“That one.” Valentine pointed at a young, broad-shouldered blond busboy who I could just tell was totally conceited. So then I pointed to an older gentleman behind the bar and said, “No, that one.”
I wasn’t kidding. There was something about him that had caught my eye. For one thing, he was remarkably tall, well over six feet. Something about his height, as well as the important way he carried himself, made him appear theatrical, as though he were a bartender in a play, just waiting for his cue. He was going salt-and-pepper now, but I knew that in the past he’d been just as tall, dark, and handsome as could be. His hazel eyes had laughter in them. I thought: I bet he could tell you stories.
Valentine said, “Oh no, Franny. He’s old. My waiter is much cuter.”
But Clover said, “Well done, Franny. That’s Warren.”
She waved to him, and he did the most exciting thing—he bowed.
Valentine and I giggled. We were hardly used to men bowing, these days.
Clover said, “Warren’s an actor.”
Aha! So I had been onto something. Valentine would never have guessed that.
Our waiter came over to the table, and Clover ordered something called a Lillet Blonde.
“It matches your hair?” asked Valentine, dazzled.
“Well, sort of,” said Clover. “It’s pale.”
Then she ordered food for us to share: some Bemelmans mini burgers, smoked salmon on toast points, shrimp cocktail, and Caesar salad with lobster.
“The thing is, we’ve had all of that stuff before,” Valentine complained. “Like, shrimp cocktail and Caesar salad are on restaurant menus everywhere.”
“No, no,” said Clover. “You’re missing the point. These dishes are classics and also very chic. You might as well say, oh, I don’t want another little black dress, I already have a black dress. But you can never have too many little black dresses. Also! Don’t worry, girls. We can order really fancy desserts!”
That cheered Val up, as she always thought that dessert was the most important part of any meal.
So then Clover got her Lillet Blonde, which was pale and served in a tiny glass, and we got Shirley Temples. Valentine wasn’t going to get one at first because she didn’t want to look childish, and I could tell she was jealous that Clover got to look at the cocktail list. But I said, “Come on, Val, you know you like them,” and you know what? I was right. She slurped hers up as soon as she got it.
“I remember how at your age,” said Clover, “I used to be so big on sugar. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for a chocolate bar. Those were the days.”
“You don’t eat sugar anymore?” I asked her.
“Not like that,” she said sadly, “not like that.”
“What, do you have to watch your weight?” asked Valentine. I thought that was unkind of her, and she must have only asked it because she was mad that Clover had made her feel like a child by saying, “I remember how at your age…”
“No,” said Clover. “It’s just that after a certain point, one finds one’s cravings change. There start to be—other things…”
“What things?” Valentine demanded, determined for Clover not to have any secrets, but then before Clover could answer, our food arrived.
And then later on, before we even had a chance to look at the dessert menu, the most magical thing happened. They sent us dessert. Without us even asking! The desserts just appeared, delivered by, of all people, the young blond busboy Val had admired at the beginning of the evening.
And then, he bowed! Just as Warren had bowed behind the bar.
And then, he actually said: “Ladies, with our compliments.”
The desserts were bittersweet chocolate cake and crème br?lée, and they were everything we ever dreamed of.
“A palate cleanser, I think, Warren,” said Clover after we had finished the desserts and were thoroughly stuffed and Warren finally had come away from the bar to sit down with us and visit. “Do you still have that delicious strawberry ice? That used to be my favorite.”
“Of course.” He looked around the dining room and caught the eye of the blond busboy. “Alex,” he said. “For the young ladies, how about some strawberry ice?”
Now, I liked Warren, and up close I still did think he was very handsome even though he was old. But here’s the thing: he kept on paying attention to Valentine. I know she looked so grownup what with Clover’s green backless dress and Aunt Theo’s pumps, but still. She’s only seventeen and not very mature, not really, if you want to ask me, and I would be the one to know.
“I am an actor,” Warren announced. “And you,” he said to Valentine, “are an actress.”
Valentine said, “A singer actually.”
“Torch songs,” he said. “Am I right? You must sing torch songs. Broken hearts, lost loves, all that…”
“They sing in the Girls Chorus of San Francisco,” said Clover, looking very amused. “And they go to French school.”