"I've never ridden in a limo before," she told me as the driver, an older man dressed in a white uniform, got out and stood by the back doors. "Bill, you can't afford this."
"Not as a regular means of transportation I can't," I allowed. "But for this one day, don't worry. I can cover it. Don't fret about money today, okay?"
She hugged me quickly. "This is like a dream-date."
"Is it?" I asked, giving her a quick kiss. "Why don't you go hop inside? I'll be there in a minute."
She did so. The limo driver smiled, introduced himself to her, and opened the door. While she got in and began gawking at the interior, I turned to Ron and thanked him. I gave him some money for the landing fee and for fuel. He didn't want to take it from me but I finally won the battle of insistence.
"What are you going to do while we're gone?" I asked him.
He shrugged, "Probably hang out in the pilot's lounge. Watch some TV, read some magazines, talk to other pilots. Don't worry about me. You just go out and have yourself a good time. I'll be here when you get back, no matter what time that is."
"Thanks Ron," I told him. "I owe you two now."
The driver introduced himself as Paul. He shook my hand and then politely brought up the subject of the bill. He ordinarily wouldn't have done that I was sure, but he was probably a little concerned about my age. Understandable I guess. I peeled off the required amount from my pimp's wad and handed it across to him. He at least had the class not to count it in front of me, simply pocketing it instead.
"I understand we're going to Fullers at the Sheraton, is that correct sir?" he asked me.
"That's correct," I answered.
"And that I'm to pick you up at ten o'clock out front?"
"Again, correct."
"Very good Sir," he said, opening the door for me.
"Hey, uh, Paul," I asked, "what is it that you do while you're waiting for ten o'clock to roll around?"
He looked at me strangely. I wondered if anyone had ever asked him that before. "Well usually I just go find something to amuse myself," he told me. "Sometimes I go home if I'm nearby. I go get gas, I go take care of errands. I'm on hire for the customer so I can't assign myself to another customer, although if the boss could figure out the timing you could bet he'd give it a shot."
"So basically you have nothing to do?"
"Right."
I peeled off two more twenties from my wad and handed it to him. He looked surprised although he didn't hesitate to take the offering and make it disappear.
"When you drop us off at Fullers," I told him, "come back here and pick up Ron there." I pointed to Ron, who was fiddling with something inside the cockpit of the plane. "Take him anywhere he wants to go and then bring him back here when he wants to come back."
"Of course sir," the driver nodded.
I sat down in the back of the car, next to Nina and Paul closed the door on us. The inside of the limo was nice, with plush seats, a small mini-bar complete with ice bucket, a stereo system, and a bank of controls that moved the seats back and forth and the sunroof and windows up and down. Nina was playing with these controls like a little kid, her eyes shining with excitement.
"I can't believe all this," she told me, giving me another hug. "Sometimes you are just too much."
"I hope not," I mumbled, pulling two glasses from the bar. "Would you care for a drink?"
"I'd love one," she answered. Meanwhile Paul had buckled himself in and was putting the car in gear. We pulled away from the tarmac and started heading for the street.
"What would you like?" I asked.
She smiled, "Surprise me."
I made us a couple of seven and sevens and we sipped from them as we drove along the major arteries and into downtown Seattle. We cruised between large high-rises, catching occasional glimpses of the blue-gray water of Puget Sound. We saw the distinctive outline of the Space Needle poking up into the sky far to our north. We watched the occupants of cars around us and pedestrians on the downtown streets trying to stare into the tinted back windows of the limo, to spot who we were. We held hands and leaned against each other, feeling closeness, feeling love. My doubts about the outcome of the evening began to drift away.
The Seattle Sheraton, where Fullers is located, is a thirty-five story building about six blocks from the waterfront, right in the heart of downtown. Our limo received no notice as Paul drove it into the turnaround near the front lobby entrance. There were several other limos already there. He hopped out and rushed around to open our door for us. We stepped out, leaving our glasses behind and thanked him. He nodded politely and told us he would see us at ten.
"Ten?" Nina asked, looking at me knowingly. "Why ten? How long does it take to have dinner in this joint?"
"Not that long," I answered. We began walking towards the lobby doors.
"So what else have you got planned?"
"You'll see," I told her.
The lobby alone was enough to make Nina and I, both middle-class products, feel slightly out of our element. It was spacious and seemed to ooze class.
Well-dressed men and women walked to and fro amid well-dressed hotel staff. We moved quickly to the elevators.
We rode up to the thirty-fifth floor and stepped out, following the signs to Fullers. The maitre d' was almost a stereotype of what you see in bad movies. He had it all, the balding head, the snooty French accent, the little mustache. I found myself wondering if it was all an act because that was what people expected to see when coming to such a place. Maybe he went home each night and ripped off the little mustache and then talked to his wife in a Texas accent or something. He eyed the two of doubtfully as we approached his little table.
"May I help you?" he asked, not terribly politely.
"Yes you may," I told him. "We have reservations for two for Stevens at seven o'clock."
"Well let's check into that," he told me, giving a condescending smile. He perused his book for a moment. "Oh yes, Mr. Stevens." He tapped it with his pencil. Without even bothering to check his seating chart he said, "unfortunately your table is not quite ready yet. It may be a few minutes. Perhaps you'd like to wait in the bar?"
I smiled, a very adult smile, staring into his face. I reached into my jacket and withdrew two twenties which I slid into his palm. "I would prefer to be seated immediately," I told him, "at a table with a view."
He glanced down at what I'd pressed into his palm and his expression changed instantly to one of respect. "Of course Mr. Stevens," he told me, picking up two menus. "If you and your guest would follow me please?"
It was amazing what a forty-dollar bribe got you. We were placed at a secluded table next to the large picture window. Puget Sound was plainly visible, as was the sinking sun. Sailboats and motor boats, and a large freighter could be seen moving across the surface of the water. The table was covered with a tasteful white cloth. Two candles burned near the center next to a complimentary plate of goose-liver pate and crackers. Our seats were held out for us and we sat down. We were assured that our waiter would be right with us.
"How did you know to give him money?" Nina asked me, trying a bit of the pate after putting her napkin in her lap.
"Universal language," I told her. "If I wouldn't have given him something we would have sat in the bar until about eight or eight-thirty before being sent to a seat near the kitchen door and receiving horrible service from the waiter all night. By now, the maitre d' is telling the waiter that I know the rules. I imagine the service will be pretty good."
Nina shook her head in amazement. "Why can't everyone just do their jobs like they're supposed to, without worrying about the money?"
"What are you?" I said lightly. "Some kind of communist? Everyone do their jobs without worrying about money? That's un-American."
As predicted, the waiter arrived promptly and was so polite it was almost sickening. He read off the house specialties to us and named the market price for such things as the lobster or Alaskan king crab. He asked us if there was anything he could get for us while we perused the menu.