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.
"Yes," I told him, nodding. "We'd like a bottle of Inglenook Cabernet Sauvignon."
He looked at me for a moment, giving a little cough. "Begging your pardon sir," he said quietly, "but I'm sure you're aware that the legal drinking age in Washington is twenty-one. You don't exactly look that old."
I smiled, reaching into my wad and pulling out a twenty. "I assure you I'm of age," I explained, slipping him the twenty. "Here's my identification."
He took a look at the denomination for a moment and then nodded, slipping it into his pocket. "Thank you sir, everything appears to be in order."
When he left Nina asked me, "just how many of those twenties do you have anyway?"
"Enough," I answered.
The dinner was excellent. I decided to go for broke and had the live Maine lobster. Nina, after several reassurances not to worry about the price, went with that also. We sipped our Cabernet throughout, putting a respectable dent in the bottle. We talked between bites about anything and everything; the ease of conversation had always been the strong point between Nina and I. Just after the dinner dishes were removed I stood up and excused myself, telling Nina I needed to use the facilities.
It took me less than a minute to find our waiter. He had just carried someone's MasterCard to the cashier and was waiting for it to go through.
"Excuse me," I said to him.
He looked up at me questioningly. "Is everything all right sir?"
"Perfect," I assured him. "But I was wondering if you could do me a little favor?"
We talked for a moment and I handed him Nina's engagement ring along with another twenty-dollar bill. He agreed to do as I asked.
I returned to the table where Nina was watching the sunglow against the offshore clouds. She commented on how pretty it was.
"Yes," I told her, reaching across and taking her hand, "it's nice this time of year here. Of course we're probably going to hate it during the winter, spring, and fall."
"Maybe," she said, going back to her examination of the water and the sky.
The waiter came a moment later carrying a dark green bottle and two glasses.
He set the glasses down before us and then showed me the bottle he had. It was Dom Perignon and it would add sixty-eight dollars to the bill. I nodded.
"What's this?" Nina asked as the waiter made a show of putting the bottle down and popping open the cork.
"I thought a little champagne would be nice," I explained.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asked brightly, letting me know that she wasn't adverse to that if that was my intention.
"Something like that," I nodded.
He poured a dab of the champagne in my glass and then stood by, waiting for me to complete the ritual of tasting it. Where did this ritual start anyway? Had anyone ever tasted the wine or whatever and then said, "this swill tastes like shit, take it away"? I was sure that somewhere, someone had done that. I picked up the glass, actually quite curious as to how Dom Perignon would taste since I'd never had it before. To my disappointment it tasted only slightly better than Brut, which sold for two bucks a bottle. Oh well, the champagne wasn't there to taste good. I nodded my approval of it and he picked up my glass to pour it full.
After setting my glass of bubbling champagne down he picked up Nina's. He had obviously done such a thing before. He was so smooth about it that even I didn't see him slip the ring into the glass before he poured. For a moment I actually thought he was ripping me off, that he'd look puzzled when I asked him where the ring was. Ring? What ring? You didn't give me a ring. But when he set the glass down before her, there it was, sitting on the bottom, little bubbles clinging to the gold band and the diamond. Nina didn't notice it.