Eric pulled up to the restaurant on the Upper East Side at approximately seven forty-five. Claire was very pleased with Tony’s plans for the evening. First, the quaint, casual seafood restaurant was away from the hustle and bustle of the busy streets and not as elegant as their normal dining establishments. Their reservation had been moved to eight, and although the Hyatt wasn’t far, Emily and John weren’t there yet. Second, she approved of Tony’s choice of attire, they both wore jeans. When they left the bedroom, Claire told Tony again how much she liked him in jeans. He reminded her how much he liked her out of them. Their eyes sparkled.
Since their table wasn’t ready, Tony and Claire went to the bar to wait. At the end of the bar stood one unoccupied stool, Tony directed Claire to it. She sat while he stood beside her. He ordered himself a designer beer and Claire a glass of Zinfandel. Sitting at the bar reminded Claire of the Red Wing. Compartmentalize. She felt much better than she had earlier. Perhaps it was the nap, the bath, the coffee, Tony’s understanding about her long day, or just some time to relax away from questions. Whatever the cause, her spirit felt revived and ready for the evening. They chatted about the different bottles of liquor lining the bar. Claire recalled some of her bartending knowledge. She talked about most of the liquors from a first-person point of view, ones she liked, ones she didn’t, and why. It amused Tony that she’d tried so many of them. After all, she’d only been legally drinking for six years. Claire smiled and repeated the word legally. They were chatting and laughing when John and Emily approached.
Proceeding with the customary round of hellos and handshakes, Emily and John ordered drinks, stood conversing about nothing in particular, and soon their table was ready. John, Emily, and Claire went to the table while Tony stayed back to pay the bar tab.
Once the hostess took them to their table, Claire excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. As she exited the bathroom, which was located down a narrow hall, she was surprised to find John waiting for her. “Well, hi. Did you think I was lost?” Claire started to pass him, thinking they were going back to the table, when John stopped her.
“Claire, I really need to talk to you without Anthony present.”
Claire suddenly felt uncomfortable. “No, John, you don’t.”
He spoke soft and fast. “Yes, I do. Tell me you haven’t signed a prenuptial agreement yet.”
“I haven’t.”
“Good, I want to review it first. Emily said you don’t think it is necessary, and I should drop it, but I’m your brother. I have known you since you were a little girl. Let someone who has your best interests at heart make sure you are represented.”
“Thank you, John, I believe Tony has my best interests at heart. I don’t care about his money, I trust him, and I . . .” Claire could see the change in John’s expression. Oh god! She knew by the tightness in her stomach that Tony was behind her. She turned and looked directly at his chest. He was right behind her.
Continuing Claire’s sentence, Tony said, “And I believe this conversation would be better held in a private setting.” Tony’s voice exuded displeasure. They, however, stood in the hallway of a public restaurant; therefore, it was not loud, rude, or aggressive. Claire looked up to see his face, wondering how much he had heard. She could see the brown disappearing behind expanding blackness.
“Tony . . .” Claire started to speak. His expression stopped her cold.
“Shall we all go to our table? I believe our waitress would like to introduce herself. John, you and Emily are welcome to join us in our car. We will be glad to drive you back to your hotel following dinner. At that time, if you choose, you may continue your legal counsel.” Claire prayed he would not choose to continue. She knew from experience there are some things not worth pursuing.
John looked from Tony to Claire and back to Tony. He sounded strong and defiant. “That would be fine, Anthony. I appreciate the offer. We would be glad to join you.” He then lightened his tone. “Emily tells me you have a very nice car.” They all began to walk toward the table.
“Thank you, it isn’t mine. I lease cars in the city. Too many accidents with all the traffic . . .” And the conversation continued benignly to the table and throughout dinner.
She knew Tony and knew he was angry. To the casual onlooker, he appeared fine. He excelled at the art of maintaining appearances. He chatted, listened, laughed, and watched. Every now and then, his and Claire’s eyes would connect. She wanted to tell him she was sorry. She hadn’t asked for the counsel, but of course, she maintained her mask and didn’t approach the subject. Emily didn’t know about the hallway conversation. She innocently conversed.