What do you want to do?” Musa asked.
Jessica sat silently for some time, thinking it through. “I want to be sure, Musa.
Maybe they are just discussing work over dinner,” she said, and added, “Are you hungry?”
“Madam?” Musa asked, confused.
“How about I buy you dinner?” Jessica asked. She reached into her handbag for her purse, took out a fifty-dollar note, and handed it to Musa.
“Dinner’s on me.
Go into that restaurant where they are, take a table as close as you can to them, order dinner, and then come back and tell me how they behave towards each other.”
“Madam, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Musa asked.
“I’m not sure at all! I feel like I’m losing my mind,” Jessica said. “But I have to do something!”
“All right, madam, I’ll help you, don’t worry,” Musa said.
He took the fifty-dollar note and crossed the street to the restaurant.
Jessica watched him enter. Not two minutes later, she saw him walk out again.
He walked back to the cab, climbed back into the driver’s seat, turned around, and handed Jessica her cash back.
“They wouldn’t give me a seat,” he said. “The manager said I didn’t have a reservation.”
“What!” Jessica exclaimed.
“That is totally unacceptable.
Jason and I eat there often without a reservation. I’m going in myself.”
Jessica popped the door open and marched down the street into the restaurant. She was met by the maître d’, a small, friendly man named Dimitri, who greeted her with a worried look on his face.
He glanced over to where Jason and his companion were seated at a table at the window.
“Um, er, hello, ma’am,” he stammered, “will you be joining us for dinner this evening?”
“Dimitri, that man who was just here alone, asking for a table, did you tell him he needs to have a reservation and can’t be seated?” Jessica asked angrily.
“Um, ma’am, yes, sorry, is he your guest?
I am so sorry! As you can see, the restaurant is full, but I would be happy to find a space for you both.
Will you be joining your husband?” he added nervously.
“No, I will not be joining my husband!” Jessica replied rather more loudly than she intended, raising looks from some of the diners, including Jason. He looked up from his plate of pasta and went pale with shock.
Jessica stood her ground at the entrance and stared at Jason defiantly.
He stood up and approached his very angry wife.
“Jess, what are you doing here?” he asked nervously.
“What am I doing here?” Jessica challenged back.
“What am I doing here, you ask? The question is, what are you doing here? You told me you were working late and having pizzas at the office.
And I find you here with another woman!
Who is that woman with you, Jason?”
“Jess, I can explain everything, everything. Please.
Why don’t you join us, please,” he put a hand on Jessica’s shoulder, but she brushed it off brusquely. “Dimitri, please set up a place for my wife at the table,” Jason asked the maître d’.
“Don’t bother, Dmitri, this won’t take long,” Jessica said, shooting a look at the young woman at the table who was watching the scene with interest.
Jessica walked over calmly, not looking at Jason.
She sat down and examined the woman across from her.
She was about twenty in Jessica’s estimation, very pretty, with hazel-colored eyes and a lovely, freckled nose. Jessica saw the likeness immediately.
“Jessica,” Jason said formally, “I’d like you to meet Skylar. My daughter.”
Jessica said nothing.
She looked one to the other, from Jason to Skylar and back again, taking this all in.
It was unmistakable: Skylar was a younger, prettier female carbon copy of her husband.
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