Chapter 16

Friday, September 14 evening {Bob}

I had a tux that I'd rented to go to a wedding a few years back, and then spilled wine on, so I had to buy it. It was powder blue at the time. Now it was wine red, thanks to a packet of Rit dye. I'd never worn it anywhere, but it was the only thing I had in my wardrobe that was even close to what people would be wearing at Le'Shey.

When I got there the Maitre D looked me up and down, but I must have passed muster because he asked what my business was at Le'Shey instead of just telling me to beat it. I graciously informed him I was waiting for someone who had reservations, and he told me to have a seat in a comfortable chair where, luckily I could see the people dining.

I saw them sitting in a nice, quiet corner. Luckily she was almost facing me, so I could what her face looked like. I say luckily because she wasn't glowing like I knew she could when she was excited or happy. She didn't look un-happy, but I didn't get that feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was toast, like I had before. They were chatting about something and weren't looking around, so I wasn't too worried that she'd notice me.

Lacey had said her mother-in-law was sure this date was a terrible idea. She had used the word "disaster" though I thought that might be a little hyperbole. I gathered the crazy hippie woman is also a psychic, which is the kind of thing I take pride in not believing in, except that in this case if Chris really did fall hard for this guy then I was toast after all, so I was giving ESP a chance just this once.

The problem was that I had no plan.

So I sat back and pretended to read The Wall Street Journal, which was lying on a side table nearby. People coming into the place kept staring at me. A few even pointed. I guess they never saw a really snazzy tux like mine before. I was waiting for something to happen that would constitute a reason for me to ride in on a non-existent white charger to save the day.

Unfortunately, it looked pretty normal to me. They were served wine while they perused the menus, and Pierre, or whoever he was came back with a towel over his arm to take their order. He didn't write it down. I suspect that would be considered gauche in a place like this. That's why they expect a fifty dollar tip -- if they go to all the effort to actually remember what you wanted, they should be rewarded, right?

Chris looked amazing. I'd seen her in usual clothes, like jeans and tee-shirts and whatnot, and she was gorgeous even dressed down. All fixed up like she was, with her hair piled high, and jewelry on, she made my heart ache. She was so beautiful that my unruly friend in my pants didn't even raise his head. I suspect one look at this woman and all he could think was, "She's way out of my league."

I reflected on that. Up until recently, I'd have agreed with him. Actually I did agree with him up to now. But as I looked at her, I realized that under all that astounding beauty was just Chris, whose laugh made me feel giddy, and whose touch sent me into trembling limpness. I knew I had it bad, but I didn't care. I was going to go for the gold. I might lose, but I'd know I'd given it everything I had in me.

Their food came. This was the kind of place where they serve you three bites of artfully arranged whatever. The vast majority of the fine china plate is bare. The wine they pour regularly. I've always had a theory that they're ripping you off on the food, and they try to get you drunk so you don't notice. I knew, though, that if I ever ate here, the first place I'd go after I left was a real restaurant, where a chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, vegetable and roll would actually fill me up. I'd probably get to take a box of leftovers with me too for another meal the next day.

I left off dreaming about chicken fried steaks when I saw the waiter come back with his bottle of wine. Chris shook her head while looking at him, but her date moved her glass to the edge of the table to get it refilled anyway. The waiter, knowing who was going to be leaving the tip, filled the glass and her date moved it back in front of her and acted like everything was fine. Then she got up and left the table. She was smiling, and she had her purse with her, so I figured it was a powder room visit. She was gone for a long time and wasn't smiling when she came back. She sat down again and they started talking. She hadn't touched her wine, and when the guy reached out and moved it an inch closer to her I got disgusted. He obviously either wasn't paying any attention to her wishes, or was trying to get her drunk. It was time for me to jump into action. It might get me yelled at, but I didn't care any more.

I got up and approached the Maitre D. I pointed at Chris and her date and made an excuse about how I must have missed them when they came in.

"They have already ordered," he said in a French accent. The intimation was that I was too late, and that it was gauche to disturb diners who were already dining. Apparently I was expected to know that, and accept it as punishment for being tardy.

"I can see that," I said. "I'm not going to order anything," I said. "Maybe coffee," I added.

"I thought you said you were joining them for dinner," said the puffed up man with the pencil mustache.

"I said I was waiting for them," I corrected.

"What is your business with them?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, I'm her boyfriend and her sister wanted me to stop by and check on her."

It was the truth. Which is why I said it that way. Can I help it that he misunderstood and thought I was stalking one of his customers?

"You must leave instantly!" he said in his Frenchy officious voice.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said. "Lacey wanted me to stop by, and that's what I'm doing."

It was about to get ugly when a group of four men rushed into the front door. They weren't dressed for the part, in terms of the uniform of the day for a place like this. They were semi out of breath and looked a bit wild too. One of them pointed past the Maitre D and me.

"There she is, men. Looks like they served her wine. I'll get her out of here and you deal with the guy. If she resists I'll just put her over my shoulder. When I get her home she'll come around. Once enough time goes by they all do."

Their plan took a hit when the Maitre D tried to stop them, which bottled up the entryway. One of them wrestled with the Maitre D, allowing the other three to slip through and start for Chris' table. I hoped they'd go past her, because these men were obviously bent on abduction. I planned on foiling their plan, but I didn't want Chris to get hurt in the process.

But they stopped right there by her table. One of them yelled something at her and grabbed her wrist. She stood up, shock on her face. The other two went to her date and grabbed him.

"No!" I yelled. "Leave her alone!"

The Maitre D and the guy he was fighting with were blocking the entrance, so I couldn't get to Chris to save her. So, instead, I took up a position so that I could tackle the guy who had grabbed her. Whichever one had her over his shoulder when he came back was going to be taken out with a completely illegal crab block. These ruffians were not going to take her somewhere where she would be starved into submission, or whatever it was they planned. Not if Bob Randall had anything to say about it.

I was never aware of it before, but it turns out that places like Le'Shey have alarm systems. After the fact, thinking about how important people eat there a lot, I guess it makes sense. All I know is that as I practiced getting ready to scream "Unhand that woman!" which, to be honest, was all I could think of to say for some reason, I heard sirens. Had the Maitre D admitted he had pushed the alarm button because of me, I'd have been proud. After all, Chris would clear me of suspicion. Of course he didn't tell me that, not then. So when I went to help him subdue the bad guy he was wrestling with, he just took long enough to stop wrestling with that guy to lash out at me, who he thought was with this band of ruffians bent on evil-doing. He thought I was sent to distract him so the others could do their kidnapping with impunity.

Turns out Frenchy French, with is cute little pencil mustache, took boxing in high school. He cold cocked me right on the tip of my chin.

Then policemen in blue uniforms burst in through the front doors and Frenchy French screamed, "Kidnappers!" and started pointing out evil doers with a vengeance.

Things looked a little fuzzy, but I could see well enough from down there on the floor to tell that one of the cops was the same one who had hassled me at the Piggly Wiggly, in the parking lot. He looked at me and actually smiled.

"I knew there was something screwy about you," he said.

Guess what. Handcuffs hurt!

Friday, September 14 evening [Chris]

I assumed Ed would walk in and tell me he had an emergency and needed to see me. I'd tell John Ed was a business associate and excuse myself to speak with him privately. Then Ed and I would come up with some reason I had to leave early.

Why I haven't yet learned not to assume anything, is beyond me.

When I saw Ed come in, accompanied by Frank, Willard, and George, all from the AA group, my brain froze for a few seconds and I couldn't think; thus, by the time, I decided to excuse myself and take care of things, it was too late. There was a tussle at the front and Frank, Willard and George were storming towards me while Ed wrestled with the Maitre D.

Frank yelled, "This is for your own good, Chris!" and grabbed my wrist, pulling me to my feet.

I have to give John credit. He tried to come to my aid, as I was dragged away, but Willard and George were having none of that, and I think they had more adrenaline rushing through their veins than John did. Thankfully all they did was push down on his shoulders to make him remain in his seat.