“What do you do anyway?” he asked. “You have a job?”
“Not right now. I haven’t found anything in New Jersey yet.”
“You said you used to work for the Packers.”
“Yeah, in merchandising. My background is graphic design. The woman who does the ordering shows me what they have that’s new, and I come up with a theme and the copy, pick the colors, fonts, graphics, layout, and all that.”
“Marketing, huh?”
“What’s wrong with marketing?”
“Nothing. I just think the world would be better off without it.”
Wrong thing to say, if the return of her sour mouth was any indication.
Though Ben had to admit, he liked the sour mouth. He’d like it even better if she said what she thought when she made it instead of clamming up on him.
He stood. “Let’s get out of here. The tacos are great, but the ambience could use some help. I think this other place I’m taking you to is more your speed.”
CHAPTER SIX
The restaurant occupied a low, unassuming brick building on a corner in the Village. It was called “Figs,” and it was packed, with a crowd at the door that suggested it would stay that way.
“Keep close,” Ben told her. He sliced neatly through the assembly toward the empty hostess stand. By the time they stepped in front of the couple who obviously had first position to speak to the hostess when she got back, May was mortified.
“Ben,” she said in a low voice. “We can’t cut in front of all these people.”
He turned, his face suddenly much closer than she’d been ready for. “Why not?”
“They were here first.”
“Yeah, and if they could do what we’re doing, they would in a heartbeat.” He greeted the hostess with a casual “How’s it going, Sadie?” and then spotted a short, harried-looking Asian woman over her shoulder and hailed her. The woman, who had just burst through the kitchen door at the back of the restaurant,
came straight to the front, beaming.
“Ben!”
“Hey, Cecily. You got a minute?”
“For you? Always. You need a table?”
“Nah, we just ate.”
“How insulting. Where did you go?”
“That place with the steak tacos.”
“Lucky duck. What do you need?”
“Can we borrow the office? I need the computer.”
“Absolutely. Come on back.”
The restaurant was airy, with country-farm tables and a scarred wood floor that looked like Old Europe and must have cost a zillion dollars. May felt the eyes of everyone in the entryway boring into her back as they moved past table after table of elegant New York. She wished she were wearing something halfway decent.
They hung a left at the kitchen door and arrived at a tiny closet of an office, where Cecily sat down at the computer and typed in a password while Ben leaned over her shoulder and May remained in the doorway, afraid to go in because she wasn’t sure how they’d ever all maneuver in there, much less get back out.
Ben and Cecily continued a conversation they’d been conducting as they walked—something about someone named Sam, who’d apparently been in the hospital, and also bags of manure were involved. May wasn’t entirely following.