I waste no time and order straight away: “Yes, we’ve been sitting for a while, actually. But anyway, I’ll have a Chateaubriand, grilled asparagus and truffle mashed potato.”
She looks at me and raises an eyebrow, perplexedly.
“What is unclear?” I ask.
Derek coughs on the other side of the table.
“Everything is!” she answers sharply.
I observe her in disbelief: she’s wearing glittery tennis shoes, faux leather leggings, a leopard print jumper and her make-up is quite flashy. Her look is totally inappropriate for this place, but, who knows, perhaps it’s her first day.
“It’s not that hard, Miss. A Chateaubriand beef steak. The asparagus shouldn’t be a problem. And truffle mashed potato is just mashed potato with truffle oil.”
Her reaction shocks me. She closes an eye, extends an arm with her hand just a couple of centimetres from my face, then she bends all of her fingers but the middle one.
“Stay still, I’m adjusting my focus…”
Derek stands up and places his hands on the waitress’s shoulders. “Jemma, calm down. Why don’t you take a seat? Restrain yourself, we’re not at the stadium.”
“Derek, what are you doing?” I ask, dismayed.
“Jemma’s not the waitress. There was a misunderstanding.”
I’m quite bewildered. “I’m sorry, why is she here if she’s not the waitress?”
She cuts in, arrogantly: “I’m here because he invited me! I could ask the same to you.”
“It’s true, Ashford. Jemma is a client of mine. Or rather, her grandmother was, but now she is.”
“Is she having dinner with us?” I ask.
“Yes, she is. By the way, if we want to order, therealwaiter is on his way.”
“He’d better be,” I say abruptly. “I’ll have—”
Jemma cuts me off: “He’ll have a Chateaubriand, grilled asparagus and truffle mashed potato. A Chateaubriand is a beef steak. The asparagus is just asparagus. And truffle mashed potato is mashed potato with truffle oil,” she mocks me.
“You have a future,” I hiss, offended.
“Grilled bass for me,” Derek whispers, embarrassed.
“Do you have fried chicken wings?” She asks, scanning the menu.
“If Madam would like some chicken, we have a deliciouscoq au vin.”
She furrows her brows and I can hardly keep from laughing. I’m certain that she has never even set foot in a place like this.
“Would you be so kind to tell me what is so amusing?” she asks, blinking.
I shrug.
She decides to ignore me and resumes speaking to the waiter. “That coco thing you said, that will do. With chips, please.”
After the waiter leaves, we remain silent for a while until Derek decides to break the ice.
“Jemma is a theatrical make-up artist. She works in a musical.”
“Fascinating,” I comment, monotonously.
