thon au Gingembre et Avocat. Then we will have the Filet de Boeuf, Béarnaise and Noix de St. Jacques Poêlées au Champagne. Also, add a side of warm asparagus with a poached egg and wild mushrooms."
"Very good, Sir. Will you be having wine?"
"Two Greyhounds, Belvedere vodka. And a Bourdeux, I think. Château Lécuyer, Pomerol, 2007."
"Excellent choice." The waiter took the menus and walked away.
"What did you just order?"
"French food. An assortment."
"Your French is quite good."
"You studied French?"
"No. German and Russian."
"Fluent?"
"I can read both. Not good with speaking either."
"Well, that's impressive. Where did you learn?"
"Wellesley."
Campbell was intrigued. "Why is a Wellesley girl a restaurant hostess?"
"Oh, there aren’t many jobs in this economy for literature majors. I've applied to every publishing house in town as well as newspapers and magazines. No bites. I'm still trying. Fingers crossed."
"So what's your dream job?"
"Writer of literary fiction. But the market is bigger for romance so I am currently writing a romance novel. I'm about at the halfway
Clair de Lune was a pan-European restaurant with a modern infusion. It was, currently, one of the hottest restaurants in town. There was a long bar with a piano player, gilded tables, ornate sconces and an expensive menu. Stella entered the crowded restaurant.
"How can I help you?" the Maître D asked.
"I'm meeting someone."
"Of course, who are meeting?"
"Um," Stella momentarily blanked. "Campbell. Campbell Royce."
"Ah, yes. He has arrived. I will escort you."
Stella followed the Maître D through a maze of stylishly dressed patrons. Campbell was standing. He was wearing a gray suit and a Klimt inspired tie. He looked clean shaven, very serious and attractive. Campbell looked at Stella openly and carefully. He was not even sure the woman in front of him was the same woman he met on that horrible night. The woman in front of him was gorgeous. Her figure, though full, seemed lush and her face was soft. Her eyes also looked like cat's eyes – the marble kind. Campbell remembered playing marbles as a child and his most prized marble was a large black one with a silvery center.
Stella looked hesitant. "Hello."
Campbell did not say anything. He was still gazing at her. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. Please have a seat. Please. Thank you. You look lovely."
Stella sat down and accepted the menu from the Maître D. "Thank you."
"You are very welcome," he said. "Your server will be with you shortly."
Stella stared at the menu. She was afraid to look at Campbell. He seemed intimidating. Distant. Completely unattainable. Stella thought of Ben. Sweet, wonderful Ben.
"Thank you for meeting me. I…I wanted to apologize. I acted horribly."
"Apology accepted. You had a bad night. Your girlfriend broke up with you."
"That was no excuse."
"You should really apologize to Carlos. The bartender. You shorted him on the tip."
"You're right. I will have to rectify that."
Campbell looked away and sighed. He felt nervous, but did not understand why. "Do you like French food?"
Stella set the menu down. "Honestly, I don't think I have ever had it. I grew up in a small Massachusetts town and, well, French food seems so expensive that I didn't have it when I moved to Boston or here."
"You're in for a treat. Do you mind if I order for us?"
"No. Please do." Stella was relieved. The menu had no prices on it and she was worried she would order food that was too expensive. Stella considered that bad taste. When someone bought you a meal you didn’t order the most expensive thing on the menu.
Campbell signaled for the waiter. A stout man in a crisp shirt approached. "How may I help you?" The waiter had a thick French accent.
"We will start with the Betteraves au Chévre rôti et Pistaches, Salade d’Auvergne and the Tartare de Thon au Gingembre et Avocat. Then we will have the Filet de Boeuf, Béarnaise and Noix de St. Jacques Poêlées au Champagne. Also, add a side of warm asparagus with a poached egg and wild mushrooms."
"Very good, Sir. Will you be having wine?"
"Two Greyhounds, Belvedere vodka. And a Bourdeux, I think. Château Lécuyer, Pomerol, 2007."
"Excellent choice." The waiter took the menus and walked away.
"What did you just order?"
"French food. An assortment."
"Your French is quite good."
"You studied French?"
"No. German and Russian."
"Fluent?"
"I can read both. Not good with speaking either."
"Well, that's impressive. Where did you learn?"
"Wellesley."
Campbell was intrigued. "Why is a Wellesley girl a restaurant hostess?"
"Oh, there aren’t many jobs in this economy for literature majors. I've applied to every publishing house in town as well as newspapers and magazines. No bites. I'm still trying. Fingers crossed."
"So what's your dream job?"
"Writer of literary fiction. But the market is bigger for romance so I am currently writing a romance novel. I'm about at the halfway
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