Six circa 1890 gas lights burned on each side of the entrance to La Luna, purported to be Belvedere Township’s top restaurant.
Danny pulled into valet parking. We walked just a few steps to the foyer, quickly feeling the coziness of porcelain sconces with lovely bone china figurines in ballroom gowns seeming to dance with the stars.
‘ Your name, Sir?’ ‘I am Milford, your host at La Luna. Please follow me.’
He took us to a lovely table for two, next to a small fountain. Colored lights turned the steady stream of water flowing from a nymph’s breasts to a dazzling rainbow. Danny was entranced. There were three couples, drinking wines at another table and 4 overweight men with heavy jowls, accompanied by 4 overly made-up young, possibly evening companions, at another.
My eyes watched four waiters standing idly, silently, by the bar, not even glancing our way. We were in no hurry but after ten minutes of no service at all, Danny did me a favor and motioned to them. They ignored us, walked to an empty table across the room and sat down. Danny and I laughed at ourselves when we realized that wearing tuxedos didn’t mean they were waiters. I became edgy, puzzled. ‘Are we in the right place, Dan? For this we came so far?’ I started to get up, to investigate, find somebody to talk to. ‘Sit down and be patient,’ I was told. I started to tap the white tablecloth with my fingers. ‘Stop that, Anne. You’re making me nervous.’ I stopped my fingers tapping but my mind was over-active.
Something strange was going on. ‘Dan, let’s get out of here. This place is creepy.’ Dan agreed. As we started to stand so did the four tuxedoed men. Together they walked back to the bar where two bottles of wine were waiting for them. The maitre’ de appeared and took the two bottles to the table the men had just left, removed the corks for them, put the bottles on a small tea cart, turned and went back outside.
Danny had enough. ‘Let’s go now. They don’t need us. We don’t need them.’ No valet parker was out there, nor was our car in sight. Several of the gas lamps were dark. A bright beam from an extra large flashlight came slowly from beyond a path we hadn’t noticed before. It’s carrier told us not to be frightened. I hadn’t exactly been frightened but became so then. ‘What’s going on here? Where are the customers? What have you done with my car? Why is it so dark, so empty?’ Words stormed out of Danny’s mouth. Questions ran on. Answers had to wait until my husband calmed down.
‘Didn’t you hear the dreadful news, Sir? A small plane crashed on 101,
Sir, about a ½ an hour ago. The road is entirely blocked. The secondary road to here is 414 that has been under repair for over a month, unusable. Until 101 is cleared you are the guests of La Luna. Our kitchen is well stocked but only our emergency electric lines are working so we can’t prepare our wonderful meals for the few of you who fortunately were not entangled on 101. If you don’t have a cell phone with you and you have to notify anyone that you are with us and safe, use ours.
Would you and your wife like a sandwich, coffee, tea, wine? Our pastries are wonderfully, delicious. Forget the calories and have our mousse, our cherries jubilee, anything you like is yours, except a quick way to go home. Your car is safe. Which of these keys is yours?’ Danny instantly recognized his red one and felt a bit more secure with it in his pocket. He and I went back inside, got somewhat chummy with the tuxedoed men and the few other guests. We were free to explore, find the lavatories, inspect the kitchen. Never in our lives have we seen so many shiny pots and pans at once, three double refrigerators, separate freezers, stuffed with partly prepared foods that take just minutes to be finished and served, i.e., if service is available. It wasn’t and none of our small, but getting more intimate friends, were willing to try.
Mental pictures of the plane crash made me (and Danny) willing to forego the mousse and get home. The wine bottles magically became empty bottles that temporarily made us feel less and less guilty about where we were and why we were safe and others were already morgue bound. Hours drained away. Most of us slept on chaise lounges in the parlor’s lavatory rest areas. The overweight men’s ladies of the night did not sleep with them, but I figured they got paid any how.
At 6 a.m. a little of dawn was peeping in thru the front glass door. The maitre’ de had fallen asleep at a dinner table, head resting on his folded arms. I saw him stand, stretch his arms, yawn and head right to the phone on the bar counter, heard him only say, ‘Good. Thank you.’ He woke us all, offered breakfasts, that one and all accepted. Help was coming in. He had three man set up one squared off table for us and we ate as if we had been starved in a desert for weeks.
Our cars were lined up in the driveway. The lady in the fountain looked very ordinary without the colored lights and rainbowed water. As soon as Danny started the car, he turned on the news. ‘Twelve travelers died in the crash, including the pilot and 2 children. Route 101 is open now and running smoothly. Details will follow on the 10 a.m. news broadcast.’
We were home by nine. I put a container of chocolate mousse in the fridge along with two large, already seasoned pieces of wild salmon, that only needed butter, lots of butter, to broil for dinner.
Danny, who never to my knowledge, had thanked god for anything, said a little prayer of thanks to him/her/it when I served dinner.
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