Sweetbitter(77)

“Samantha who?” he said defensively.

“Samantha and Eugene who requested Simone.”

“Samantha’s coming?”

“That’s what Misha just said.”

“Damn it.” He took my last piece of garlic bread, took a bite, and I grabbed it back. “Samantha and Simone were friends. She was a server here.”

“Okay.” Simone’s “friends” were usually obliquely mentioned and none of them ever visited her at work so I had assumed they didn’t exist.

“Okay…” I waited for him to go on. “So she quit and they weren’t friends anymore? And it was super dramatic and Simone doesn’t want to wait on her?”

He wiped his mouth and threw the napkin on my plate. “I’m going to go find her. Are you on the dining room tonight? She could use you on the floor.”

—

SAMANTHA WAS meticulous, that was the first word that came to mind. I didn’t believe she had ever worked in a restaurant. Her hair was blown out at perfectly corresponding angles, her cheekbones shone. Her hands, with long, pale-pink ovals for fingernails, conducted their precious stones and platinum with ease. To top it all off, there was stark genetics—she was beautiful. And I was part of a cult that equated beauty with virtue.

“Those are new teeth,” Simone said, watching them from across the room. Samantha’s teeth winked at us. Simone exhaled and began her approach. I followed with a water pitcher, though there were at least seven tables being sat throughout the restaurant that could have used some water. I took Jake’s order seriously.

—

“I WOULD HARDLY say we’re fresh, maybe fresh off a plane, but I’m sure I look frightful.”

“Ah well, you’ve always been able to hide the damage.” Simone pulled her shoulders back. “Are you two still in Connecticut?”

“Back and forth,” said Eugene, waving his hands. In the genetics department, Eugene had been shortchanged. He had caterpillar eyebrows, a bulbous nose, and not much hair left. He had to be more than ten years Samantha’s senior. I was familiar with older men and their younger wives. But Eugene seemed authentic. He had clever eyes and he narrowed them when he was listening.

“It will change when Tristan starts school, but we have so much freedom right now, I’m trying to enjoy it.”

“By enjoy it she means cart a two-year-old around Europe.”

“Be nice,” Samantha said, hitting his arm. “People make such a fuss about traveling with children. But you can’t let them be in charge. Tristan can sit through a four-course meal.”

“How elegant, Sam,” Simone said. “Of course, Chef would like to cook for you both.”

“Oh.” Samantha looked at Eugene and pouted. “I’m afraid we can’t accept. I couldn’t stomach a full tasting, Simone, my jet lag and so on. But perhaps I can pop in and say hello if he’s not busy later? And was that little Jake behind the bar? He’s all grown up. Remember when you two were sharing that shoe box in the East Village? Eugene, Simone had this place, it didn’t even have a proper bathroom, the tub was in the kitchen!”

“I’m still there.”

Simone smiled. She smiled so forcefully I could hear her molars grinding together.

“Well, it was adorable. We had a lot of fun there.” Samantha looked airily around the room. “Is Howard here as well?”

“We’re all here, Sam. I will let Chef know you declined.” Simone was stoic.

Samantha pointed to something on the menu and Eugene laughed. “You just can’t get rid of the filet mignon of tuna. Like it’s not the twenty-first century. Adorable, I love it.”

Adorable. I had never seen grown women attack each other so fluently. No one tossed out adorable at Simone. No one declined Chef’s tasting menu. And yet Simone wasn’t stunned—she was braced. I realized that they were women who knew dangerous things about each other.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that Jake and Simone had lived together—I knew she brought him out to the city, it made sense within the narrative I had composed—but it was so directed, the way Samantha said Jake’s name, probing.

“Eugene,” Simone said, turning her back to Samantha, like she had taught me never to do to a guest. “The Dauvissat? We have one bottle of the ’93 hiding downstairs. Howard will be livid, but are you interested? If I can find it, of course.”

Eugene slapped the table, thrilled. “This woman—when was that dinner? Six years ago? She never forgets! Best server in New York City. Don’t get mad, Samantha, you know you weren’t cut out for serving. Bring it out, Simone, but make sure to bring yourself a glass.”

“With pleasure,” she said.

—

DID I DARE to compare them? Of course. My loyalty fierce but not blind. I struggled, wondering what categories they could justly compete in. The physical didn’t seem fair. I wasn’t mistaken, Simone shrank as soon as she greeted the table. And it wasn’t just that Samantha was taller and had posture like a steel rod ran the length of her spine. Simone’s shoulders had bowed like a stone had been hung around her neck. She was wearing her glasses, which gave her a slight but mean squint. The total effect was miserly, as if Samantha had sucked up all the grace in the room.