Chapter Three
This is how we end up at the hotel restaurant downstairs. I offered to take her out, would have preferred it, after the strangeness of our meeting. To text a friend of mine at the hottest restaurant in Tanglewood and secure a table for us.
It would have given me a sense of normalcy. Most of the women I see prefer to be courted before I take them to bed. And I enjoy courting them.
Beau Ciel has, predictably, a pretentious matre d’. Less predictably, Bea greets him with the smile of an old friend. “I’m sorry I didn’t make reservations, Pierre.”
Of course not, he tells her. She needn’t ever, he tells her.
Then we are led to a private table, tucked behind heavy velvet curtains. The ceiling has been painted with a thousand stars on a dark background. It feels like looking up
