Tea
For alan_shore for the song drabble meme. [Dennis is 20 here.]
"This is good!" Dennis announced, waving his glass vaguely at them. "It's cold and sweet, sour, and sort of orangey, but nothing at all like tea, except for the colour, maybe, although it's hard to tell under these lights! Where is Long Island, anyway?"
Alan glared at Denny, who attempted to look innocent.
"Under-age," Alan whispered pointedly.
"British," Denny hissed back. "Legal." He waved his own whisky on a 'ah-hah!' sort of way.
"In Britain. We're in Boston," Alan pointed out.
"Boston Legal," Denny agreed.
"Why are we whispering?" Dennis asked, bobbing a little in his seat in time to the music. "Do the waitresses walk on the tables in all American pubs, then? Oh, you don't call them pubs, do you? Is this a bar or a club? Although you get bars in clubs and pubs, so I suppose that confuses the issue! Do you come here often?"
"Not as often as I'd like," Denny said, leering at passing fishnets.
Alan gave him a warning look. Denny gave him a 'What?' look.
"It's a club," Alan explained. "Bars are smaller, more intimate, a place for intellectual stimulation and seduction, conversation--"
"Clubs have larger restrooms," Denny supplied.
"--over slow sloe--" Alan broke off, frowning at Denny. "Larger restrooms," he repeated dubiously.
Denny nodded genially. "Good for hookups."
"Denny," Alan started and then, thinking better of it, turned back to Dennis. "Clubs are more about physicality; communication is about motion, the curve of a smile, the spark of a gaze, bodies moving in tandem to the tribal rhythms of pulse-pounding music--"
"Hooking up," Denny explained. "Vertical mambo."
Alan threw his hands up in defeat.
Denny chuckled. "Horizontal too, if you're doing it right."
"There's something to be said," Alan started, and then stopped, staring at his glass. Denny gave him a prompting look. Alan drank and put his empty glass back on the table. "I will admit that there's something to be said for moments of raw lust, for two bodies interlocking the way nature and Skinemax intended; but far more preferable is sex borne of a mutual affection, however shallowly come by, however fleetingly passed. There is a certain connection that is only formed by separating oneself from the crowd of faceless genitalia, only formed by the act of pursuit -- an act which is, itself, a biological imperative. Man is an evolved predator, discerning and requiring subtle comforts, not least of which is the triumph of a successful seduction, of transforming communication into communion."
Denny nodded. "Nansy pansy."
Alan gave him a reproachful look, while tipping his empty glass at a waitress for a refill.
"Alan, there's only one thing that counts when it comes to matters of the heart: money. Money connects all living things together; it's what makes the world go round. If you want affection, you can buy it for a hundred--an-hour on any good street corner, or--" He raised his voice over Alan's started objection. "--for ten bucks a shot in the club of your choice. Money brings people together. It's how you and I met; it's how we both came to meet Denny Creeve here; it is why we are in this establishment to celebrate Denny Crane: never beaten. Money is how we will establish this young man's connection -- and our own -- to a bevy of wonderful, red-blooded American girls with fishnets and bunny tails."
"Oh, I already have a girlfriend and a boyfriend," Dennis said, "sort of, in a complicated sort of way! I'm not quite sure how that happened," he confided, "but I get to have lots of sex, so I try not to question it! Hello," he added to the waitress topping up his glass, "you're very pretty! I like your boa!"
"Well, aren't you just the cutest thing," she said, beaming at him.
Denny and Alan stared.
"What?" asked Dennis around his drinking straw. "This is really good tea!"
"This is good!" Dennis announced, waving his glass vaguely at them. "It's cold and sweet, sour, and sort of orangey, but nothing at all like tea, except for the colour, maybe, although it's hard to tell under these lights! Where is Long Island, anyway?"
Alan glared at Denny, who attempted to look innocent.
"Under-age," Alan whispered pointedly.
"British," Denny hissed back. "Legal." He waved his own whisky on a 'ah-hah!' sort of way.
"In Britain. We're in Boston," Alan pointed out.
"Boston Legal," Denny agreed.
"Why are we whispering?" Dennis asked, bobbing a little in his seat in time to the music. "Do the waitresses walk on the tables in all American pubs, then? Oh, you don't call them pubs, do you? Is this a bar or a club? Although you get bars in clubs and pubs, so I suppose that confuses the issue! Do you come here often?"
"Not as often as I'd like," Denny said, leering at passing fishnets.
Alan gave him a warning look. Denny gave him a 'What?' look.
"It's a club," Alan explained. "Bars are smaller, more intimate, a place for intellectual stimulation and seduction, conversation--"
"Clubs have larger restrooms," Denny supplied.
"--over slow sloe--" Alan broke off, frowning at Denny. "Larger restrooms," he repeated dubiously.
Denny nodded genially. "Good for hookups."
"Denny," Alan started and then, thinking better of it, turned back to Dennis. "Clubs are more about physicality; communication is about motion, the curve of a smile, the spark of a gaze, bodies moving in tandem to the tribal rhythms of pulse-pounding music--"
"Hooking up," Denny explained. "Vertical mambo."
Alan threw his hands up in defeat.
Denny chuckled. "Horizontal too, if you're doing it right."
"There's something to be said," Alan started, and then stopped, staring at his glass. Denny gave him a prompting look. Alan drank and put his empty glass back on the table. "I will admit that there's something to be said for moments of raw lust, for two bodies interlocking the way nature and Skinemax intended; but far more preferable is sex borne of a mutual affection, however shallowly come by, however fleetingly passed. There is a certain connection that is only formed by separating oneself from the crowd of faceless genitalia, only formed by the act of pursuit -- an act which is, itself, a biological imperative. Man is an evolved predator, discerning and requiring subtle comforts, not least of which is the triumph of a successful seduction, of transforming communication into communion."
Denny nodded. "Nansy pansy."
Alan gave him a reproachful look, while tipping his empty glass at a waitress for a refill.
"Alan, there's only one thing that counts when it comes to matters of the heart: money. Money connects all living things together; it's what makes the world go round. If you want affection, you can buy it for a hundred--an-hour on any good street corner, or--" He raised his voice over Alan's started objection. "--for ten bucks a shot in the club of your choice. Money brings people together. It's how you and I met; it's how we both came to meet Denny Creeve here; it is why we are in this establishment to celebrate Denny Crane: never beaten. Money is how we will establish this young man's connection -- and our own -- to a bevy of wonderful, red-blooded American girls with fishnets and bunny tails."
"Oh, I already have a girlfriend and a boyfriend," Dennis said, "sort of, in a complicated sort of way! I'm not quite sure how that happened," he confided, "but I get to have lots of sex, so I try not to question it! Hello," he added to the waitress topping up his glass, "you're very pretty! I like your boa!"
"Well, aren't you just the cutest thing," she said, beaming at him.
Denny and Alan stared.
"What?" asked Dennis around his drinking straw. "This is really good tea!"