Table Number 12

The day was January 3, 1946, a new year that followed on the cusp of a war that had devastated all for nearly seven long years. World War II had taken a toll on everyone, but thankfully, the event now was over. Much of the recovery process had begun after the end of war on May 8th of the year before, but all would be much better when the world returned to normal. The years that followed would surely encompass a true renewal. Don wasn’t much of a church goer, but he gave a heartfelt prayer, nonetheless, for such.

Don had been a server now for over two weeks as he'd had the good fortune to land a job at the elegant Charleston Supper Club, the Cavallero. Don needed any and all money as, after the war, Mother depended on every dollar she got to support them. The Cavallero’s cost for a meal was steep as the economy had gone downwards over recent years, so only the wealthy would come to eat at the restaurant. As there was a fee or charge added to the tab, all employees were assured an extra amount at the end of a day of scheduled work. For a young man almost out of college, the wages were more than decent – they were a bounty.

The restaurant’s head host met Don as he walked onto the floor, ready to serve patrons. The host had just seated a woman, by request, at table number 12. The host head's shook as he found apparent humor or was confused by what had just happened. Don left and walked toward the new patron's table; he wouldn’t pause to ask the host, sure whatever had happened was completely thoughtless. He smoothed back short locks, ran a hand down the server's jacket that hung poorly, and made short work of the trek to table 12.

Table number 12 was small and located by a far corner of the restaurant. As Don approached, he nearly stopped short as he saw the woman, who was seated and stared at an unopened menu as though there was an absence of thought. She was very pretty but sad and perhaps also lonely as she sat by herself at a table set for two. Don watched as she carefully drew the gloves from her elegant, marmoreal hands and opened the menu. She was unaware of all else. Don attempted to make her aware as he coughed.

At the sound, the pretty woman looked up. She seemed startled to see her server, but suddenly chose to greet the man before her warmly. She was a true enchantment seated before Don, her face ethereal as she nodded a mere ‘hello’, as though each of her acts were what esteemed poets of old had dreamt of and penned so long ago. Don nearly gasped aloud for she was beauty and warmth together as one. He had thought the woman pretty, but now up close, he knew she was far more lovely than he had thought. He was entranced by her appearance, and the thought made the heart pound profoundly.

Don knew the woman could not be more than twenty-four at the most. Her eyes were large and such a deep brown that they were nearly black and far beyond the usual. Her lashes were of long length, a beauteous black, and her brows were of the same dark hue, clear cut to accentuate her face’s elegant structure. Her marble pureness of appearance contrasted sharply along dark curls, a glossy, raven black that fell to her shoulders and framed her oval shaped face. There was no doubt: there was no beauty he had ever seen that equaled such a perfect appearance or concept of thought.

The low, sweet sound of her expressed words brought Don back to the present moment. He thought he had surely awakened from a dream. What were the words she spoke? Oh, she wanted to order. Of course. He had actually forgotten he was her server and she, a customer, seated at table number 12 at an elegant Charleston restaurant. For a moment, he thought he perhaps Camelot had come at last and he had found lost love.

The woman paused, as though perplexed for a moment, but then she ordered two Manhattans. She also placed two orders for rare steaks, New Baby Green Beans, and Scalloped Potatoes, one of the Cavallero’s most popular meals. She looked at Don and assured her server that her husband would be there soon. Ah, then she wasn’t alone. There was a husband. Of course. How dense to wonder whether such a lovely young woman was all alone and unattached.

Don assured her he would return soon, gave a bow, and slowly backed away, somewhat reluctant for reasons unknown to leave the woman’s table. He eventually turned and reluctantly retreated to the back area where he gave the bartender and chef the requested orders.

Later, after he brought the two Manhattans to the table, Don went back to the rear of the restaurant, where he stood by the doors that closed off the area. There, through a small pane of glass, he could secretly watch the woman who had captured, he was sure, the devoted revere of many. He wondered whether she came to the Cavallero very often. He had not once seen her over the two weeks he had been employed. He watched as she sat alone and stared at the empty seat across the table, a look of wonder and love apparent. Unexpectedly, Don felt resentment for the unknown husband who dared to delay her utmost joy. He very much wanted to tell the man off once he showed up at the restaurant. How dare he leave the woman who was so perfect all alone for so long?

Moments flew by, but as Don watched, the lovely, warm look of love never left the woman’s face, and her eyes never ventured from the empty seat. She seemed comfortable and at ease, as though her husband were actually there and they enjoyed the Manhattan beverages together.

Later, as Don brought the meals to the table, he was made aware that her husband had not made an appearance even though the hour was late. The woman, however, wore a look of complete joy that never faltered as he placed the two plates on the table. Where was her husband? Who would dare to treat such a woman so? Such an unadulterated lack of respect!

She looked up at Don as he prepared to leave, but he saw now that her look was had oddly changed. There was now a look of mystery that appeared to encompass a sadness that reached all the way to her dark eyes. He wanted to comfort her, and he strongly regretted he could not extend a measure of comfort.

Much later, when he brought her dessert to the table, that he asked what else she needed. Prompted by what he had asked, she gave a perplexed look and asked whether he had forgotten her husband’s dessert? Don managed to mask confused thoughts and gave her an apology before he left to secure another dessert plate for the absent man. Moments later, he returned and offered the empty seat a plate of chocolate cake. He gave a bow and apology to the man who was not there before he retreated to the rear and stood at the back doors where he could carry on and watch her. He wondered whether she really thought her husband was seated across from her. Such a thought devastated Don as he knew the woman must, no doubt, be unwell.

At long last, after dessert had ended, the lovely woman placed payment for the meals on the table, gathered her purse and gloves, and then slowly rose to leave. She was tall, slender, and graceful, and moved toward the door as though she were a creature of mythology, borne of sheer elegance and enchantment. Don watched her depart. He felt as though he had lost a connected soul as he watched her fade away through the doors.

“So young and so full of beauty, but so full of sadness, too.” A man spoke at Don’s shoulder and alerted that present moment had been restored. He turned and saw the head host. The man also watched the woman fade from eyeshot. “She and her husband used to come to the Cavallero frequently before the war. “Don’t remember a couple who loved so deeply as those two.” The words the head host spoke next gave Don pause as all else was suspended, “Such a sad event that a decent young man had to encounter death through that damned war.”

The head host droned on, but Don could hear no more of the words. The heart he bore completely shattered for the woman he had just met at table number 12.

**** The thought and/or plot of the above story was at the onset hand-penned by my mother on September 7th, 1952. Her story concept was found by me many years after her death (1980's) and has been completely revamped (plot, words, etc.) by me to now become my story: Table Number 12. Acknowledgement, however, goes to L.D. Calder for the scope of her words.****