Free The Manny Files book1 by Christian Burch Page B

to a fancy dinner. Lulu was at a sleepover and Belly stayed home with Mom and Dad because she was too little.
    Grandma asked the concierge, “Could you recommend a nice restaurant that has wonderful food and elegant ambience? Oh, and we’d prefer a place where the maître d’ doesn’t kick the children when nobody’s looking.”
    The concierge had short black hair that looked wet and shiny. His knuckles were hairy. He looked like one of the male models from Mom’s
Vogue
magazines. He wore round silver cuff links.
    He leaned in toward us and said, “Nobu has a fabulous young chef, and the soft-shell crab rolls are divine.”
    My ears tickled when he said the word
divine.
    “Balthazar is also quite fancy, and the food is sublime.”
    The back of my neck tingled when he said the word
sublime.
    Grandma told the concierge to make a reservation for four at Balthazar for seven thirty, and she slipped him five dollars with a handshake. India didn’t even notice.
    “Who else is coming to dinner?” I asked Grandma as we rode the elevator up to our room.
    “It’s a surprise,” she said back to me.
    Back in the hotel room I wore the complimentary shower cap and took a bath. I changed my clothes four times before India finally yelled, “Keats! We have to go!”
    We arrived at the restaurant five minutes before our seven thirty reservation. I had on my wedding suit and bow tie. India wore a red silky skirt and white collared shirt, the same kind Dad wears to work. She had it tied at the waist, with the knot on her hip. Around her neck she wore the little string of pearls that Grandma had given to her last Christmas. Grandma wore a black velvet shawl over white pants and a white turtleneck. She looked divine and sublime.
    I stood and watched the people having dinner at their tables. Everybody wore black. They looked like they were having a wonderful time. Clanking wineglasses. Laughing. Giving cheek kisses to one another when they said hello.
    I can’t wait to grow up.
    Whenever the front door opened, I would look over to see if it was our surprise dinner guest. I thought that it might be Andy Warhol or Liza Minnelli. They’re the two most famous people in New York City. Andy Warhol is a skinny artist who wears a white wig and paints portraits of movie stars. Liza Minnelli sings just like hermom, who was Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz.
Whenever I read anything about New York City, Andy Warhol’s and Liza Minnelli’s names are mentioned. India told me that Andy Warhol wasn’t alive anymore and that Liza Minnelli probably had a personal chef and didn’t go out to eat. I still kept an eye on the door and hoped.
    When the door swung open, it was better than Andy Warhol and Liza Minnelli. It was Uncle Max, dressed from head to toe in black, except for a white scarf around his neck. He looked just like Halston, the clothing designer. Halston is always in the pictures with Andy Warhol and Liza Minnelli. Uncle Max gave India and me high fives and then hugged Grandma.
    Grandma asked the maître d’ if he could sit us by a table that was having an interesting conversation, because she wanted to eavesdrop.
    “I’ll do my best,” said the grinning maître d’, who winked at Uncle Max.
    We sat next to a table full of businessmen who were talking about the last stock reports and the effectiveness of casual Fridays.
    Grandma pretended to cover a yawn like she was bored.
    Dinner at Balthazar was fantastical. Sarah would be so jealous.
    I ordered lobster macaroni and cheese and a Roy Rogers. India ordered sea bass, wasabi mashed potatoes, and a ginger ale and cranberry juice. We shared our plates.
    Uncle Max ordered coq au vin, which he told me was chicken in wine sauce. He shared his plate with India and me.
    Grandma liked her meat loaf so much that she didn’t share with anybody.
    She did share her bottle of wine with Uncle Max. It was a fancy bottle. I could tell because there were Italian words on it. I took the cork home and put