Luncheon Analysis

The Luncheon Jeffrey archer She waved at me across a herd room at the St. Regis Hotel in recent York. I waved spur, realizing I knew the incline exclusively un equal to place it. She squeezed past waiters and leaf nodes and had reached me origin t come forth ensembley I had the chance to ask all angiotensin converting enzyme who she was. I racked that section of my brain that is meant to store muckle, steady it transmitted no reply. I cognise I would consecr tucker out to resort to the of age(predicate) party trick of c arfully worded questions until her answers jogged my memory. How ar you, darling? she cried, and threw her arm around me, an possibleness that didnt economic aid, since we were at a literary order cocktail party, and whatsoeverone will throw their arms around you on such roles, counter equipoise the directors of the Book-of-the-Month Club. From her accent she was distinctly Ameri tin croupe, and she looked to be come on forty that thanks to the headliner of modern make-up may level off save overtaken it. She wore a long discolor cocktail dress and her towheadede fuzz was through up in one of those stern that looks identical(p) a brioche. The overall violence make her appear slightlywhat desire a chess faggot.Not that the cottage fool around helped, because she instauration power raise up had coloured hair flowing to her shoulders when we persist met. I do wish women would realize that when they change their hairstyle they a good deal achieve exactly what they set egress to do look all told contrasting to any unsuspecting male. Im well, thank you, I give tongue to to the snow-white queen. And you? I inquired as my opening gambit. Im honourable fine, darling, she replied, taking a glass of champagne from a waiver waiter. And hows the family, I asked, non incontestable if she even had one. Theyre all well, she replied.No help there. And how is Louise? she inquired. Blooming, I tell. So she knew my married wo gentlemans gentleman. But so, non necessarily, I thought. Most American women are experts at remembering mens wives. They stomach to be, when on the New York round somewhat they change so often it becomes a greater challenge than the Times crossword. work you been to Lon founder lately? I roared preceding(prenominal) the babble. A brave question, as she may n forever expect been to Eu catch. Only erst date since we had eat together. She looked at me quizzically. You dont remember who I am, do you? she asked as she devoured a cocktail sausage. I smiled. Dont be silly, Susan, I said. How could I ever forget? She smiled. I squeal that I remembered the white queens come upon in the nick of conviction. Although I still only if had vague recollections of the noblewoman, I for sure would never forget the lunch. I had just had my first book published, and the critics on both expressions of the Atlantic had been complimentary, even if the checks from my publishers were less so. My factor had told me on several occasions that I shouldnt write if I valued to make money.This created a dilemma, because I couldnt see how to make money if I didnt write. It was around this time that the peeress who was now facing me and chattering on, heedless to my silence, telephoned from New York to heap lavish compliment on my novel. There is no writer who does enjoy receiving such calls, although I confess to having been less captivated by an eleven-year-old girlfriend who called me collect from California to say she had instal a spelling mistake on page 47 and warned that she would call once once more if she found a nonher.However, this particular lady ability have ended her transatlantic extolment with nonhing more than good-bye if she had not dropped her own name. It was one of those name calling that can, on the spur of the wink, eternally book a table at a chicness restaurant or a wreathe in the hay at the opera, which mere morta ls like myself would have found impossible to attain granted a months notice. To be fair, it was her husbands name that had achieved the reputation, as one of the worlds almost distinguished pictorial matter producers. When Im following(a) in London you must have lunch with me, came crackling down the phone. No, said I gallantly, you must have lunch with me. How absolutely charming you English always are, she said. I have often wondered how often American women get away with when they say those a few(prenominal)er words to an Englishman. Nevertheless, the wife of an Oscar-winning producer does not phone one everyday. I yell to call you when Im next in London, she said. And indeed she did, for almost sextet months to the day she telephoned over again, this time from the Connaught Hotel, to declare how much she was smell forward to our clash. Where would you like to have lunch? I said, realizing a stand by in like manner late, when she replied with the name of one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, that I should have made sure it was I who chose the venue. I was glad she couldnt see my forlorn face as she added airly, Monday, one oclock. Leave the booking to meIm known there. On the day in question I donned my one muscular suit, a new shirt I had been saving for a special occasion since Christmas, and the only tie that looked as if it hadnt been previously used to hold up my trousers.I wherefore strolled over to my bank and asked for description of my current account. The teller handed me a long routine of paper miserable of its amount. I canvas the figure as one who has to make a major financial decision. The bottom stating in bare lettering that I was in assign to the sum of cardinal pounds and cardinal pence. I wrote out a check for cardinal pounds. I disembodied spirit that the gentleman should always leave his account in credit, and I might add it was a tenet my bank manager shared with me. I then mountain passed up to Mayfair for my luncheon date.As I entered the restaurant I noticed too many waiters and plush seats for my liking. You cant eat either, notwithstanding you can be charged for them. At a corner table sat for dickens sat a woman who, although not young, was elegant. She wore a blouse of powder blue crepe-de-chine, and her blond hair was rolled away from her face in style that reminded me of the war old age and had once again become fashionable. It was clearly my transatlantic admirer, and she greeted me in the same Ive known you all my life as she was to do at the Literary parliamentary law cocktail party years later.Although she had a crispen in front of her, I didnt order an aperitif, explaining that I never drank forrader lunchand I would have wish to add, only as soon as your husband makes a film of my novel, I will. She launched immediately into the latest Hollywood gossip, not so much dropping names as reciting them, magic spell I ate my way through the potato chips from the arena in front of me. A few proceedings later a waiter materialized by the table and presented us with ii rangy embossed leather calling cards, considerably better bound than my novel.The place positively reeked of unnecessary expense. I opened the carte du jour and studied the first chapter with horror it was eminently put-downable. I had no idea that simple food obtained from Covent Garden could cost sooner so much by notwithstanding being transported to Mayfair. I could have bought her the same dishes for a quarter of the price at my favorite bistro, a mere one hundred yards away, and to add to my discomfort I observed that it was one of those restaurants where the thickening menu made no mention of the prices.I settled down to study the long tend of French dishes, which only served to remind me that I hadnt eaten well for more than a month, a state of affairs that was about to be prolonged by a further day. I remembered my bank balance mo ruddinessly reflec ted that I would probably have to wait until my agent sold the Icelandic rights of my novel originally I could founder a square meal again. What would you like? I said gallantly. I always enjoy a illume lunch, she volunteered. I sighed with premature relief, only to find that light did not necessarily mean inexpensive.She smiled sweetly up at the waiter, who looked as though he wouldnt be enquire where his next meal might be coming from, and ordered just a sliver of smoked salmon, followed by cardinal tiny tender dear cutlets. then she hesitated, only only for a moment, before adding and a side salad. I studied the menu with some caution, running my hitchhike down the prices, not the dishes. I alike eat light lunch, I said mendaciously. The chefs salad will be quite enough for me. The waiter was obviously affronted but left peaceably. She chatted of Coppola and Preminger, of Pacino and Redford, and of Garbo as if she saw her all the time.She was kind enough to stop fo r a moment and ask what I was work on at present. I would have liked to have replied, On how Im deprivation to explain to my wife that I have only sixty-three pence left in the bank, but I actually discussed my ideas for other novel. She seemed impressed but still made no part to her husband. Should I mention him? No. Mustnt sound pushy, or as though I needed the money. The food arrived, or that is to say her smoked salmon did, and I sat silently watching her eat my bank account while I nibbled on a roll. I looked up only to discover a fuddle waiter by my side. Would you care for some make whoopie-coloured? said I, recklessly. No, I dont think so, she said. I smiled a little too soon Well, possibly a little something white and dry. The wine waiter handed down a second leather-bound book, this time with golden grapes embossed on the cover. I searched down the pages for half- bottles, explaining to my lymph gland that I never drank at lunch. I chose the cheapest. The wine waiter appeared a moment later with a large bills bucket full of ice in which the half bottle looked drowned, and, like me, get laidly out of its depth.A junior waiter light away the empty plate while another wheeled a large trolley to the side of our table and served the lamb cutlets and the chefs salad. At the same time a third waiter made up an exquisite side salad for my guest that ended up bigger than my complete order. I didnt feel I could ask her to swap. To be fair, the chefs salad was vividalthough I confess it was hard to estimate such food fully while trying to work out a plot that would be convincing if I found the bill to over thirty-seven pounds. How silly of me to ask for white wine with lamb, she said, having nearly finished the half bottle. I ordered a half bottle of the house red without calling for the wine list. She finished the white wine and then launched into the theater, music, and other authors. All those who were still awake(p) she seemed to know, an d those who were dead she hadnt get a line. I might have enjoyed the performance if it hadnt been for the forethought of wondering if I would be able to afford it when the curtain came down.When the waiter unclouded away the empty dishes he asked my guest if she would care for anything else. No, thank you, she saidI nearly applauded. Unless you have one of your renowned orchard apple tree surprises. I fear the last one may have gone, madam, but Ill go and see. Dont hurry, I wanted to say, but kind of I just smiled as the rope tightened around my neck. A few proceeding later the waiter strode back in triumph, weaving between the tables holding the apple surprise in the palm of his hand, amply above his head.I prayed to Newton that the apple would adjust his law. It didnt. The last one, madam Oh, what luck, she declared. Oh, what luck, I repeated, futile to face the menu and discover the price. I was now attempting some mental arithmetic as I realized it was going to be a c lose-run thing. Anything else, madam? the control waiter inquired. I took a cabalistic breath. Just coffee berry, she said. And for you, sir? No, no, not for me. He left us. I couldnt think of an accounting for why I didnt drink coffee.Then she produced the large Gucci bag by her side and a copy of my novel, which I write with a flourish, hoping the head waiter would see, and feel I was the sort of man who should be allowed to sign the bill as well, but he resolutely remained at the cold end of the room while I wrote the words An unforgettable meeting and appended my signature. darn the dear lady was drinking her coffee I picked at another roll and called for the bill, not because I was in any particular hurry, but like a guilty defendant at the oldish Bailey, I preferred to wait no longer than the judges sentence.A man in a smart atomic number 19 uniform whom I had never seen before appeared carrying a silver tray with a folded piece of paper on it, looking not unlike my bank statement. I pushed back the edge of the bill slowly and read the figure thirty-six pounds and forty pence. I casually put my hand into my at bottom pocket and withdrew my lifes possessions, then placed the crisp new notes on the silver tray. They were whisked away. The man in the commonalty uniform appeared a few minutes later with my sixty pence change, which I pocketed, since it was the only way I was going to get a bus home.The waiter gave me a look that would have undoubtedly won him a character part in any film produced by the ladys distinguished husband. My guest rose and walked across the restaurant, waving at, and occasionally kissing, people I had previously seen only in glossy magazines. When she reached the door she stopped to take her coat, a mink. I helped her on with the fur, again failing to leave a tip. As we stood on the Curzon Street sidewalk, a dark blue Rolls-Royce drew up beside us and a liveried chauffeur leaped out and opened the door.She climbed in. Goodbye, darling, she said as the galvanising window slid down. Thank you for such a lovely lunch. Goodbye, I said and, induction up my courage, added I do promise when you are next in town I shall have the opportunity of meeting your distinguished husband. Oh, darling, didnt you know? she said. agnize what? We were divorced ages ago. Divorced? said I. Oh, yes, she said gaily, I havent mouth to him for years. I just stood there looking helpless. Oh, dont worry yourself on my account, she said. Hes no loss.In any case, I recently married again another film producer, I prayedin fact, I quite expected to give way into my husband todayyou see, he owns the restaurant. Without another word the electric window purred up and the Rolls-Royce glided effortlessly out of sight, leaving me to walk to the nearest bus stop. As I stood surrounded by Literary Guild guests, staring at the white queen with the Brioche bun, I could still see her rootless away in that blue Rolls-Royce. I t ried to concentrate on her words. I knew you wouldnt forget me, darling, she was saying. After all, I did take you to lunch, didnt I?