Title: Pamela
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Blog Entry: March 5, 2015 PAMELA FROM THE PREVIOUS PAGE Seth had recovered from the depression of standing in the conference room. Moses saw that he had now slipped into the remembrance of Pamela. Seth finally said, “Want to take her to a nice restaurant Saturday night. Something quiet. Can you point me in the right direction? “Romantic too?” Moses said with a mischievous grin. Seth could only smile. “Done,” Moses said. “Speaking of Pamela, you’re still standing. Doesn’t look like she beat you up too much.” “No, that was her mother’s job.” **** Worth untold millions herself, the sense of wealth and presence was an essential ingredient in the life of Victoria Sheffield. Taught from an early age by her mother, a trend-setting dame in the New York City society circles, she had prepared herself for another day of presenting the Sheffield name to the inner circle of New York society. Victoria had left her bedroom wearing an Armani silk dress, silver hair immaculately coiffured, and light makeup expertly applied. Her secretary had scheduled her for a morning tea with the French president’s wife, lunch with friends at the Eleven Madison Park restaurant, and an afternoon benefit reception for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The secretary had rescheduled Puccini’s opera La Boheme for the following evening. Having thanked the housekeeper for cooking breakfast, Victoria was surprised to see Dusty enter the great room, dressed and ready for school. “Well, young lady,” Victoria said, concerned. “I was beginning to wonder if I was going to see you again. You missed supper last night.” Setting her school backpack onto the kitchen counter, Dusty mumbled, “I wasn’t hungry.” Hugging Dusty carefully so as not to smudge her makeup, Victoria said, “Honey, I know you’re upset. Still, it’s not healthy for you to miss dinner. Remember, sweetheart, young ladies should eat three well-balanced meals each day. Otherwise, they become moody and irritable, which is unsettling for family and guests.” “I’m sorry. I was upset,” Dusty answered in an apologetic tone, as she examined breakfast. The thin smile she offered Victoria disappeared when she snapped, “I still don’t want that man in our house. Why can’t mother understand that?” Resting her hands on Dusty’s shoulders. Victoria answered, “I know you don’t want him in the house. You and I both agree on that. But for whatever reason, your mother seems determined to do otherwise. When you do meet him, I want you to promise me you will not be rude to him. Remember your manners. His name is Mr. Collins.” Retrieving a fork from the drawer for her spinach quiche, Dusty said, “But I don’t like him.” “Honey, I didn’t ask you to like him. I asked you to be polite to him. There’s a difference.” Resigned, Dusty said, “Yes, Grandmother.” Dusty wanted to roll her eyes to express her final thought on the subject but knew that would draw an immediate response from her grandmother. She’d be reminded again that well-mannered young ladies did not roll their eyes to express displeasure. Maturating into a young woman with a budding figure, Victoria had taught her that the allure and mystery of a woman was one who kept her emotions in check and hidden. Joining Dusty at the breakfast table with her tea, Victoria said, “Let me do the worrying about Mr. Collins. I’ll talk to your mother and take care of it. You just focus on your studies.” **** It was as it should have been. A darkened corner in a romantic restaurant in West Village. The L’Artusi Italian restaurant, one of the best the city had to offer, was the kind of a place that nurtured the hearts of lovers or those who stood on the precipice of falling in love. Conversations stopped and meals ignored as restaurant patrons of all ages and sex watched the couple. Escorted by a young thin waiter, his red tie comfortably pulled away from his neck, the couple followed him toward the far corner of the lower level of the restaurant, away from the bar and open kitchen. “I’ll bet she’s a movie star,” a wife told her husband. The husband, watching the man escorting the woman, saw the man’s thick muscles that pushed against his sports coat and slacks and a shaven head, save a closely cropped blonde streak. “He must be her bodyguard,” he said to the wife. The man’s blue eyes were not lost on another woman sitting close by, as she watched the grace of each of the man’s steps as he moved toward the table. “Did you see that, Martha?” the woman asked her sister. Another woman, resisting middle age, looked with envy at the slender woman with coal-black hair that plunged down over her shoulders and curled up at the ends. An older man, past his prime for attracting young beautiful women, was stunned at the woman’s deep blue eyes. Like sapphires, the woman’s eyes highlighted her olive skin and peach blouse. “That’s enough staring, Harold,” the wife told the older man. “We’re being watched,” Pamela whispered to Seth. “Affirmative,” Seth said with a warm smile. “I picked up on that.” “I hope this table will be satisfactory for you,” the waiter said, as he pulled out the chair for Pamela. Light blue walls with crooked sconces offering dim light served as a backdrop for the small rectangular table. “Yes, thank you,” Pamela said, as she withdrew her arm from Seth’s and sat down. Away from much of the joyous noise of the other patrons, she asked, “Seth, may I treat you with my favorite wine?” Seth’s beverage of choice was beer. He nodded acknowledgment of Pamela’s offer. Pamela asked the waiter, “Could you have the wine steward bring us a bottle of 2010 ‘Audrey’ wine from Dundee Hills. Thank you. Seth, it is a very fine Pinot Noir wine. I hope that you’ll like it.” “I’m sure I will,” Seth said softly. Struck by a sense of serenity, Seth was at rest. Sitting in the restaurant, he was untroubled by the chasm of wealth that separated them or the coarseness of the life he had lived. His demons had left him for the moment, and he was with the woman he had fallen in love with, Pamela. TO BE CONTINUED
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