49
Today, September 21, is his birthday. Eric is thirty-two, and inexplicably, I’m happy for him. That’s how much of an idiot I am.
He hasn’t been by the office again. After his tour of the branch offices, he flew directly to Germany and has yet to step on Spanish soil again.
I’m in my own little bubble when the office line rings. My dear supervisor asks me to come to her office. Then she piles on the work.
“Also, make a reservation for nine thirty tonight at Moroccio, for ten, in Mr. Zimmerman’s name. It has to be in his name, or they won’t take the reservation, all right?” she says. “Then get me a hair appointment in an hour.”
I nod and try not to react.
Eric’s in Spain? In Madrid?
As I step out of her office, my heart is pounding.
I look up Moroccio’s number on the Internet. Finding it, I let out a long breath and make the call.
“Moroccio, good morning.”
“Hello, good morning. I’m calling to make a reservation for tonight.”
“In whose name, please?”
“It would be for nine thirty, for ten people, for Mr. Eric Zimmerman.”
“Oh yes, for Mr. Zimmerman,” the waiter echoes. “Is there anything else?”
My heart feels like it could launch right out of my chest. But suddenly, a light bulb goes off. It’s a crazy idea, but I don’t pause to consider the consequences.
“I’d also like a second reservation, for two, at eight o’clock, for Mrs. Zimmerman.”
“Mr. Zimmerman’s wife?” asks the waiter.
“Precisely. His wife. But please, don’t mention it. It’s a surprise for his birthday.”
“Of course.”
I hang up and cover my mouth. Without a second thought, I pick up the phone again and call Nacho. Tonight I’m the one who’ll take him to dinner.
Dressed in a beautiful strapless black dress I borrowed from my sister and with my hair in an Audrey Hepburn bun, I pick up Nacho at his studio.
“Wow, you look fabulous!”
“Thank you. You do too.”
Nacho grins and opens his arms to show me what he’s got on.
“I just want to be clear that this is my brother’s wedding suit, and I’m only wearing it because you asked, because, as you well know, this is not my thing.”
“I know. But you have to dress for this place, or they won’t let you in.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Judith?”
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know if it works. This is the last trick I have up my sleeve.”
At eight on the nose, we arrive at Moroccio.
After confirming our reservation, the surprised waiter looks me over with approval. He needs to believe I’m the very dignified Mrs. Zimmerman. In an artful aside, I tell him to keep my presence a secret. I want to surprise my husband because it’s his birthday, and I ask him to have a strawberry-and-chocolate cake ready for later. He agrees, pleased with my charms, and tells me not to worry. The cake will be ready. As I assumed, he leads us to one of the specially reserved spaces, and I watch an impressed Nacho as he looks around.
“A helluva place!”
“Yes, glamour personified.” I smile, hoping there won’t be any blinking colored lights for me to explain.
“But wait, what’s up with the waiter calling you Mrs. Zimmerman?”
I laugh.
“Mrs. Zimmerman is the wife of the man who’s going to pay for our meal.”
His face betrays his amusement. The waiter brings us an excellent wine we both enjoy, although I later give myself the pleasure of ordering a Coke. I see on Nacho’s face that he is really worried about the menu prices.
“Judith, I think we’re going to get in big trouble.”
“Relax. Order whatever you want. Mr. Zimmerman will pay for it.”
“Is that Eric’s last name?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The dude is rich?”
“Let’s say, he can afford a lot of things.”
“Is he married?”
“No, but the restaurant people don’t know that.”
Nacho grins and shakes his head.
I take a swallow of my Coke. “You don’t know the half of it,” I whisper.
The waiter comes back and takes our order. For a first course, we’re having lobster-and-ox carpaccio with fines herbes, and for our second, sirloin in bourbon sauce. As expected, everything is exquisite. At nine thirty, I look at my watch and imagine that Eric, my supervisor, and their guests have finally arrived. Eric is very punctual, and that makes me nervous. Knowing he’s just a few yards from me throws me a little off balance, but I still manage to enjoy my dinner with Nacho. For dessert, we order a strawberry-and-chocolate fondue. We laugh and eat, and at ten o’clock, we conclude our meal.
“Has Mr. Zimmerman arrived yet?” I ask the waiter when he comes around next.
The waiter says yes and my stomach jumps; however, sure about what I’m doing, I ask for a pen and paper.
When the waiter goes to get them, Nacho leans over. “What are you doing now?” he asks.
“Thanking him for dinner.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Probably, but I’m sure he’ll be interested.”
When the waiter comes back, I take the paper and write:
Dear Mr. Zimmerman,
Thank you for introducing me to such a fantastic place and for the dinner for two we’ve just had in your honor. It was delicious, and the dessert, as always, superb. Of course, happy birthday—dickhead!
The girl who writes the unanswered emails
As soon as I finish writing, I stick the note in the envelope, seal it, and hand it back to the waiter.
“Could you please give this to my husband, along with the chocolate-and-strawberry cake, whenever they’re ready to order dessert?”
And with that, Nacho gets up, takes my arm, and we disappear like souls possessed. I smile, but I wish I could see Eric’s face—I’d really love that!