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Why was the table booked so late? Perhaps whoever it was had to travel some distance to make the rendezvous. But any fears Beth had about the time being arranged to ensure the restaurant had emptied out for their meeting were allayed as soon as she arrived. The place was packed and the air heavy with aroma of hot seashells and garlic. Waitresses weaved between the raucous tables with trays of drinks, and a band was just finishing setting up in the corner to the right of the bar.
“I hope you have a reservation,” the waitress with grey pinned up hair said over Steve Miller singing “Going To The Country”.
Beth immediately recognised her voice from her earlier phone call. “Yes – table for two – Jordan.”
The waitress gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m Lauren, your waitress for the evening. This way, hon.”
Beth followed her weaving path through the diners and was shown to a small table only a few feet from the band. She hung her suede jacket and shoulder bag on the back of her chair.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“Just a soda water and lime, thanks.”
“All righty, I’ll be right back with that and some menus. Hope he’s worth it.”
The waitress shimmied past and Beth looked around. She hadn’t expected to find anyone waiting for her. Was the person she was meeting hidden in the drinkers seated at the bar or maybe watching her from a corner of the restaurant?
As she scanned the room, she anticipated a pair of eyes locking with hers. Rae Salomon’s? But big parties filled the rest of the tables, and they were too engrossed in their seafood, precipitous stacks of onion rings and conversations to notice her.
Her drink arrived with some menus, so Beth pretended to be engrossed in the entrees. The lights dimmed so it was impossible to discern anyone’s face amongst the cheering and whooping diners behind her. The band introduced themselves as Gatorbait and launched into a non-stop barrage of zydeco. A drunken couple got up and started dancing, and Beth had to lean away to avoid being whipped by the black leather tassels of the girl’s jacket.
After twenty minutes had elapsed, she knew nobody was going to show. But she remained where she was until the band’s first break another twenty minutes later. The lights went up and she looked at her watch for the hundredth time. Just gone twenty past eleven. She waited until half past and left just before the band kicked off again.
“Son of a bitch.” The waitress said as she handed the menus back to her at the station.
“Can I just settle up for the drink?”
“On the house, hon. If he calls, give him hell from me.”
She smiled, thanked Lauren and walked out of the Oyster Shack into the cool night air. The door closed behind her and, as Beth passed the dimly lit alleyway beside the restaurant, somebody ran at her out of the darkness.
