The Blue Bistro by Elin Hilderbrand Read Free Book Online Page B

if they’re trying to be tricky, they’ll use other initials, like ‘PPX.’ But too many people today are tuned into that kind of thing. It causes problems.”
    “What makes someone a VIP?” Adrienne asked. “Does it have to do with money?”
    “Money?” Thatcher said. “No. It has to do with how often someone dines with us. The Parrishes, for example. The ultimate VIPs.” Thatcher checked his watch. “You see, it’s the stroke of six.”
    At that second, a couple Adrienne took to be the Parrishes stepped in the door. They were an older couple who exuded an air of gracious retirement: golf, grandchildren, travel on European ships. Mr. Parrish wore kelly green pants and a green-and-white striped shirt, a navy blazer. He had silver hair, he was sunburned and he shook ever so slightly when he leaned over to kiss Adrienne. Another kiss—this time from a complete stranger. Adrienne stole a glance at Thatcher. Was kissing a part of the job description that she had missed? Mrs. Parrish gave Thatcher a hug. On her right hand, which rested on the front of Thatcher’s butter-yellow shirt, she wore one enormous emerald-cut diamond ring and a platinum band with sapphires and diamonds. She had dark hair styled like Jackie Onassis, and clear blue eyes that tookAdrienne in and immediately understood that she was motherless. Adrienne had met other women with this power—mothers of friends and boyfriends who wanted to adopt Adrienne, like a nine-year-old with a stray kitten, and Adrienne had never been able to resist their kind words or fluttering of attention (except in the case of Mavis—Mavis was not her mother!). Mrs. Parrish released her hold on Thatcher and reached out to Adrienne with both hands. Adrienne set her champagne down on the podium.
    “Thatcher,” Mrs. Parrish said. “Where did you find such a lovely girl?”
    “Darla, Grayson, may I introduce Adrienne Dealey,” Thatcher said. “She’s never worked in a restaurant before.”
    “Good for you,” Mrs. Parrish whispered. She leaned over and kissed Adrienne: Adrienne felt the lipstick, a cool spot of paint on her cheek. Was that
good for you
for never working in a restaurant? Or
good for you
for landing a job here, alongside the world’s most charismatic restaurateur? Since Adrienne didn’t know how to respond, she smiled. Her sunburn made her face feel funny, like her skin was too tight. She hoped there wasn’t anything stuck in her teeth.
    Thatcher led the Parrishes into the dining room and although he said Adrienne should shadow him, she felt foolish doing so. She popped into the ladies’ room, a mere four feet from the oak podium, to wipe the lipstick from her face and check her teeth. Regrettably, no time to brush. She could hear Thatcher’s voice asking about someone named Wolf; she could hear Mr. Parrish offer up a round of golf at Sankaty. And then she heard the phone.
    She rushed back to the hostess station. It was, of all things, the private line. Thatcher hadn’t said anything about how he wanted her to answer the phone and especially not the private line. But hey—six years of resorts, five front desks including one in which she had to answer in Thai. One thing she could do correctly in this restaurant was answer the phone.
    “Good evening,” she said. “The Blue Bistro.”
    “Yeah.” There was a telltale crackle. Cell phone, bad signal.“We’re running late. Ten minutes. Make that twenty to be safe.”
    “No problem, sir,” Adrienne said, though she had no idea if this were a problem or not. She tried to catch Thatcher’s eye. He was across the room, seating the Parrishes at table twenty, which Adrienne knew to be the best table. The dining room was shaped like a triangle, and table twenty was the top, the focus of everybody else in the restaurant. Thatcher was up to his neck in schmooze; he was unreachable. “We’ll see you when you get here,” Adrienne said into the phone. “Thank you for calling.” But the man had