Dinner Conversation

This is one that kept me up all night one time. Just the opening line kept running through my head, like a movie, flipping between tuxedoed waiters and penguins... and I kept thinking 'So what?!? Where is this going?' Well, about 2 1/2 hours later, and revisions/editting/read-thrus this is the end product. I am hoping it is enough to let me get some sleep. And as always, who know where this could lead...

   The small ensemble filled the air of the place with soft music that the tuxedo-wearing waiters danced to, like penguins going through the crowd with a meal for their nest. The soft sounds of knife and fork against delicate china mixed through the soft rumble of quiet conversations, masking the quick melodic clinks of crystal being touched lightly to one another. Occasionally, the entrance of another couple would divert the attention of the suited man sitting alone at a back table.

   After a momentary glance, he would again turn his sights inward, to watch the mental projection he alone played. A glass held slightly off the table in one hand, tilted as if frozen in its journey to bring drink to his mouth. His lips but inches from its edge, parted slightly in preparation for the amber colored fluid contained in the glass. A flash of light, reflected off the inner front door catches his attention, and his eyes focused on the woman entering the room.

   Soft, brown hair flowed down and slightly around her shoulders, glinting golden flashes as the lighting reflected from the trembling tresses as she removed her coat and handed it to the cloak attendant. Framed by her hair was a face that women would look twice at, and then be jealous. No age lines, and just a touch of make-up, accented the natural high cheek bones and penetrating gray eyes beneath lustrous lashes.

   He gave her the once over as she spoke to the maitre d', who began to escort her in his direction. The dress she wore was black, and from one step to the next, he could not tell if it was skin-tight, or flowing, as she approached. The glass was set down forgotten as he rose from his seat.

   Their eyes met with a quick intensity as she neared his table. A chair across from him was offered and accepted by her with a small smile. A brief nod to the maitre d' and he sat again, carefully adjusting the napkin back to his lap. She glanced to his glass, and then rose taking in the details of his suit, to his face, noticing the slightly showing age lines, the soft whisper of evening beard, and the crispness of his returning stare.

   "It is good that you were able to make this appearance," he said in a soft baritone. He leaned back and gestured to a passing tuxedo. He pointed to his glass, and glanced to her questioningly, quickly dismissed by a brief nod to her. "Two ," to the waiter, and he turned back to the table. "You make such an entrance, dressed as lovely as you are. You look good in that black dress."

   "It is said 'A lady always has a black dress for the occasion that warrants one'," she smiled.

   "Ah, so you are one that has several black dresses, then?"

   "No." Her eyes hardened slightly, and she gave her head a slight twitch, as if to slightly throw back a stray lock from her forehead.

   "But you said a black dress for the occasions that need them. Do you not have many occasions to dress so nicely?"

   "To complete the saying, 'A lady always has a black dress for the occasion that warrants one, but the whore has one for each day of the week.' Now, why would a man of your means, want to be talking about the dressing styles of ladies, such as myself, when said lady does not even have a drink yet?" She leaned forward, and placed her hands together in front of her.

   A small look of surprise crossed his face, and he reclined in his seat. A glance to the side showed the waiter had arrived, placing their drinks on the table. The waiter glanced at each quickly then addressed the man. "Monsieur, Are you ready to order?" With a look of renewed study to the woman, he ordered for them both, and watched as the waiter left the area. He reached for his glass as he turned to the woman.

   "Shall we raise our glass in salute for something? Or show how low we really are by just slamming them back?" she asked, as a smile crossed her face. She had raised her glass up halfway, waiting for him to do the same. The glasses chinked softly.

  "To each their own," he softly said, and sipped softly. Her eyes held his, watching as he drank, then she followed his action, taking a small sip before setting it back on the table. “I see you do not want to rush through things. Shall we wait until after dinner to finish our conversation?"

   She sat quietly in thought, studying the blank look on his face, and then she put a neutral one on her own. Her hand tentatively brushed against her cheek, a habit from years past when she is deep in thought. Finally, she laid her finger against her lips, and gave a short, firm nod of her head.

   "That would probably be best." Their eyes met once more, and locked for a long moment. The arrival of the waiter with their meal broke the spell. Both kept their eyes on their food, and between glances to each other, and a sip of scotch, the meal was eaten in silence. He began to glance frequently to his watch, showing impatience with something. She took it in, knowing he was feeling some discomfort. He noticed her slightly gloating look, and realized she knew he is tense. He pushed his plate back and drank his scotch in a gulp. Catching her eye, he looked down at her plate only half finished, and glanced back up. Her eyes tightened softly as he saw her irritation, and quickly he turned, signaling to the waiter for drink refills. Reclining again, he smiled.

   She slowed down eating her food, glancing his way with a smirk on her face. After several moments, the silence was broken.

   "This is the parting of our ways," his soft, low voice barely reached her. "One would like to think that our parting should not be of such sorrow, but of joy, knowing that one day, we might meet again, and raise a toast to the time spent apart. Ahhh. But here we are, mixing what could be pleasure, with what we call our own business." A long sip of scotch went down, and her eyes have locked onto his. "Such as it is," he whispered.

   Time seemed to have stopped. A muffled crash from the kitchen brought movement back to the room. With deliberate motions, she folded her napkin across her plate and raised her drink to her lips. Her tongue traced her lips after a slow sip, and soft sigh is released. She directed her gaze back to his again, and said in soft, husky breath " 'That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet'," she exhaled. "Oh, mince not your words with me."

   "I applaud you, clever lady." Another sip of scotch was taken. "Are you ready to depart?"

   "I am."

They sat for a moment in silence, sipping their drinks. At a glance to his empty glass in hand, he set it down and stood from his chair. A waiter appeared to assist her in rising.

   "Arrangements were made previously for this encounter. Nothing need be done but through the door now."

   He indicated that she should lead toward the cloak room. Both were quiet as their coats were returned to them. He held her coat for her in assistance. Their eyes met once more. Both saw the thoughts churning behind each other's eyes, but neither said a word. At some unknown signal, the door was opened and both walked out.

** Optional Ending **

The doorman saw the couple sharing an intense gaze, and paused a moment. He saw no one taking advantage of the moment, and opened the door, allowing a brisk breeze to enter, which interrupts the gaze of the couple. They walked out and the door swung slowly shut.