"Shining Star. It's not the cheapest but it ain't the Ritz either." Growing up under Sat--the bitch's tutelage left Allegra woefully unable to accept a sub par--i.e. cheap--breakfast. It'd hardly been a trial when she was actually living in New York and attending Juilliard, since her family had been pathetically eager to cover up their relief at her schooling by footing the bill for all expenses.
Come to think of it..."Y'know, I met my husband over breakfast. I was at school and rooming with dancers which translates into having nobody to eat with. Basically I'd crawl off campus looking for fried calamari at five a.m. while the roomies prayed for my complexion." Allegra shook her and automatically dodged a taxi, turning her hips like a matador. So, one day--well, it was past sunrise anyway--I'm at Wong's slurping up congee when out comes some of the most God awful Cantonese I've ever heard. The thing is it's coming from a guy wearing Italian loafers and a Fioravanti suit. And, um, Wong's? Is a dump. I mean, hey, I love the place, but the ceilings are so low you feel you're holding the place up with your shoulders and the floors are slippery. And Mr. Forbes Tableau is ordering shrimp? Couldn't help it. Started laughing so hard I spilled all over my borrowed ballet slippers. Guy looks at me, turns an unhealthy shade of red, and scuttles out. On the upside he forgot his wallet so breakfast was free--and ditto for lunch."
Amsterdam street loomed ahead; Allegra picked up the pace, barreling out of memory lane. "On the downside, however, we saw each other again a week later. Turned out he had a seat on the board. Should've seen my instructor's face when I offered to return the wallet." In front half a dozen committee members. "Best. Worst. Reunion. Ever. Also, we're here."