Gary Knows Best

Kayla had barely tied on her apron when Pierre, the maître’ d, hurriedly pulled her aside.

“Table number four,” he whispered.

He pointed to the corner booth. A balding man in a pinstripe suit sat across from a woman in a burgundy dress.

Kayla cringed. “Oh God, Gary’s back. Who’s he wining and dining this time?”

Pierre shrugged. “All I know is that it’s his third date in two weeks, each with a different person.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry to do this, but they’re your table tonight.”

“You can’t be serious. He always requests Helen.”

Pierre shoved two menus into her hands. “Helen’s out with the flu. Just appease him. Besides,” he said with a wink. “Gary knows best.”

Kayla let out an uneasy laugh. Appease him? Impossible. The last time she’d waited on him, the guy ranted about his asparagus being cold and left no tip, not to mention how he expressed his distaste for merlot every time he was offered the wine list.

Pierre nodded toward Gary’s date. “She kind of looks like Lauren Bacall.”

“Yeah, but he’s no Bogart,” Kayla replied.

Heaving a sigh, she straightened her uniform and approached table four.

“Good eve—”

“Where’s Helen?”

“I’m sorry. She’s sick today.”

Gary grumbled and turned away. Kayla directed her attention to the woman across the table. “My name is Kayla, and I’ll be your server tonight.” She passed out the menus and wine list.

“Our specials this evening are—”

“No specials,” the man said curtly. “I’ll take the ribeye, rare. She’ll have the shrimp scampi.”

“But I’m allergic to shellfish,” the woman said.

Gary dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Sybil. It’s the best in the city.”

She sucked in her breath. “It’s Sheryl.”

Gary turned to Kayla. “The scampi.” His raised eyebrows seemed to ask are you going to give me a hard time?

Kayla forced a smile. “Excellent choices. May I suggest a few wines to pair with those, perhaps a nice merlot?”

“No merlot. Give me a cab and her a grigio.” Sheryl opened her mouth in protest, but Gary continued. “Got that, honey?”

Kayla nodded. She didn’t need to take down the order. It was the same every time. Practically every server at España’s Seafood Grill knew it by heart.

“I’ll return shortly with some waters, followed by the wine.”

Entering the kitchen, Kayla called out to the sous-chef Jose. “Table four, ‘Gary knows best!’ Have an EpiPen ready.”

Jose rolled his eyes and crossed himself. “Not again!”

Kayla filled two goblets with sparkling water from the fridge. As she re-entered the dining room, Gary wobbly stood up from the table and beelined for the restroom. Right on schedule.

As she dropped off the waters, something soft brushed her shoe.

“Oh, how clumsy of me,” Sheryl said.

Kayla looked down. Sheryl’s napkin lay on the carpet.

“That’s okay,” she said, picking it up. “I’ll get you a new one.”

Back at the maître d’ station, Kayla noticed a black smudge on her thumb. She opened the napkin to discover a hastily scribbled message in black ink:

Get me out of here.

“What you got there?” Pierre asked, reading over her shoulder. “Oh my, that was quick. Any ideas?”

They glanced over at Sheryl. She was faking a smile as Gary sat back down at the table.

Kayla scanned the wine rack behind him. “I’ll grab the chilled grigio from the back. But first . . . pass me that bottle on the top left.”

Pierre’s eyes widened.

“Trust me.”

A few minutes later Kayla returned to their table, carrying two filled wine glasses. She passed Sheryl the white wine glass and placed the one with red wine in front of Gary.

“Enjoy. Your side salads will be here shortly.”

Gary grumbled his thanks before taking a sip. The moment the wine passed his lips, however, he immediately spat it out onto the white tablecloth. His fists rattled the table.

“What the hell is this?”

Without missing a beat, Sheryl grabbed Gary’s glass and threw the wine in his face. He sat there, dripping, in stunned silence. Sheryl drank what little wine remained at the bottom of the glass.

“Mmm,” she said, handing the glass back to Kayla. “Thank you. I like merlot.”