Icarus. (10 page)

5 p.m.

They had their first staff meeting.

"I just want to run over a few things," Jack began, "before Chef Dave serves the staff dinner, which I happened to take a taste of and I can assure you that it's not too shabby." That drew a few nods of approval. "We've got a few VIPs coming tonight. They will need some special service and attention but what I want to stress is that Jack's reputation is not based on the way we treat our VIPs. It's based on the way we treat our regular customers. Tonight, for instance, the tables outside will be for noninvited guests; we're nothing if not democratic. It's a gorgeous night and my guess is we'll have a huge crowd using the patio, not just for dinner but as a bar area. I want the same attention paid to those customers as you'll be paying to the mayor, the governor, and the other guys who, I promise, will be seriously under-tipping you." That got more than a few nods. It got knowing murmurs and chuckles. Jack thanked everyone for all their hard work, then Caroline said a few words. She told them that she'd just made a deal with the best local cleaner, so they shouldn't be overly concerned with stains on their uniform jackets. She discussed a minor problem they were having with space for the dry storage and one of the three cold rooms. And announced that they would all have to be trained in CPR over the next few months. They were shown how best to utilize the mirrors that were strategically placed around the room – under-the-table sex was always the most common distraction that had to be monitored – and they all knew to look for the criers, the drunks, and the yellers. They were also shown the high-profile tables, the visible ones for the VIPs who wanted to flaunt their success, and the two tables in the back for any VIPs who didn't want to be noticed.

When it was over, Chef Dave and the servers brought out the food. Staff dinner was that night's special. Jack took a bite and it was delicious, but even after all the times he'd been through this, he was too nervous to eat. He did notice, with a smile, that Caroline helped herself to seconds.

5:30 p.m.

Caroline sat down with the two anchors to go over the seating for the night. There would be different pressures and problems tonight. There were no dinner walk-ins or late reservations since everyone inside was an invited guest. Still, seating was tricky. The governor and the mayor obviously had to have key tables. As did several of the local businessmen. A few politicians were coming up from Washington and Jack knew that the Washington Post restaurant critic had wangled an invitation and was going to be attending, using one of the five pseudonyms she'd been known to use and that had been circulated on the Internet to local restaurant personnel. The chef came out of the kitchen to discuss with the anchors how best to handle the critic. He agreed to make two of everything that the critic ordered as well as two of everything that anyone at the critic's table ordered, just in case something went wrong in the preparation of one of the dishes. The anchor instructed the wait staff as to exactly where the critic would be seated and the bussers were told to make sure there were no cracks or imperfections in any of the plates used for her meal. Then they went over the notation system for the lineup at the door. The lineup – the list of who was dining that night, along with the table arrangements – was used to determine who would sit where and what special attention had to be paid to whom. Caroline went over the system used at all the other Jack's around the country: when anyone called to make a reservation, his or her name was immediately placed into the computer. Any information that could be ascertained, either on the first visit or any future visits, would also be entered. Relevant data would then be put into the lineup, in the area known as the Guest Detail Sheet. Caroline ticked off the information she considered important to note for the GDS: the diner's job, if interesting or special; if the customer was a regular (here or at any of the other Jack's around the country – easy to find out because the database was cross-referenced for all the restaurants); regular dining companions; type of wine preferred; time restrictions; any personal relations with the staff. Tonight, in Charlottesville, the most interesting bit of personal service needed was that a congressman was coming down from D.C. His wife was short and she'd requested that a cushion be placed on her seat so she'd look taller. But it had to be discreet. No one was to know she was sitting on something that would add a couple of inches to her height.

The front-of-the-restaurant staff did not seem particularly rattled by Caroline's last-minute summary. When it was over, the mood was surprisingly calm and Jack felt that yet another piece of the puzzle had slipped perfectly into place.

6:20 p.m.

Jack and Caroline went to the private upstairs office, a small room with a computer and a leather couch, and a large window that overlooked the front of the brick-lined mall. While they were in town, it was theirs. When they were away, it was to be used by the two site managers. At the restaurant in New York, Jack had a closed-circuit camera installed downstairs in the dining room. The monitor was in the office. From there he could observe the entire scene, watch both customers and employees to make sure everything was going smoothly. Caroline had dissuaded him from doing that here. The place was too small, she'd said. They couldn't see anything from upstairs that they couldn't see downstairs. As he eased down onto the small love-seat-sized sofa, he missed having the monitor. He felt edgy, as if one small detail was missing. He tried to picture the downstairs in his mind, to visualize what was nagging at him…

"Shit," Jack said. "I forgot to talk to Emile about pouring the wine. Bella said that he seemed to be a little slow."

"Relax," Caroline said. "It can wait a few minutes. Talk to him when we go down. And it's not a tragedy if Emile's a little slow. People do pour their own wine."

"Not at Jack's," he told her.

"No," she said. "Not at Jack's." With an affectionate smile, she said, "Will you allow me to pour for you?"

"Yes," he said. "I think that's allowable."

She popped open a bottle of Dom Perignon that she'd put on ice several hours earlier. They clinked glasses, each took a sip.

"It's not fair, you know," Jack said.

"What?" she asked.

"There's something on your mind."

"What's unfair about that?"

"You always know what I'm thinking and I have no idea what's going on inside that head of yours."

That drew a real smile. "Finally, I'm a woman of mystery," she said. "That's always been my goal in life."

"So tell me, woman of mystery. What would be the first thing you'd buy if we were very, very, very rich?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Just curious. Let's say we sold the restaurants and made a killing. You could go anywhere, you could buy just about anything. Come on, you never thought about something like this?"

"Okay," she admitted. "I do know. I'd buy something incredibly beautiful."

"New house?"

"God forbid, I never want to leave our apartment. No, I'd buy something… permanent. Something that I could look at all the time and know it was home waiting for me. Something that I'd know would last forever and never change." He raised his eyebrows, waiting for the revelation. "I'd buy a Hopper," she said. "If I could. One of his early cityscapes. I'd put it right over the fireplace and I'd know how I was changing by how I reacted to it over time. I'd know I was happy if I only saw the beauty. Or I'd know something was wrong if what I felt most was the despair or the loneliness."

"Art as emotional compass?"

"You asked," she said. "You asked and that's what I'd buy. Now how about you?"

"That's easy," he told her.

"Minority share in the Knicks?"

He shook his head. "I'd buy something incredibly beautiful, too."

"Chateau in France?"

"This."

He reached into his pocket, brought out a thin, black box and pressed it into her hand.

"What is it?"

"Open it."

She did and he was pleased – he'd never heard her gasp before.

"Oh, my God, Jack, it's… it's…"

"Spectacular?"

"Yes. It is very spectacular. Are you nuts? It must have cost a fortune."

"It did," he agreed. "Happy opening."

She pulled a necklace out of the box, held it up, let it dangle from her fingers as she stared at it in awe. It was a choker, a perfect circle of diamonds that sparkled magnificently even in the dull overhead light of the office.

"Like it?" he asked.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful. I really can't believe it. Jack, you shouldn't have."

"Does it make up for forgetting the goddamn rifle?"

"I still can't believe you forgot it. I reminded you again right before you left…"

"Does this make up for it?"

"Yes. It makes up for it." She smiled a lustrous smile. "But just barely."

"Put it on."

She slipped the necklace around her throat, reached behind her to fasten the clasp. Then she turned to face him.

"It's a good match," he said.

They both leaned forward and their lips met. It was supposed to be a quick kiss, a seal on the upcoming evening, except Jack raised his eyes, saw something in hers, not sure quite what, but it made him lean in closer and the kiss lingered. Their lips parted, their tongues met, and suddenly one of her hands was behind his neck and both his arms were around her and they were clutching each other, merging their bodies as if trying to become one. When they finally broke apart, the kiss ended first, their mouths very gently separating; then they slowly released each other, their bodies gradually moving backward, first their heads, then their chests, and finally their hips and legs.

"When this night is over, I think we might have to make some serious love," Jack said.

"You just might be on to something," she agreed. "If the night's ever over."

And then it was time to get ready. The necklace stayed around her neck but her boots came off, then her jeans and work shirt. In only a few moments, it seemed, she was glorious in a simple, short black Krizia dress and he looked the perfect host in his Armani tux.

She tied his tie, something he had never managed to master, looping the black silk into a graceful bow. He stood back, admired himself briefly in the mirror, turned, and gave her one last kiss, this one light and quick.

"Let's go rock and roll," he said.

7:32 p.m.

"Governor, it's so nice to see you."

"Caroline, you look even more beautiful than usual. How is that possible?"

"Governor, I'd like to introduce you to the woman you really need to flatter. This is Wendy and she's the one who'll get you your table in the future."

"Ah. Then let me turn my attention to the real power."

The anchor laughed and blushed just slightly. "Here's my card, Governor. Please call me directly whenever you need anything."

A delighted smile in Caroline's direction. "I like her already, Caroline."

"We aim to please, Governor. We aim to please."

7:38 p.m.

It was time. No more Before. Now it was During.

The magic invitation had been used. It had worked. Of course it had worked. It was magic.

Everything was working.

Tonight, everything was magic.

The restaurant was already getting crowded and the sidewalk in front was jammed with people. Some of the key guests had arrived. Limos were parking at the east end of the mall. It was like a giant party. People were drinking, laughing, talking a mile a minute. It was happening. It was definitely time.

As long as they did what they were supposed to, as long as they stuck to the schedule. But they would. They had to. And now it was time to move. It was essential to move. Now.

It was not difficult to maneuver through the drinkers. There was no reason to think anyone would notice. There was absolutely no reason to notice a thing.

The guy at the front of the restaurant was so damn nice. The bathroom? Of course. Right through there, behind the bar and to the left. Right next to the stairway.

The stairway to the office.

Head down, don't make eye contact with anyone now. Don't bump into anyone. Don't knock over a drink. Don't draw attention. There she is. Right there, over by the bar. Just as she's supposed to be. I can practically touch her. No, don't raise your head. Don't do it. No attention now. None. Leave her be. Leave her be for now.

Go through the right door. No one inside. Perfect. Nice bathroom. Very nice. So clean. What was this stone? Marble? Yeah, maybe. Must have been expensive. Everything must have been expensive in this place.

Oh, it's just the way you planned it, isn't it? Exactly the way you imagined it in your head.

You are very, very smart. You are very, very, very smart.

Go into the stall now. It's part of the Plan. Close the door. Now just wait.

It's going to happen soon. Very soon. They wouldn't dare let you down. So just wait. All you have to do is wait.

No, no, what are you thinking? That's not all you have to do.

You have to check the gun.

Good. Fully loaded. Same as it was the other ten times you checked it. All ready.

Now all you have to do is wait. Wait.

Wait…

8:14 p.m.

"Let's go, people, stop the gabbing. We're falling behind schedule."

"Sorry, Chef."

"Don't be sorry. Just hold the talk till after dinner. We're way behind on the side dishes for the meat station."

A waiter careened through the swinging door to the kitchen. "I can't believe it. Everyone's ordering at exactly the same goddamn time."