LIZ LUNDI: Finally, the meeting...

For an evening spent with a man I don’t quite like, things are not going too badly. He’s sipping his expensive whisky and I am sipping my expensive bottle of wine and we are making polite chit-chat. ILLUSTRATION| JOSPEH NGARI

What you need to know:

  • Eventually, the waitress places cutlery and crockery in front of us and Peter starts twirling his knives around as he cuts up spices and meats.

  • “I actually got to watch a real teppanyaki experience in Japan when I was there last year,” Harry says, by way of small talk.

  • “What’s the difference between that and this?” I ask him?

For an evening spent with a man I don’t quite like, things are not going too badly. He’s sipping his expensive whisky and I am sipping my expensive bottle of wine and we are making polite chit-chat.

But my mind is only half here – the rest of it is keeping an eye on the environs, just in case Alex shows up.

I don’t get it; I saw his car outside – we parked right next to it! – and there are not many cars as sleek and fancy as Alex’s so I know it is his. But there’s no sign of him. Feeling puzzled and wanting answers, I signal our hostess Alicia. She hurries over with one of those fawning smiles on her face.

“Tell me, do you have any private rooms here?” I ask. Then, upon noticing the puzzled look on Harry’s face, I add, “…because this is such a nice place to have meetings and stuff, so I am wondering if perhaps they might be able to provide a much more quiet atmosphere.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact we do,” she says. “One of them is in use now, but there’s another just in case you want to take a tour after your meal.”

“Sure,” I nod. Alicia glances over at Harry and gives him the sort of beaming smile reserved for either flush tippers or extremely handsome men, and then leaves. I know he is not the latter, and so I finally give in to the urge and ask him: “Why is she treating you like such a god? Do you own this place?” and then I laugh at my joke.

“I like to bring potential clients here for meetings,” he says, “so I spend a lot of money here.”

“Aha,” I say. “And what is it that you do, exactly?” I ask.

“Listen, let’s not talk about work today, ok? I’m sure you can find more interesting topics to bring up,” he says.

In spite of the wrist slap, I still do not feel the urge to let it go. “But then it’s-”

Just then, we are interrupted by a man in chef’s uniform. “Hello, Harry!” He, like the hostess, is beaming wide. “And who is the lovely lady with you?” He turns to me as Harry introduces us; turns out he is the head chef of the restaurant, Peter. “How about some teppanyaki today?” he asks.

“Well, we hadn’t quite planned it…” Harry starts to say.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, we’ll give you our special house rate,” he winks, and then turns to signal the waitress and asks her to get all his raw food and equipment ready. I am feeling a little miffed; I hadn’t quite planned on staying out too long with Harry because it usually only takes about half an hour before we run out of things to say – he is so boring – but now that we’re going to have a chef playing with knives right before us and frying up things on the table, perhaps we might be able to just sit in silence and enjoy the show.

Eventually, the waitress places cutlery and crockery in front of us and Peter starts twirling his knives around as he cuts up spices and meats.

“I actually got to watch a real teppanyaki experience in Japan when I was there last year,” Harry says, by way of small talk.

“What’s the difference between that and this?” I ask him?

“Well, they…” he starts, but then I am distracted by the sight I have been waiting for all evening” Alex emerging from the inner recesses of the restaurant. From where he is standing, he can’t get a view of me because we are practically in a dark corner and the chef is standing in his line of sight of us. This gives me leeway to view him.

He is alone. I can’t figure out why he would come to a restaurant alone on a Friday night – especially since he was supposed to me with me! He stands there in the corridor for a few minutes, hands in his pocket, not looking like he is in any particular hurry. Aha. He is waiting for someone.

A few minutes later, that ‘someone’ becomes obvious as he is joined by a female companion who is rubbing her hands in that particular way that women do when they have just finished applying lotion to their hands after washing them in the ladies’ room. I don’t need to see her face; I can tell from the way the stunning dress she is wearing drapes just so that it is Chantal.

So that’s who he dissed me for.

Alex puts his hand around her waist as they head out, and I am relieved that I don’t have to go through the painful process of speaking to them, but just as they take their first step, Peter lights up a particularly large flame. Everyone momentarily stops what they are doing to look at us… including Chantal and Alex… and that’s when they see us.