An Expensive Dinner

Ravi is a fortunate man. His needs are few and he wishes for nothing he does not have. He is a solitary person. He has good health for a seventy year old and a healthy pension. Yet, to keep his brain active he operates a one person business working alone for nine hours a day. Rest of the time he reads – literature, philosophy, politics, you name it. When Monica was away for three weeks, Ravi did not talk to any living, or dead for that matter, soul for three weeks. He was glad to see Monica at the airport but not because he was bored. Perhaps it was because it is a comfort to have the only person you care for in the world be near you to make sure she is appropriately cared for.

It is no wonder that his family members have a hard time finding gifts for him. Monica buys the replacement clothing to keep him reasonably well dressed. Others send him books which he stacks them in neat piles on the floor next to his bed, oldest on top. Being a courteous person that he is, he reads them in chronological order from cover to cover whether he likes them or not. A month before his last birthday Monica requested that he arranged the piles neatly on a bookshelf. While doing this he counted the unread books and determined that if he lived for another thirty years he could not read them all even if he had neurons and eyes left to read. After discussing this problem with Monica he informed all prospective gift-givers that he would be delighted if they would send a donation to their favourite worthy cause in lieu of a gift to him.

Ravi did not hear back from his siblings, son, nephews, nieces and grandchildren and this did not surprise him. Actually, he was a devotee of Marcus Aurelius and nothing surprised him. But the birthday of a spouse has to be celebrated in some style whether he wants to or not. Accordingly, Monica booked a table for four for dinner at an elegant restaurant which Ravi frequented in his good old days. She invited Marcello and Diana, a couple they were friendly with, to join them.

The plan was for Monica to pick up the guests around six on her way home from a meeting of some committee she chairs and have a sherry or two before going for dinner. It must have been around five thirty. Ravi had just come out of the shower and was drying himself when the phone rang. It was Jamie, his daughter-in-law from New Orleans. When Ravi asked how life was in New Orleans, Jamie told him that she could see from the window the black mush approach her private beach and let out a long barrage about the callousness and incompetence of oil companies. Ravi did not add fuel to the fire by telling her that his broker had invested most of their inheritance in B.P. expecting the gusher to double the stock price. Instead, he displayed his maturity by being duly sorry for her. She was perhaps running out of steam when Ravi heard his wife and guests coming in the housel. He had to cut the call short by telling her the evening plans. She asked what restaurant they were going to. Ravi had no reason to not tell her.

The sherry at home was good but the meal at the restaurant was better. They had another drink, scotch for men and rum and diet coke for the ladies, followed by soups or salads as starters and steaks or lamb for main course eased down with a few glasses of imported wines of the right hue. The dessert of cheese cake or pecan pie a la mode was followed by Irish coffee and vintage port. The conversation during the meal even outdid the cuisine. Ravi and Monica learnt all about the achievements of two sons and three daughters of their guests and they told them all about those of their son, his wife and their toddler twins. With so much information exchanged, a point of decision had arrived: who would foot the bill? Marcello, whose speech was slurred by now, said it was his deal. Ravi disputed stating with some authority that he had checked his diary before leaving home and it was his turn. The dispute was becoming somewhat heated and it was soon attracting the notice of other diners, much to the embarrassment of the wives. Suddenly the hush settled over their part of the dining room. Maitre’d was marching over to the table of two quarrelling men who both insisted on paying without caring how much it would be. He bowed to the men, as was his custom, and said, “Gentlemen, the bill and the service charge are looked after. A lady called from New Orleans with her credit card number which has been duly verified. I hope you had a pleasant evening in our establishment.” He smiled as he turned around and walked away. Ravi and Marcello looked at each other sheepishly for a moment, then joined Monica and Diane whose laughter was now going around the dining room.