Post by THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO on Aug 19, 2010 16:22:24 GMT -5
In a corner of an impressive Manhattan restaurant, the Count of Monte Cristo intently studied a menu composed mostly in French. The restaurant could not be called "quiet"; it was quite full, the other patrons conversing among themselves loudly enough to create an overall buzz of voices. The place was louder than the count would have liked, but its volume and capacity provided more anonymity than Monte Cristo would have found in a smaller diner.
Unable to resist the allure of good food, Monte Cristo had decided to spend one of his rare "free" meals at this particular locale, which was apparently quite famous among fine dining enthusiasts but was new to him. Almost all of the meals he spent outside of his apartment or house were meetings, for which the person he was meeting with, usually an entrepreneur or other businessperson looking for financing and investment advice, chose the location, which tended to be one of the many appealing but less expensive restaurants in the area, unaware that Monte Cristo would usually cover their tabs. This particular day had found Monte Cristo wanting to try something different.
So, having already given the waiter his drink order, Monte Cristo pored over the menu, happy to be reading in what he considered to be his native language. So far, only the waiter had recognized him, and that man had had the propriety not to fawn over the presence of a reluctant celebrity. Monte Cristo was quite content to remain secluded in his little corner, mulling over the many options the menu presented, but still, merely out of habit, keeping one eye on the crowd, observing the other patrons' mannerisms and actions. He was something of a sociologist, not completely by choice but due in part to necessity. Recent events had taught him once again to pay close attention to what was happening around him, for even the slightest details could eventually prove monumental.
Unable to resist the allure of good food, Monte Cristo had decided to spend one of his rare "free" meals at this particular locale, which was apparently quite famous among fine dining enthusiasts but was new to him. Almost all of the meals he spent outside of his apartment or house were meetings, for which the person he was meeting with, usually an entrepreneur or other businessperson looking for financing and investment advice, chose the location, which tended to be one of the many appealing but less expensive restaurants in the area, unaware that Monte Cristo would usually cover their tabs. This particular day had found Monte Cristo wanting to try something different.
So, having already given the waiter his drink order, Monte Cristo pored over the menu, happy to be reading in what he considered to be his native language. So far, only the waiter had recognized him, and that man had had the propriety not to fawn over the presence of a reluctant celebrity. Monte Cristo was quite content to remain secluded in his little corner, mulling over the many options the menu presented, but still, merely out of habit, keeping one eye on the crowd, observing the other patrons' mannerisms and actions. He was something of a sociologist, not completely by choice but due in part to necessity. Recent events had taught him once again to pay close attention to what was happening around him, for even the slightest details could eventually prove monumental.
