Page 79 of Ricardo
She lets out a tired breath that is almost a laugh.
“That is an irritatingly accurate assessment.”
“I have been accused of worse.”
“Yes,” she says, looking back at me. “I can imagine.”
The anger is still there, but it has changed shape. Less fire now. More ache.
She lowers herself back into the chair, smoothing her dress beneath her, still as dignified as ever, even after that firestorm.
The server chooses that moment to appear at the door.
“May I bring you something to drink?”
Julia looks up at him with the calm of a woman who was not just fantasizing about committing assault on a member of this very club.
“Yes,” she says. “Water, please.”
The server nods.
“And a Coke, the real sugar kind, if you have it.”
“We do,” the server says.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
He turns to me.
“Espresso,” I say. “And sparkling water.”
“Of course, Mr. Conti.”
When he leaves, Julia opens her menu with great purpose.
“I’m ordering fries,” she says.
“This club will survive the scandal.”
“I’m not sure I will. I saw the lunch menu on the way in. There are three different salads named after dead members.”
“I believe only two are dead.”
She looks up from the menu. “Still creepy.”
“The third is merely retired.”
“Even worse. He’s still lurking about.”
A laugh bubbles in my chest. “Then we should be careful.”
“I refuse. After what I just endured, I deserve potatoes prepared in hot oil and served with excessive salt.”
“A reasonable demand.”
“And a sandwich.”
“Now you are becoming reckless.”
