One Good Man.
An Ideal Husband
“Will you want any coffee or tea, ma’am?”
“Earl Grey,” I say in a low voice. One never speaks over a voiced whisper in these restaurants. She nods and leaves me to dab at my lips gently with a crimson napkin. I think I got that off a laxative commercial. You know, where the woman goes out to dinner and squirms around in her seat.
A couple sits directly in front of me. Candlelight blossoms on their cheeks and plays tricks on their dimples. They laugh about something that is probably about as funny as a pile of gallstones. Being in love always gives you a horrible sense of humor. You just always want to laugh at his jokes. It’s dreadful.
She has a thin nose and maple-brown hair tucked into a neat bun. She plays with the diamond-ring on her finger and bites her lip shyly. I know that trick. Aha! It works! He tells her, “You’re beautiful.”
He’s blonde. The blue in his collared-shirt catches the color from his eyes and spills it attractively into the light. He drapes his hand over hers delicately.
They don’t notice me. They don’t notice anything but each other.
How revolting.
He starts to speak,
“Earl Grey. Will that be everything?”
I give an irritated nod and brush her off. I feel like a grandma interrupted during her soaps.
They are whispering now.
How boring.
I stir my tea in slow hypnotic strokes. The waitress deposits a leather-bound bill on my table - a fancy way to lessen the blow.
I look up.
What is he doing?
It looks like he’s… sliding down the seat...
She is smoothing her hair back and appears not to notice.
He keeps sliding… further… further down…
He’s completely under the table.
People in the restaurant whisper behind hands and glance around nervously.
That is not the sort of thing one does.
We expect someone to do something, though we’re not sure what. A grown man just slid under a table.
My waitress wanders over. The other patrons seem satisfied and go back to their $30-dollar salads. I lean in closer over my tea.
“Pardon me, ma'am,” the waitress says expertly, “but I think your husband just slid under the table.”
The woman looks up at her and smoothes her hair once more. She blinks, expressionless, and replies calmly, “No, he didn't. He just walked in the door.”