Madeline tapped her screen again.
"We do not have a reservation under Brooks."
"Would you check the twelve-thirty reservations?"
"I already have."
"All of them?"
She looked offended.
"I know how to do my job."
"I haven't suggested otherwise."
"Then please accept what I'm telling you."
I looked toward table seven again.
The north window had always been my favorite part of the dining room.
Its light was softer than the light from the windows facing the avenue, and on snowy afternoons the street looked almost peaceful from that corner.
There had been conversations at that table I would never forget.
There had also been decisions made there that affected far more people than the diners currently watching me.
I had chosen it that day for a reason.
I intended to sit there.
"Would you ask Mr. Ortega to come out?" I said.
Madeline blinked.
"Mr. Ortega is occupied."
"I understand."
"He doesn't personally handle reservations."
"I know that too."
Her eyes narrowed.
"How do you know his name?"
"Because I know him."
The businessman nearby gave another small laugh.
Madeline's expression softened into something almost pitying.
"Ma'am, people often believe they know important people."
I looked at her.
"Do they?"
"That doesn't mean those people can interrupt a busy restaurant."
There was something especially revealing about the way she emphasized the word important.
To her, knowing someone mattered only if that person possessed enough status to justify an exception.
I had not asked for an exception.
I had asked for the table reserved in my name.
"I'd prefer not to interrupt anyone," I said.
"Then we agree."
"I'd also prefer not to be treated this way."
Madeline's cheeks colored.
"How exactly am I treating you?"
I considered the question.
There was a time when I might have answered by describing every slight, every assumption, and every insult.
I no longer believed that an elaborate explanation always helped someone determined not to understand.
"Like someone who doesn't belong," I said.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she glanced toward the dining room and offered a tight smile.
"You're making this much more complicated than necessary."
"No."
I rested my hands on my handbag.
"I'm asking you to do something very simple."
"What?"
"Check the reservation properly."
Her expression hardened.
"Please don't make a scene."
I almost smiled.
I had been speaking quietly.
My handbag was closed.
I had not moved beyond the hostess stand.