Dinner at the Delphi

An aura of absolute authority covered the maitre’de. He stood behind the lectern, his hands clutching it, like a judgmental gargoyle. No, Zane corrected himself. It was more like St. Peter at the pearly gates, but without the slightest drop of mercy in his heart. Only the maitre’de knew your final destination, but he waited for you to dare approach before handing over the keys or pushing the secret button that sent you plummeting to damnation. Or at least the burger joint down the street.

Zane had booked his reservation a week in advance, but his knees still weakened as the guardian of The Delphi gestured for him to step forward. The maitre’de, his eyes darkened slits, his eyebrows furrowed, his neat little mustache somehow scowling, fixed Zane with stare, neither kind nor cruel, but full of unspoken judgments.

“I have a reservation,” said Zane.… Read the rest “Dinner at the Delphi”

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