An unfinished, badly written tale
The familiar sound of red wine diving into a gaping glass, the clang and scrape of bitter utensils against expensive wares, the pungent smell of sixty-dollar meals, and the low static rumble of conversation filled the room. The aesthetics of fine dining prevailed in the crowded space, though the spacial separation between tables attempted intimacy. This was a place where lawyers drank and doctors dined, where businessmen as false as their “crystal” wine glasses, filled with nothing at all, enjoyed their wealth. This was not a place for a man like James.
He had begun to regret asking her to meet him here, ‘And with such vigor!’ he thought. The image of the restaurant in his head was much different from the upper-class masquerade he found himself in.
“It’s always a better idea at the time.” James murmured low.
The waiters and guests had all stared at him unapologetically when he’d arrived, as if they could smell the sincerity on him, an unwanted commodity in high society. All of this was inconsequential, or so he told himself. The setting was secondary to the scene; the real act lay in the impending dialogue. James had asked molly here not to impress her with getting into a restaurant where the reservations were harder to get than the presidency, and nearly as expensive: He’d asked her here to tell her something he’d been keeping from her for about as long as he’d known her. It seemed rather ironic to him that now, when he’d finally summoned the courage to tell her the truth, that he’d seemed to have chosen the most dishonest place in town to do so.
He sat weary in his ornate and uncomfortable chair and poked superficially at his vestigial meal. His steak and potatoes was now a sort of amalgam of red meat and spud being shoved around by his impatient fork. He’d barely sipped at his ruby glass of red, poured from a full bottle, which he’d purchased in hopes of not drinking alone. The new, obscenely expensive suit he’d purchased specifically for this occasion was likewise beginning to feel wasted. He’d even made sure he tied his tie correctly for what was probably the first time in his life. It must have been a peculiar sight to see a man like James-dressed to the nines in a crowded, upscale restaurant-eating alone and playing with his food. He wasn’t here for the judgmental glances of hollow men however: he was here for Molly, and he’d always known that she’d be late.
He was gulping at his wine when he saw a gangly waiter leading her in.
“But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” James said under his breath.
She was looking divine, as usual, if a bit flustered. She wore a lovely red dress, a curious choice for the night and for the company. Her hair and her hips swung and bounced as she walked, and her eyes were as radiant and as fervent as they had ever been. He rose nonchalantly to meet her apologetic smirk.
“I’m so sorry I’m late! Jesus Christ I’ve never seen traffic so terrible, and-“
“It’s quite alright, don’t even worry about it. I haven’t been here very long myself.”
“But you already have your food”, she observed,” and it looks cold by now.”
“Well, the service here is very fast apparently, and I wouldn’t suggest the steak either.”
She smiled a little at this. He quickly followed up with:
“You look truly immaculate tonight.” The sincerity of his statement shook the room.
“Oh stop it, I’m a mess. Don’t lie to me twice.”
“You’re here five minutes and I’m already a liar? That’s got to be a record! I think I might be able to give a few of these lawyers around here a run for their money!”
They both laughed a little as they sat down. He continued to play with his food to avoid staring at her while she scanned the menu for something ‘light’. He told her she couldn’t go wrong with the chicken, so she gladly obliged. Indecision could be said to be Molly’s most obvious vice, but James couldn’t help but be a tad charmed by it. Her face was adorable when she couldn’t decide, even though he knew it was only a tactic. Considering what was to come, he chose for tonight to simply enjoy it.
“Wow James, this really is quite a place, isn’t it?”
“Yeah I know. Can’t you just smell the money on these people?”
“Yeah, I can as a matter of fact.”
“My food also had a kind of pretentious aftertaste, just so you’re aware.”
“You’re quite the jokester tonight. What’s going on?”
“Oh you know me, always the jester in a court of stiffs. Or it could just be that dress you’re wearing making me nervous.”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, of course. I should have expected as much. Just thought I’d throw that in for shits and giggles.”
“James, you know I hate it when you say things like that. Of course I’m going to react like that.”
The waiter brought her plate over and poured her a fresh glass of red, from which she took a generous sip. She used her chicken as an expensive excuse not to speak, to not look up. He countered and pushed around his spud-steak once more. Unlike her, he wanted desperately to look up.
“You’re very cruel to me, you know.”
He had begun to regret asking her to meet him here, ‘And with such vigor!’ he thought. The image of the restaurant in his head was much different from the upper-class masquerade he found himself in.
“It’s always a better idea at the time.” James murmured low.
The waiters and guests had all stared at him unapologetically when he’d arrived, as if they could smell the sincerity on him, an unwanted commodity in high society. All of this was inconsequential, or so he told himself. The setting was secondary to the scene; the real act lay in the impending dialogue. James had asked molly here not to impress her with getting into a restaurant where the reservations were harder to get than the presidency, and nearly as expensive: He’d asked her here to tell her something he’d been keeping from her for about as long as he’d known her. It seemed rather ironic to him that now, when he’d finally summoned the courage to tell her the truth, that he’d seemed to have chosen the most dishonest place in town to do so.
He sat weary in his ornate and uncomfortable chair and poked superficially at his vestigial meal. His steak and potatoes was now a sort of amalgam of red meat and spud being shoved around by his impatient fork. He’d barely sipped at his ruby glass of red, poured from a full bottle, which he’d purchased in hopes of not drinking alone. The new, obscenely expensive suit he’d purchased specifically for this occasion was likewise beginning to feel wasted. He’d even made sure he tied his tie correctly for what was probably the first time in his life. It must have been a peculiar sight to see a man like James-dressed to the nines in a crowded, upscale restaurant-eating alone and playing with his food. He wasn’t here for the judgmental glances of hollow men however: he was here for Molly, and he’d always known that she’d be late.
He was gulping at his wine when he saw a gangly waiter leading her in.
“But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” James said under his breath.
She was looking divine, as usual, if a bit flustered. She wore a lovely red dress, a curious choice for the night and for the company. Her hair and her hips swung and bounced as she walked, and her eyes were as radiant and as fervent as they had ever been. He rose nonchalantly to meet her apologetic smirk.
“I’m so sorry I’m late! Jesus Christ I’ve never seen traffic so terrible, and-“
“It’s quite alright, don’t even worry about it. I haven’t been here very long myself.”
“But you already have your food”, she observed,” and it looks cold by now.”
“Well, the service here is very fast apparently, and I wouldn’t suggest the steak either.”
She smiled a little at this. He quickly followed up with:
“You look truly immaculate tonight.” The sincerity of his statement shook the room.
“Oh stop it, I’m a mess. Don’t lie to me twice.”
“You’re here five minutes and I’m already a liar? That’s got to be a record! I think I might be able to give a few of these lawyers around here a run for their money!”
They both laughed a little as they sat down. He continued to play with his food to avoid staring at her while she scanned the menu for something ‘light’. He told her she couldn’t go wrong with the chicken, so she gladly obliged. Indecision could be said to be Molly’s most obvious vice, but James couldn’t help but be a tad charmed by it. Her face was adorable when she couldn’t decide, even though he knew it was only a tactic. Considering what was to come, he chose for tonight to simply enjoy it.
“Wow James, this really is quite a place, isn’t it?”
“Yeah I know. Can’t you just smell the money on these people?”
“Yeah, I can as a matter of fact.”
“My food also had a kind of pretentious aftertaste, just so you’re aware.”
“You’re quite the jokester tonight. What’s going on?”
“Oh you know me, always the jester in a court of stiffs. Or it could just be that dress you’re wearing making me nervous.”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, of course. I should have expected as much. Just thought I’d throw that in for shits and giggles.”
“James, you know I hate it when you say things like that. Of course I’m going to react like that.”
The waiter brought her plate over and poured her a fresh glass of red, from which she took a generous sip. She used her chicken as an expensive excuse not to speak, to not look up. He countered and pushed around his spud-steak once more. Unlike her, he wanted desperately to look up.
“You’re very cruel to me, you know.”