Forsaken by James David Jordan

around to open our door.
    As we got out of the car, I said, “Thank you, we’ll do that.”
    When Hakim drove off, Simon looked at Elise. “Well, that was the strangest limo ride we’ve ever had. Wouldn’t you say?”
    “You’re not really going to call him, are you?”
    He studied Elise. “Sure I am. He was a good kid— had some interesting ideas too. Why wouldn’t I?”
    She shook her head. “You’ve got to start understanding that you’re a celebrity. Everyone wants a piece of you.”
    He angled a look my way. “The minute I start thinking I’m a celebrity, shoot me, okay?”
    I was afraid I would have to stand in line.

CHAPTER

NINE
     
    DESPITE SIMON’S VIEWS ON his own celebrity, from the moment we entered the restaurant it was apparent how the staff saw him. They greeted us at the door and funneled us between two rows of red-clothed tables toward a wall of rich mahogany paneling adorned with autographed photos of famous people. A warm cloud of smells—garlic, oregano, and freshly baked bread— drifted through the restaurant. My nose reminded me that I hadn’t eaten a thing since I grabbed a hot dog early that afternoon in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport.
    Near the back, the maitre d’ led us down a narrow hallway that ended in a private room. Three of the room’s walls were brick. The fourth wall was a built-inoak wine rack. In the center of the room was a rectangular cutting-board table. Hanging above the table were two cast-iron chandeliers.
    Simon and I sat at one end of the table. When Elise pulled out a chair next to Simon, he glanced at her. “Elise, would you mind entertaining everyone down at the other end? I want to talk over some security issues with Taylor.”
    She gripped the back of the chair with both hands. “Don’t you think I should be part of the discussion?”
    He smiled. “Now don’t get worked up. We’re not going to make any decisions without you. If all three of us are down here with our heads together, everyone else will feel left out. Do you mind?”
    She looked at me, then back at Simon. “Of course not.” Just then the other group of Simon’s traveling crew walked into the room. Elise moved to the opposite end of the table and sat down.
    Donny, the song leader, slapped me on the back as he walked past. “Hey, if it isn’t the potted plant lady! Did you wash the dirt from under your nails before you came to the table?”
    I held up a thumb. “It’s green. Next time I thought we could go with a backyard garden theme.”
    “Great idea. Each of us can dress like a different vegetable.” Everyone laughed except Elise, who was holding her knife up to the light and polishing it with her napkin.
    After we all settled in, the events coordinator from the Mid America Center ordered a bottle of Chianti.
    I felt the muscles in my neck relax. One bottle seemed light for a group of nine, but it was a start. It had been a stressful evening.
    A white-coated waiter with a thick mustache and a towel draped over his arm selected the bottle from the rack behind Donny’s head and moved from chair to chair, offering to fill glasses. As I stretched out my hand to steady my wine glass for the waiter, Simon turned his glass upside down. Everyone from the ministry followed suit. I swallowed hard. “Waiting for something with a bit more bounce?” I smiled hopefully.
    “I don’t drink. You go ahead if you’d like, though.”
    The waiter appeared next to me and extended the bottle toward my glass. His hand seemed to move in slow motion as I balanced risk and reward in my mind. Just as he tipped the bottle, I caught his hand. “No thanks. Just water.”
    Simon smiled. Good thing he didn’t know me better, or he would have recognized the longing look that I gave to the bottle as it passed. I turned my glass over.
    Donny said a prayer for the food and then loudly entertained the other end of the table with a high-pitched recap of his role in improvising music during the potted plant