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The aroma of roasted garlic and simmering tomato sauce usually filled my mother’s kitchen with a comforting embrace. Tonight, however, an entirely different scent permeated the air: the faint, metallic tang of dread. My mother, Eleanor, a woman whose calm demeanor masked a mind sharper than a freshly honed chef’s knife, was meticulously polishing her antique silver locket. It was a beautiful piece, intricate filigree surrounding a deep sapphire, but its true value lay in its story – a family heirloom from my father’s side, passed down through generations. Brenda Davidson, my mother-in-law, had coveted that locket for years, ever since she learned it had once belonged to a distant, prestigious branch of her family tree, somehow ending up with ours.
“They’re due in an hour, Maya,” Mom said, her voice even, but her eyes held a spark I recognized. It was the glint of a strategist.
I sighed, adjusting the apron around my waist. “Are you sure about this, Mom? I still don’t understand why you agreed to lend her the locket in the first place, or why we’re going to this ‘fancy’ dinner she insisted on.”
Eleanor merely smiled, a Mona Lisa kind of smile that revealed nothing and everything all at once. “Brenda’s ‘generosity’ is always a calculated move, dear. She wants to show off the locket at her historical society gala this evening, then she wants to ‘treat’ me to dinner afterwards to ‘smooth things over’ from that unfortunate incident at Christmas.” The “unfortunate incident” had involved Brenda “accidentally” spilling wine on Mom’s cashmere sweater, then insisting Mom pay for the dry cleaning because it was “her fault for wearing white.” Eleanor, of course, had simply replaced the sweater and said nothing, but she remembered everything.
“And you think she’s going to try something tonight?” I asked, buttering the focaccia. I knew my in-laws well. Brenda Davidson, with her perpetually pinched expression and an aura of entitled frugality, was a master of the ‘dine and dash’ by proxy. Her husband, Richard, a man whose spine seemed to have been surgically removed, simply followed her lead. Their children, my brother-in-law Mark and sister-in-law Sarah, were chips off the old block – equally keen on a free meal, especially at someone else’s expense.
“Let’s just say,” Mom mused, carefully placing the locket into a velvet pouch, “I’ve learned to anticipate certain… patterns.”
The restaurant Brenda had chosen, ‘Le Jardin Enchanté,’ was indeed fancy. White linen, hushed tones, waiters who moved like ninjas. Eleanor, dressed elegantly but simply, looked perfectly at home. Brenda, however, was clearly in her element. She had insisted on returning the locket to Eleanor at the restaurant, making a show of its beauty to anyone within earshot, before Eleanor tucked it into her purse.
“Such a beautiful piece, Eleanor,” Brenda gushed, though her eyes were narrowed, as if trying to calculate its exact monetary value. “You know, it really belongs with our family’s heirlooms. We have the perfect display case for it.”
Eleanor merely nodded politely. “It’s a lovely sentiment, Brenda. Perhaps one day.”
The Davidsons, all four of them, were already ensconced in their booth when we arrived. Mark was loudly critiquing the wine list, while Sarah was taking selfies. Richard was meticulously counting the number of breadsticks on the table.
“Eleanor, darling! Maya!” Brenda chirped, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So glad you could make it! And thank you again for the locket – it was the talk of the gala!”
“My pleasure, Brenda,” Mom replied, her voice smooth as silk.
The ordering commenced. Brenda, true to form, ordered the most expensive items on the menu for herself and Richard, encouraging us to do the same. “Oh, go on, Eleanor, get the lobster! It’s our treat tonight! We’re celebrating!” She winked at me, as if we were all in on some grand secret. I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach. This was too much, even for Brenda.
Eleanor, however, ordered a modest grilled fish and a side salad. I followed suit, opting for a simple pasta. The Davidsons scoffed, but Mom just smiled serenely.
Throughout the meal, the Davidsons’ behavior became increasingly theatrical. Brenda would repeatedly excuse herself to the restroom, always returning with a furtive glance at the table. Richard kept checking his watch, muttering about an “early start tomorrow.” Mark and Sarah were glued to their phones, but I noticed them exchanging glances, almost imperceptibly.
Eleanor, meanwhile, ate her meal slowly, observing everything. She caught my eye once, and her subtle nod was enough. She sees it too.
The meal concluded, and the waiter, a polite young man named Antoine, brought the bill. It was a substantial sum, easily enough to cover a small country’s annual budget, thanks to the Davidsons’ extravagant choices.
Brenda reached for her purse with a flourish, then her face dramatically fell. “Oh, good heavens! Would you believe it? I’ve left my wallet in my other handbag! How utterly frustrating!” She slapped her forehead for emphasis.
Richard, looking vaguely startled, chimed in, “And I seem to have… misplaced my cards. Must have left them at home.” He patted his pockets feebly.
Mark scoffed, “Yeah, me too. Classic, Mom and Dad. Always forgetting something.” He smirked at me, as if this was a hilarious, shared family trait.
Sarah, ever the opportunist, added, “And I only brought cash for tips, you know, just in case.” She held up a single twenty-dollar bill.
All four pairs of eyes swiveled towards Eleanor, expecting. My mom, however, remained unfazed. She sipped her water, her expression unreadable.
Brenda cleared her throat. “Well, Eleanor, darling, it seems we’re in a bit of a pickle. Would you mind terribly settling the bill tonight? We’ll absolutely reimburse you first thing tomorrow, promise!” Her voice was laced with an artificial sweetness that made my teeth ache.
Eleanor looked from Brenda to Richard, then to Mark and Sarah, her gaze lingering on each of them for a moment. Then, she slowly reached into her purse. My heart sank. Was she actually going to do it? Let them get away with it again?
But instead of pulling out her wallet, she pulled out the velvet pouch, now conspicuously empty.
“Oh, my,” she said, her voice still perfectly calm. “How peculiar. It seems I must have left my wallet in the other handbag too. Or perhaps… it was in the same one as this, and I… oh dear.” She trailed off, her eyes wide with a very convincing pretense of distress. “I only brought enough for my own meal, as I expected it to be your treat, Brenda.”
The Davidsons froze. Their well-rehearsed plan had just hit a snag. A big one.
Brenda’s face began to contort. “But… but Eleanor, you must have something! We can’t just leave!”
Eleanor shook her head apologetically. “I’m afraid not, Brenda. Just my portion of the bill, really. And a bit for a cab, which I’ll need since you won’t be driving me home, I assume.” She looked directly at Brenda, a hint of steel in her gaze.
“I… I just got an urgent text!” Brenda suddenly shrieked, grabbing her phone. “My sister! It’s her cat! Emergency! Richard, we have to go!”
Richard, ever the sheep, nodded vigorously. “Yes! A terrible crisis! So sorry, Eleanor, Maya, we must dash! We’ll call you about this later!” He stood up, knocking his chair over in his haste.
Mark and Sarah followed suit, mumbling hurried goodbyes and empty promises. Within moments, they were a flurry of expensive fabric and cheap excuses, literally abandoning us at the table.
Antoine, the waiter, stood beside the table, looking bewildered at the Davidsons’ hasty exit. He glanced at the still-unpaid bill, then at my mother, who was now smiling, a slow, deliberate smile that sent shivers down my spine.
“Don’t worry, Antoine,” Eleanor said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have a plan.”
I watched, mesmerized, as my mother calmly explained the situation to Antoine, and then, after he called the manager over, to Mr. Dubois, the restaurant’s owner. She recounted the Davidsons’ history of similar incidents, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
Then, she pulled out her wallet – from the same handbag she’d been carrying all along. She placed a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills on the table, more than enough to cover the entire bill, plus a very generous tip for Antoine.
“I’ll pay for my portion and Maya’s,” she told Mr. Dubois. “The rest… well, let’s consider it a learning opportunity for the Davidsons.”
Mr. Dubois, a shrewd businessman who clearly recognized a long-game strategy, raised an eyebrow. “And how do you propose we facilitate this learning, Madame?”
Eleanor leaned in. “Remember that antique locket Brenda was showing off earlier? The sapphire one with the filigree? The one she just returned to me?”
Mr. Dubois nodded. “A very distinctive piece. Beautiful.”
“Indeed,” Eleanor said. “And rather valuable. And quite sentimental to the Davidsons, I believe, as it once belonged to their side of the family. Funny thing is, after she ‘returned’ it, I realized she must have forgotten it in her purse when she rushed out.”
My jaw nearly dropped. I hadn’t seen her put it back in her purse. Had she? Or had she simply implied she had? My mother was a master of subtle misdirection.
“I’d like you to hold onto it for them, Mr. Dubois,” Mom continued, her voice sweet as pie. “And when they call to claim it – which they most certainly will, it’s a family heirloom, you see – you can inform them that it’s safely here. But, of course, due to the… inconvenience they caused, and the outstanding balance, the restaurant will hold onto it until the full amount of their bill, plus a ‘holding fee’ for your trouble, is settled. In cash, preferably.”
Mr. Dubois’s eyes gleamed with understanding. “An excellent plan, Madame. Most… persuasive.”
The next day, the Davidsons were conspicuously silent. No calls, no apologies, no mention of the restaurant bill. I knew Brenda was too proud to admit she’d been caught. But I also knew she wouldn’t let go of that locket. She’d been trying to acquire it for years, believing it was rightfully hers.
Around lunchtime, my phone rang. It was Brenda, her voice a strained, breathless shriek.
“Maya! You won’t believe what happened! That absolutely atrocious restaurant! They’re holding Eleanor’s locket! And they’re demanding we pay the entire bill, plus some ridiculous ‘holding fee’ just to get it back! Can you believe the nerve?!”
I feigned shock. “The locket? Oh, Mom was so worried about it! She thought she’d lost it after you returned it to her at the table, but she specifically mentioned she saw you tuck it into your handbag before you rushed off for that emergency. She was so relieved she asked the manager to hold onto it just in case! You know how forgetful she can be.”
A brief, sputtering silence on the other end. Brenda, caught in her own lie, couldn’t contradict the story without admitting she’d deliberately left without paying.
“Well… yes… I suppose I might have… forgotten it,” she stammered, clearly furious. “But this is extortion! Absolute extortion!”
“I’m sure Mom just wanted to make sure it was safe, Brenda,” I said, barely suppressing my grin. “You know how sentimental she is about it. And well, since the bill wasn’t paid, I guess the restaurant has to cover their costs somehow.”
“We’re going down there now,” Brenda hissed, the phone clicking off before I could reply.
I immediately called my mom. She answered on the first ring, a quiet hum of amusement in her voice. “Ah, the Davidsons have finally shown their true colors, have they?”
“They’re on their way to Le Jardin Enchanté now,” I reported, stifling a laugh. “Brenda sounded like she was about to spontaneously combust.”
Eleanor chuckled. “Excellent. I also made a quick call to the historical society. Apparently, the manager of Le Jardin Enchanté is quite well-connected in their social circles. I simply mentioned to Mr. Dubois that a discreet word might be appropriate about the Davidsons’ rather… unconventional dining habits.”
The Davidsons’ public humiliation at Le Jardin Enchanté became the stuff of local legend. Mr. Dubois, following Eleanor’s instructions and perhaps enjoying the spectacle, presented them with their extravagant bill, item by item, in the middle of the bustling restaurant. He politely, but firmly, explained the situation to them, loud enough for a few curious diners to overhear. Brenda’s face, according to a friend of mine who happened to be dining there, cycled through shades of puce and crimson. Richard looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Mark and Sarah tried to slink away, but Mr. Dubois, with a knowing look, gestured for them to return and contribute to the “family expense.”
They paid. Every last cent of the exorbitant bill, plus the “holding fee” for the locket. They retrieved the heirloom with trembling hands, their dignity in tatters.
From that day on, the Davidsons were remarkably different around Eleanor. The dinner invitations dwindled to polite phone calls, and when they did invite her, they insisted on paying upfront, often with a visible wad of cash, and always at a more modest establishment. Their attempts at getting a free meal from her ceased entirely. Their reputation for stinginess, once a quiet murmur, had become a loud, public whisper within their social circle.
A week later, Eleanor treated me to dinner at our favorite, unpretentious Italian restaurant. We laughed over plates of pasta and shared a bottle of wine.
“You know, Mom,” I said, raising my glass, “that was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”
Eleanor smiled, a genuine, radiant smile. “Sometimes, dear, the best way to teach a lesson isn’t with anger, but with a touch of wit and a dash of their own medicine. And,” she added, her eyes sparkling, “it’s always good to have a plan of your own, just in case.”
She clinked her glass against mine, the sound a sweet melody of quiet victory. The locket, gleaming softly around her neck, seemed to shimmer with a newfound defiance.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
