Front-Desk Surprises

Dutch didn't like coming into the Drake, not ever. He disliked it as much as he knew the people who called on him every few weeks did, in fact. It wasn't that he stood out, though he did among the finer setting of the place, even in his cleaner clothing. No, it was more that he knew what went on here.

Sure, it was a hotel. And a bar. And a gambling parlor. But Dutch knew that the list kept going. For twenty-plus years he'd visited this place; once as a numbers runner, now as a disgraced pawn. And for whatever hopeful feelings he'd had from meeting Zhen, he knew that was still his place. So they'd called, and he'd come. He dressed in the least wrinkled clothes he could find, pulling on a heavy coat and hat to protect against the weather before coming here. Now, though? He was here.

'Scuse me, miss," he said to Evelyn, averting his eyes as he stopped at the desk, "I know I'm early, but I'm hoping you could send word up to room 412? Tell them that Mr. Giacomo's here whenever I can be seen." He wasn't sure who'd be waiting for him; if it was a Bartelucci or a Hagel or even one of his own blood who'd look at him disgustedly. He just wanted this over, which made Dutch wonder why he'd shown up early.

"Oh, I'm not--" Evelyn spared Dolores a glance, but the desk-girl was too busy trying to handle some guest's issue to even turn around after a couple of seconds. So she had the option of trying to come between Dolores and the huffy socialite in the fur coat and diamonds, or helping Mr. Giacomo herself. Although the less-than-ritzy clothes, shifty eyes, and name made her nervous, she opted for him over Rich Bitch. She was an expert at masking any trepidation at work -- he wasn't the first Giacomo, Walker, or DiGiovanni she had dealt with -- and she flashed him a professionally friendly smile. "I'll call them up."

She didn't like going behind the desk; she was a hostess at the restaurant after all. But it wasn't rocket science to make a phone call and Evelyn was not going to go knock on the door, so she pushed her flowers off to the side as she made her way behind the counter and dialed the phone, flashed Mr. Giacomo a brief smile as the phone rang... and rang. Aaaand Evelyn waited for someone to pick up.

Dutch waited patiently, daring to glance up at Evelyn fleetingly as she waited with the phone to her ear. She was, like most young women he saw, pretty. She was, in fact, reminiscent of Cheyenne's mother in some ways, and for a moment or two that caused Dutch's gaze to linger before he looked back down. He sighed, wondering if maybe he'd gotten here so early that he'd even pre-empted the arrival of his overseers. "Tell you what," he eventually said, glancing up to Evelyn again, "If they come in, let 'em know Dutch is here. I'll head on over to a table in the restaurant, grab a drink... your help's much appreciated, miss."

Evelyn put the phone down and again smiled, relieved. Getting out of the desk and not having to be the one to contact whoever Mr. Giacomo, Dutch, was waiting for was much welcomed. "Well, I'll leave the message with Dolores here and then head over there myself." And, because she definitely didn't want to come of as being interested or stalker-ish, she explained, "That's where I'm usually at." That was actually almost always where she was at, save for the occasional room-service shift. She had only come out here for the roses, after all. Which... she really needed to figure out where she was going to put those. She didn't want to leave them here, but she wasn't too fond of putting them in the break room for all to see. Not when she was trying to get the speculations between her and Sullivan to die down.

"If you'd like to tell me what you want now I can get it out to you quicker." Evelyn flashed him a wide, warm smile. "My section's toward the back of the barroom today." Yeah the mob families and anything connected made her nervous, but she wasn't going to pass up snagging a customer. She was just serving him drinks after all.

"A glass of Caleo Salento'd be a treat if you have it," Dutch suggested, figuring that he rarely ever indulged his taste for finer Italian wines these days. "If not, pick a red, I'll invest some trust," he said, grinning a little and removing his cap. He started towards the restaurant as he smoothed a hand over his hair, pushing it back into place. "And the message is much appreciated, miss..." Dutch trailed, realizing he didn't know what to call Evelyn.

"Amelia," Evelyn replied. She hadn't considered what trouble her little lie was to keep when she first blurted it out. She wasn't proud of that fact, but moments like this made her think it was a good idea regardless. But with his taking his cap off and grinning, she realized he seemed more... humbled? worn down? She wasn't sure exactly, but he definitely wasn't the typical cocky or menacing Giacomo stock she usually dealt with. It softened her a bit, although her pleasant demeanor never changed: it just meant it was easier on her part to keep up. Slightly. Evelyn was very aware that outsides could be deceptive. "I'll see what we have in stock."

As he made his way to the restaurant, Evelyn took care of making sure Dolores would get the message once she was done with the Mean Madame. Then she turned her attention back to the flowers, and figured she'd just have to endure displaying them in the break room. While she was back there, she'd grab hold of the sommelier and ask him about the Caleo Salteno'd. And other than some curious and knowing looks as she marched her present to coat room, the plan went swimmingly.

She smiled -- or more Amelia smiled -- as she spotted him, glass upon the tray in her hand. "You're in luck," she grinned as she placed the glass before him. "You're safe from my questionable taste."

Dutch laughed heartily, a rough sound that split his weathered features with an honest grin as he slid the glass closer, leaning in to sniff at the wine's aroma. "Plenty of folk in this city'd call mine right questionable too, miss Amelia, and probably with good reason too," he said, his grin growing wider with appreciation at the wine's bouquet.

Once upon a time? Dutch hadn't been a purveyor of homebrewed gin or a regular fixture in places like One More Round. He'd been right at home in places like this, savoring fine wine and wearing finer clothes. Sometimes he missed it, sure. Dutch raised the glass carefully, feeling out of place when he saw the smudges his very touch left on the glass and taking a slight sip, then nodding in approval. "Just fine," he rumbled in quiet approval, looking back to Amelia, "What's the damages? I don't want to keep you if you're busy." No reason to make a lovely young lady linger around a piece of work like him, not in Dutch's mind.

"Oh it's no trouble at all." She gave a wry smile and a quick glance about the mostly barren section. The earlier busy-ness had died down -- hence her being at the front desk when he came in. She didn't normally didn't hang around any more than she had to when the party had a Giacomo at the table, but there were girls ready to barrage her with questions once she went back-of-house and he was a bit of a curiosity. For a man who didn't look the part, he certainly knew how to properly enjoy a fine wine. And for a Giacomo, his demeanor was significantly... not Giacomo-like. Even the best of them could rarely shake the 'I run this city' air; and Evelyn couldn't really blame them since it was usually true.

But the biggest reason for hanging around? Friendliness and approachablity made better tips. Evelyn brought a warm gaze from the room and onto him. "But I could get the bill now if you'd like -- unless you're feeling another glass." Her grin grew wider at the second part, obviously hinting at which option she was backing. Waitressing had never been her first choice but, hell, she made the best of it.

"Just a sec," Dutch said with a small grin, feeling loathe to disregard some friendly interaction. Even if his reason for being here was one he hated? At least the prelude could be enjoyable. He dug out his wallet, tugging it open without lingering too long on the faded photo of his family and skimming the money within. "Gotta make sure you've still got a tip before I go ordering," he explained, "Looks like I can just about cover it, so why not?"

Sure, he had money back at the shop, dirty payouts from the DiGiovanni, but Dutch knew where it came from. It wasn't right to live on their blood money. He got by with his legitimate earnings, and he'd manage to keep getting by. "One more if you've got the time?" he asked, grinning down at the tabletop before he polished off his wine in an easy swallow.

If Evelyn were a better person she would've said something like "Oh don't worry about a tip", but she couldn't say something like that and mean it, and she preferred not to lie any more than she already did. Instead she grinned and responded with a happy "You only live once, right?". She was in a position to catch the photo, but didn't pry about it. Asking questions about other people's families usually led them to asking about your own, and - again - Evelyn didn't want to lie any more than she did. Up 'til now, she had never had to actually specify whether her parents were around or whether she had siblings or not. And she preferred it that way.

As he asked for one more, Evelyn murmured "Of course!" as she took his glass and went back to retrieve another. Upon her return, she didn't bother to leave since it seemed he had not inclination to tell her to. Placing the second glass before him, she grinned and asked, "So how'd you come by Dutch - assuming you weren't born with it and aren't from Holland, of course." She was honestly curious. It wasn't exactly a typical nick name, after all.

The second glass of wine was claimed with a slight nod and an amiable grin from Dutch as he raised it up, breathing in the cascade of aromas and mulling over Evelyn's question. He had a dozen different stories he'd use when asked about his nickname, and Dutch picked among them based on the asker. In her case? Well, 'Amelia' seemed like a nice enough girl to earn the truth. Besides, how would she know it from any of the untrue versions he normally offered?

"Can't say I had a spoiled childhood or nothin'," Dutch explained, "Which, last names and all, might come as a shock. But it's true. So... round the time I was thirteen and startin' to notice girls? There was this one..." He chuckled quietly, taking a sip of wine and rasping out a sigh of enjoyment. "Meghan O'Doyle, red-haired little siren I tell ya," he went on, grinning up at Evelyn, "An' I'd see her down at the Fontaine once a week playin' with her sisters, me and my buddies played stickball. So, took me about three weeks to save up some change and build up some courage 'fore I managed to ask her out. When I did? We were sittin' down in Nighthawk's, sharin' a sundae when I saw the hole in my pocket. First dates don't go too well when you ask the girl you took out if you can go dutch." He winked Evelyn's way, swirling his wine and watching it catch the light. "My friends caught wind of it from her friends an I haven't lived it down in thirty-odd years."

The answer got a laugh out of her. The point about his childhood, and allusion to his name, was interestng -- not that she could really do anything with it, or intended to if she could; but it was an interesting tidbit about a man who was different from those she usually saw at the hotel. She quirked her mouth into an amused wry smile, "So did Megan O'Doyle leave you with anything more than the nickname, or was the hole in the pocket the end of it?"

The laugh was contagious, and Dutch gave a low, rumbling chuckle of his own as he basked in the nostalgia and his wine for a fleeting moment. "The end of it was when my pa found out I'd taken a liking to an Irish girl," Dutch said, smirking a bit, "And I doubt her folks had much of a shine for me either."

He could've kept at it, feeling loose and relaxed from the wine and Evelyn's company, but that was when Dutch got a reminder of why he was here to begin with. Across the restaurant he saw the man, his hair an even darker black than the suit that probably cost more than Dutch's car. Headin' my way, he thought as the smile faded and the tenser lines of his face returned. "Been nice talkin' with you, miss Amelia," he said as he dug out the cash in his wallet, figuring she'd earned as healthy a tip as he could afford. "Don't know when I'll be back this way again, but p'raps I'll see you around."

Evelyn noted the change in expression, and reactively she tensed as well. It was more of an instinct - seeing someone nearby suddenly tense caused her to be more alert as well - than actual worry. She did a good job of hiding it, holding steady onto her demeanor as gave a classicly friendly "I hope so." She didn't reach down to grab the money right away, that was something left after the table had been cleared out. From where she stood she could see the man heading towards their direction. He was a somewhat familiar face to the restaurant, and one of the types Evelyn preferred to deal with only when she had to; so she kept her attention onto Dutch and motioned towards the glass, "Would you like me to get that now or later?"

Rising slow from the table, Dutch dug into his pocket to produce a small, folded notebook as he kept his eyes on the man approaching him. "Whenever you like, my thirst's dried up," Dutch said sidelong to Evelyn, the apprehension about what was coming plain on his face. It was never anything dire, just time spent reviewing the numbers of everything Dutch stocked, stored, and laundered through his shop. But that didn't mean he liked sitting and being derided. All he had to do was get through it...

"I'd suggest you don't linger, though," he said as he stepped away from the table in the hopes of deflecting any notice Evelyn might draw, "This ain't the kind a'fella you want taking notice. Stay safe, miss." And then he was gone, moving forward to intercept his greeter without so much as a glance back at Evelyn. For her sake.

Evelyn quietly took in everything, pretending that she didn't as she moved to clear the table. She noticed the notebook from the pocket, the fixed stare, and the worry behind it. She saw enough to guess at what kind of business the guy had before him, not that she could tell exactly what is was, but she figured as to what connections it was connected. And she also saw enough to guess that Dutch didn't like it, whatever it was. It made her want to say something, like 'I hope it goes well' or the like, before the man came within earshot. But Dutch was leaving, and she had never had any intention to linger and attract attention -- so his warning was wholly unneeded on that point. She had served the man he left with a couple times before. It was always in the restaurant's private dining rooms and always in a group of more-than-shady Family types. And in those situations Evelyn worked more towards blending in the background than unneeded interaction. She donned a couple of personas at work, and though they were all polite and professional not all of them seemed as friendly and inviting as she had been now.

The glass taken up, money collected, and tip pocketed, Evelyn made her way towards a doorway further back. On her way she cautiously observed what she could of Dutch and the man before entering through the doorway and dropping off the glass and tray. But she didn't have much time to mull over the encounter, as she walked out and noticed a small group trickling into her section. And then, well, it was back to work.