At six o’clock, Thatcher still wasn’t back. Adrienne sat parties, Rex played “You Make Me Feel So Young,” and a very slight breeze from the water cooled the dining room down. At ten after six, the Yannicks arrived. They were a handsome, well-dressed couple and the two-year-old, William, was darling. He had strawberry blond hair and freckles that looked like they were painted on. He wore white overalls and little white sneakers. Adrienne congratulated herself for allowing such a cute little boy to come to the restaurant. When he saw her, he held out a plastic fire truck.
Adrienne smiled. “You must be the Yannicks.” She snapped up two menus and a wine list. “Follow me.” She led them to table four and stood aside as Mr. Yannick buckled William into the high chair. William was angelic. He chewed the top of his fire truck. “Caren will be your server tonight,” Adrienne said. “Enjoy your meal.”
Five minutes later, Caren stormed the podium. “I hate you.”
“I’m sorry. They’re sorry. They couldn’t find a sitter.”
“I don’t like babies,” Caren said. “Or toddlers. Or children in preschool.”
“But he’s cute,” Adrienne said.
“I don’t like anyone who isn’t old enough to drink,” Caren said.
“At least he’s well-behaved,” Adrienne said.
“They gave him a sugar packet to play with, which he spilled all over the tablecloth. And he got into the mother’s water. They asked for doughnuts ‘right away,’ but the kitchen isn’t making doughnuts tonight. Too hot. They asked for a plastic cup with a top. It seems they forgot his at home. Already it’s too much work. Why didn’t you refer them to the Sea Grille? It’s perfect for families.”
“I’m sorry,” Adrienne said. “I’ll take care of it.”
But because Thatcher was gone, Adrienne had to seat fifteen more tables, open wine, run chips and dip, and answer the phone. She went to the bar to pick up her champagne and Duncan was so in the weeds that he couldn’t pour it. “Get it yourself,” he said. “You know how.”
Adrienne didn’t have time. She raced over to check on table four. William was gnawing on a piece of pretzel bread and there were little bits of pretzel bread all over the floor. And the floor was wet. Adrienne nearly slipped.
“Whoa,” she said.
“Sorry,” Mrs. Yannick said. She was valiantly trying to keep William occupied by reading a small, sturdy book called Jamberry. Mr. Yannick studied the wine list. Adrienne bent down to pick up the pieces of bread. The floor underneath the high chair was soaked.
“Please don’t worry about the mess,” Mr. Yannick said. “We’ll get it before we go.”
“William spilled his water,” Mrs. Yannick said. “We’re very sorry. Our waitress couldn’t find a plastic cup with a top.”
“I’ll look in the back,” Adrienne said. “Have you placed your order?”
Mr. Yannick looked at his wife. “What are you getting, honey?”
Mrs. Yannick slapped Jamberry down on the table. “I haven’t exactly had a chance to read the menu.”
William threw his pretzel bread and it landed in Mr. Yannick’s water. Mr. Yannick laughed and fished it out.
“I’ll get you fresh water,” Adrienne said. She glanced about the dining room. Were people staring? William pushed himself up by the arms in an attempt to launch himself from his high chair.
“All done,” he said.
“You are not all done,” Mrs. Yannick said. “We haven’t even started.” She wiped the gummy bread from around William’s mouth with her napkin and this made him angrier. “Just order me the steak, Carl. Steak, rare, nothing to start. He won’t make it through two courses.”
“Honey…”
“Honey, what?”
“What was the point of coming if…”
“If you can’t order the foie gras? Fine, order the foie gras. I’ll take William out to the parking lot and you can eat it in peace.”
“Honey…”
“Let me get you the water,” Adrienne said.
“All done!” William said in a more insistent voice. He kicked his feet against the underside of the table and then swept Jamberry to the floor where it landed in the puddle.
Adrienne cast around for a busboy. Roy was at table twelve refilling water. Adrienne waved him down. “We need a new glass here.”
“The water is the least of our worries,” Mrs. Yannick said. “Can you get our waitress so we can place our order?”
“Certainly,” Adrienne said. She found Caren coming out of the kitchen with apps for table twenty-eight. Adrienne followed her. “Here, let me help you serve.”
Caren eyed her. “Why? What do you want?”
“Table four,” Adrienne said. “They’d like to place their order. William is restless.”
“They made their bed,” Caren said.
“So you won’t go over there?”
“When I’m good and ready.”
Adrienne heard a shriek. All the way across the dining room, she saw William, red in the face, kicking, trying to free himself from his chair. Adrienne hurried over. Mrs. Yannick was trying to read Jamberry over William’s screaming. Mr. Yannick raised his arm in a sign of distress; his ship was going down.
“Would you take our order, please?” he said.
“Certainly,” Adrienne said.
“Foie gras and the duck for me, and my wife will have the crab cake and the steak.”
“Rare,” Mrs. Yannick said.
“And a bottle of the Ponzi Pinot Noir,” Mr. Yannick said.
“Really, Carl, wine?” Mrs. Yannick said.
“You love the Ponzi.”
“You think we have time to drink a bottle of wine?”
“We’ll just drink what we can,” Mr. Yannick said. “The Ponzi.”
“Very good,” Adrienne said. William was temporarily mesmerized with a lipstick Mrs. Yannick had pulled from her purse. He took off the cap and put the lipstick in his mouth.
“For God’s sake,” Mr. Yannick said.
“At least he’s quiet,” Mrs. Yannick said.
William threw the lipstick to the ground and started to cry. Mrs. Yannick dug through her purse. “I thought I had a lollipop in here.” Adrienne headed for the kitchen. She didn’t have time for this, and yet she felt responsible. Is your restaurant child-friendly? No, it’s not. The next time, Adrienne would just come right out and say it. No children under six. Why wasn’t this a rule already? She tried to think about how to help the Yannicks. Maybe she should comp their dinner and insist they come back another night. What, she wondered, would Thatcher do? Where was he?
“Ordering table two: one bisque, one crab cake, SOS. Where’s the duck for fourteen? Louis? Get your head out of the oven, Louis! Ordering table six: one frites, medium-well, one pasta. That’s right, I said pasta, so Henry, you’re going to work tonight after all. Ordering table twenty-one…” Fiona noticed Adrienne at her elbow. The kitchen was brutally hot even with two standing fans going. “What do you want?”
“I came to put in an order for table four.”
“Who’s the server?”
“Caren, but she’s busy.”
“News flash: We’re all busy. What is it?”
“What?”
“The order!”
Adrienne thought for a second. If you gave Fiona the food in the wrong sequence, she got pissed. “Foie gras, crab cake, duck, frites rare.”
Fiona scribbled out a ticket. “Fine.”
“Can you rush it?” Adrienne said. “These people brought their two-year-old and he’s freaking out.”