She studied the menu.
"Let's share a salad. What would you like to eat? What about lobster Thermidor?"
"I've never eaten lobster," I said. She swung her eyes to the ceiling and then shook her head.
"Okay, then that's what you'll have. I have so much to do with you to get you caught up that I have decided to devote all my time to it," she told me.
All her time? What did that mean? Where were her friends, her other activities? I know I should have felt grateful, but instead I had those pangs of fear again.
Our waiter was returning with our drinks, the cranberry-tinted liquid in large martini glasses carried as if he were bringing crowns on a silver tray. Once again, conversations stopped and all eyes turned in our direction. Ami sponged up the attention as if it nourished her very being.
"Should I take your order, or are you waiting for someone?" our waiter asked.
"Really, Tony, do I ever wait for anyone?" Ami teased. He laughed, his eyes moving quickly to me again. "We'll share the house salad. Celeste will have lobster Thermidor, and I'll have the shrimp cocktail as an entree. Also, put in an order for a chocolate souffle," she added.
"Absolutely," Tony said, reaching for the menus. "May I?" he asked me.
"Oh, yes," I said, leaning back.
He nodded, held his gaze on me a moment longer and then hurried off.
"He's drooling," Ami said. "See?"
I couldn't help blushing and looking down.
"You have to get rid of that modesty as quickly as you can, or rather, get control of it. There are times to appear modest and innocent and times when it's a disadvantage," Ami instructed. "For example, in a room full of stuffy, snobby people like this one, you want to look as confident and return their
condescending expressions as quickly and as firmly as you can. You tell yourself there is no one in here who is better than you are, and you let them all know it with the way you hold yourself, look at them, and even speak to them. Never give anyone the
satisfaction of thinking he or she is better than you are, Celeste.
"I know, for a girl who has been living as an orphan in hand-me-down clothes and for someone sleeping, eating, and breathing on the proceeds of charity, that's difficult to accomplish at first, but you're my spiritual sister now, and you live in my house. It's good to be somewhat arrogant. If you have it, flaunt it, and you have it," she said.
Her pep talk made me feel better. I lifted my head and looked out at the patrons of the restaurant, meeting every stare head-on. Just as Ami had predicted, they all quickly turned away.
Ami lifted her glass and nodded at mine.
"To us," she said, and we tapped glasses. I sipped my drink and then took a deep breath. When would I stop feeling like I was sinking deeper and deeper into some pool of sin? Every little change in me that Ami engineered seemed tainted, whether it be the use of makeup, the hairdo, the clothes, the drinking, or now the lessons in demeanor and attitude. Was she changing me into a better, more confident young woman, or dragging me down to some awaiting disaster?
Wade didn't appear until after we had eaten our salad. On his way to our table, he shook hands with and spoke to some of the other restaurant patrons. The conversation was obviously about me, as he looked our way and then spoke again.
"I hope he isn't describing you as some orphan," Ami muttered.
"Sorry I'm late," he said when he reached our table. "We had a small crisis at the plant, a truckload of wrong parts, and we had deliveries to do
tomorrow."
He sat. Ami shook her head.
"You have a general manager, Wade, whom you pay a good salary to, don't you? Why don't you let the man fulfill his responsibility?"
"The plant has my family name on it, not his," Wade replied drily, looking at the menu Anthony hurried over to give him.
"Family name," Ami muttered, "on plumbing parts."
"I'll skip the salad," Wade told Anthony. "Just bring me the filet mignon, medium well!'
"Very good, Mr. Emerson," Anthony said, taking his menu but smiling at me.