Lunch with Sabitha
We met at a quaint little diner on her lunch hour, and while it was cut short because she had to get back to work (my bad subway connection delayed us, dammit), I think it was definitely worth the trip into the city. For me, I mean; I don't know how she felt about the meal. She's hard to read, that one, and so I can only imagine how Mr. Ray Hubbard must have taken her.
Especially given some of the things she said, to hear her tell it! She doesn't suffer any fools, that's for sure. I do like her, what I've seen of her, what she's been willing to show. I am suspicious, as we discussed. The Twenty Questions was fun; I hope we have a chance to finish. The thought of her as a flower child . . . though "bank teller" seemed oddly appropriate, I couldn't say exactly why.
Anyway, I'm back home now, thinking jealous little thoughts about eight-thousand-dollar diamond bracelets and trying to focus on my email. To which I will return now. Yes.
6/7/2005
Logfile from Leah.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sabitha has already arrived and claimed a table by the window. She's currently pouring over a menu, one foot keeping absent time to the music piped in over the sound system, while her hand rests posessively over a slim blue case on the table. It wouldn't do for /that/ to be snatched away.
Leah swings in through the door out of breath, pauses to catch some air and look around, and then perches quickly at the table's other chair. "Subway delay," she apologizes with a crooked smile. "Sometimes, I don't think they'll ever /really/ get the Seven working properly; I might as well just walk that part of the trip." Reaching for another menu, she tips her head at the blue case. "Is that -- it?"
Sabitha looks up with an easy smile. "If I could walk all the way to work every morning, I would," she agrees, and closes her menu to slide the case slightly toward Leah and remove her hand. "That's it," she confirms.
Leah keeps /her/ hand on her menu while she regards the case as she might a dubious gift. Or snake-in-a-box. Then she tips pallidly amused eyes back up at the other woman. "I still can't believe he went Tiffany's on you at your first meeting, but here's the proof, I guess. Well. Better start at the beginning and tell me all about it."
Sabitha tips the case open, just enough to let Leah peek inside. "I stopped by before I came here," she reveals. "Eight thousand worth of diamonds in that case." Well, that's the end rather than the beginning, but it's surely an important fact.
Leah whistles and leans forward to see. "That's -- well, a damn sight more than I've ever seen in /my/ life. Can I take it out and, you know, just bask in its glow a little?"
Sabitha leans backward, settling her hands in her lap. "Feel free. It's more than /I've/ seen, and I've got a few pricey pieces," she reveals. "So tell me. What /exactly/ does it mean to give an eight thousand dollar piece of jewelry to a woman the first time you have her out?" She gives Leah a dry smile. "Is this an indication that I'm at least a high-class whore?"
First Leah draws the case closer; then she carefully opens the lid the rest of the way. Then she darts a smile back, just as dry, before picking up the bracelet to admire it in the light through the window. "God, you'd think that that's what he thinks, huh? You did say he wasn't a very good socialite; a move like this makes me think he's not too hot as a human being, or a man, either. Is he expecting money to dazzle you? Shiny gifts. It /is/ shiny," she adds quickly, hefting the bracelet in her palm, "but it says more about him than about you. And we thought he was weird in the bar. Where'd you guys end up going?"
"Tavern on the Green. He sent a limo after me and everything," Sabby shares. "It's odd, really. One minute he's doing fabulously. No surprises. Flattery and smiles and the like. The next it's as if he's off his game. Asking slightly odd questions, or just... something a bit off in his expression, you know?" Her brows lift queringly at Leah as the waitress appears, and Sabby quickly orders an iced tea.
"Just water, no ice, thanks, and I'll need a few more minutes for the rest." Leah gives the waitress her distracted smile until she's gone off again, then bends it more acutely on Sabitha, with the beginnings of a concentrated frown furrowing between her brows. "The Tavern, a limo, and a weirdo. /Did/ you think he was weird? Or just socially awkward? Were your instincts squawking at all?"
Sabitha frowns slightly, in thought, and she's flipped her menu back open again. "It's difficult to say, really. In those sorts of circles, no one's ever honest about who they really are. It's part of the game." She glances up, and shrugs easily. "It's difficult to say what slips are because he's not used to circular small talk, and what might be.. something else. He didn't strike me as a complete creep, no," she reveals with a small smile. "But then, I met Erik Lensherr once, and neither did he."
Leah's mouth rounds as she puts the bracelet back in the box. "/No./ You didn't. I will now confess to gut-wrenching journalistic envy here, Ms. Melcross. /The/ Erik Lensherr? Who," she notes wryly, "might not appreciate being in the same conversation as our friend Ray. He's always seemed so . . . dignified to me. Lensherr, I mean."
"It's been an interesting several months for me, you might say," Sabby agrees with a small smile. "Dignified is a good word, perhaps. I met him quite randomly, feeding ducks in Central Park. He was very polite, so far as things go." As Leah returns the bracelet, she reaches for the box. "However. Had I not known who he was, I wouldn't have been suspicious in the slightest. So I'm not sure my gut is to be trusted."
Leah shakes her head and opens her own menu for another fast scan. "Ducks," she repeats. "I'll be damned. I guess there's one international terrorist who feels perfectly free from worry about the local law enforcement, huh? But it sounds as if your gut /was/ right, since he didn't do anything to you." She tips an inquisitive look over the menu: did he?
Sabitha laughs quitely as she studies the selection of salads. "Just because he let me go free of harm doesn't make him any less a creepy person over all. Or any less a terrorist," she points out. "It's quite amazing, what one can hide behind pretty words." She glances briefly at her purse, where she's slipped the bracelet away. "Or pretty things."
Leah grunts softly. "Any guesses what's up Ray Hubbard's sleeve?"
Sabitha sighs quietly and shakes her head. "Not even close. If he has a hand to play, he's playing it well. I could read that conversation as one intended precisely to get certain bits of information from me while putting me at ease about others. Or I could read it as a dinner with a man who relays too much on money and not enough on wit, and is truly curious about that attack and wishes to use his money to good influence."
Leah falls into thoughtful silence for a moment. The waitress returns with the timing of all good staff, and she rouses to give her order: "Just the club salad, please, with the dressing on the side. Do you have vinaigraitte? Yeah, thanks, that's great." She folds the menu and sets it aside, staring out the window for Sabitha's turn.
Sabitha orders a salad, likewise, though she negotiates the exchange of meat for extra veggies of her choice. As the waitress departs, she turns her gaze to Leah. "I suppose, really, the most suspicious thing all evening - if we discount an expression here and there - was the fact that he claimed to have followed us to get my attention, because he was interested in the rally, and then we spent all of ten minutes discussing it."
Leah swings her attention sharply back. "So, it was a pretense? Huh. He was trying to work you for his own ends, obviously -- pump you for information?"
Sabitha shakes her head easily. "There was no information to pump for, really. Perhaps a pretence.. perhaps not." She gives the other woman a rueful smile. "I'm afraid there's not actually much to offer about 'what really happened'. I mean, I hardly know who organized it, or why."
"All the networks were trying to pawn it off on the Brotherhood. Don't suppose you got a chance to ask Mr. Lensherr about it when he was feeding the ducks." Leah crimps a joking little smile for that. "Then maybe he just wants to get close to you, whatever /that/ means, to get information through your boss's office? Though I can't see why. The senator's hardly the most controversial or -- sorry -- interesting one on the Hill these days."
"I'm not nearly that brave," Sabby replies with a low laugh before she sips at her tea. "Mm. Well. I suppose that's possible. It might explain the bracelet, I suppose. As much as assures I'll speak to him again, really." She shrugs slightly. "But no, you're right. Senator Williams sits on the MRA committee, but she's hardly loud or outspoken about it.. and more importantly, I've hardly got her ear. I've only met the woman a handful of times."
Leah levels a finger across the table at her companion. "Exactly! He must know that you're an analyst -- is that right? -- and not her aide-de-camp or anything. If it's a fishing expedition he's on, he's in the wrong spot and using bad bait, however pretty the bracelet is." She shakes her head again. "What occurred to me just now, too, is this: he sounds like a guy who's pretty good at hiding what he's about -- motives, intentions, and all that -- and those people aren't always Gandhi, know what I mean? It's the ones who have something to hide who get good at it."]
Sabitha waves her hand slightly. "Yes, but like I said... lying and hiding is par for the course with those sorts. Intentions, bank accounts, mistresses... it could be anything, and most of them aren't really that dire."
Leah huffs, though only mock-indignantly. "Well, maybe I just need a little gossip to sink my teeth into. Throw a bored reporter a bone." She rests her chin on an elbow-propped hand and blinks tranquilly. "What all did you cover in the course of dinner? How long was it?"
Sabitha twirls her glass absently, listening to the clink of ice against glass. "Mmm. A good couple hours, at least, I'd say," she guesses. "Long enough to wait on fabulous food, eat, and have a cigarette. We discussed... who had or had not done research on whom." She levels an amused look on Leah. "He seemed quite interested in knowing just how deep I'd dug and why, and just as interested in pretending that he didn't know much of anything about me."
"Checking each other out, okay. I'd expect nothing less." Leah takes a sip of water, puts the glass down, scratches under her chin as she thinks, squint-eyed. "Sounds like a guy who wants to be in control. Of everything. Did he limo you home, too?"
Sabitha nods easily. "He did, yes. And I agree. Most men do, really, but I suppose I did feel a bit like he wanted to keep the upper hand. It's something of a curse of money, too." She pauses, and then continues. "What else? The rally, of course. Briefly, the danger of protecting the president against mutants, and his hopes that Mutant Registration might control that a bit." She flicks her fingers dismissively. "He was quite willing to change the subject, though. Asked me what one does for fun around New York, and was /quite/ offended when I suggested he might be interested in theatre only to have something of culture to talk about at parties."
Leah sits back to let the returning waitress slide their respective salads before them; then she's leaning forward again, listening intently. "Wait, he was offended at your suggesting he take in some culture at the theatre?"
Sabitha shakes her head slightly and she reaches for her fork. "Oh, no. I mentioned that I have a bit of a thing for theatre, and he asked me for suggestions. I asked whether he wanted to know what I thought was good, or if he wanted something he could talk about to prove his culture. Not always the same thing, you know." She smiles dryly, and spears a bit of lettuce.
Leah digs her fork into chopped, multi-hued salad and laughs a little. "Gotcha. And no, it's not. Sounds like you were pricking his ego -- or that's what /he/ thought, anyway. What'd he say to that?"
"Not your typical socialite, concerned about fellow man, etc, etc," Sabby replies with a brief wave of her fork before she shakes her head.
Leah continues, "And is then when he talked about first-aid training? I think your email mentioned that."
Sabitha frowns slightly as she thinks, and then nods. "I believe so, yes. He wanted my advice on where to set up shop to train first aid. I told him any Y or high school would love to have him, but he wanted something with college students." Her brows quirk, and she adds, "At which point I suggested that he was too lazy to use his own brain and bother to call universities and ask them himself."
Leah laughs out right. "Oh, you didn't! That must've gone over like a lead balloon." She forks up a bite, eyes twinkling at the other woman. After she swallows: "I /knew/ I liked you. Say, speaking of first-aid and all, did he bring up that kid he was trying to find from the accident?"
Sabitha coughs quietly, and admits, "I did. He professed to enjoy the honesty." She gives a rueful smile, and then shakes her head. "Didn't so much as mention him."
Leah scoffs, "Oh, I'm /sure/ he enjoyed it. With a tight little smile or squint to his eyes. I've gone out with those guys, though not at his level, obviously. Is there going to be a follow-up to this . . . meeting, dinner, date, what-the-hell-ever?"
Sabitha shrugs slightly around a bite. "Well. I promised to give him suggestions on the theatre. And I need to do /something/ about /this/." She taps her purse at her side circumspectly.
Leah makes a soft noise in her throat as she chews. ". . . Anyone in the Diamond District would take it off your hands, of course, and lo, you are $8000 richer, thanks to Mr. Hubbard. But -- in his debt, kinda, by the same token. Me, I'd send it back." She sighs, eyeing the purse. "As much as I like jewelry, though that's a little much for me, I /would/ send it back. With a thanks-but-no-thanks note."
Sabitha nods easily enough. "I think that's what I'll do, actually. With perhaps a name or two of a show tucked under it, and we'll see whether he returns anything or not." She gives Leah a small smile. "And then the question becomes, what does it mean if he does? And what does it mean if he doesn't?"
Leah laughs a little hollowly. "Welcome to my job. Are you okay with this, seriously? It seems all a bit much."
Sabitha laughs abruptly, and shakes her head. The sound is light and easy. "Oh, I'm fine, trust me. It's the world I've chosen to live in after all, isn't it? It's not entirely bad."
"I guess not. It can still slap me upside the head," Leah admits ruefully and chomps another bite. "--Never mind, then. You had other options for living your life, you're right, and look at what it's brought you!"
"Mystery and mayhem around every corner, hm?" Sabby replies in low amusement. She's silent for a moment as she eats, and then offers, "You do realize that we've managed to dive heads first into a so-called mystery without knowing much more than each other's names, don't you?" She pauses to flash Leah a grin.
Leah waves her free hand airily. "Such is the nature of the biz," she lofts in reply to the latter comment. "But yes, you're right -- about the mystery and mayhem, too, though I hope for no more car accidents. Well. Wanna trade life stories, or just do Twenty Questions?" She grins over another sip of water.
Sabitha laughs again, and stabs a crouton before answering. "Let's do twenty questions. Far more fun." She levels a look on Leah. "Animal, mineral, or vegetable?" she teases before asking, more seriously. "Leah Canto. Age?"
Leah stifles a chuckle into the back of her hand. "Uh. Thirty-four. Just turned last month. Are we taking turns, or are you going all first?"
"Taking turns, of course," Sabby assures her. "I'm trained to be terribly polite, after all." Uh huh.
"Oh, yes, of course. Pity, too: I was rather hoping you'd take a swing at that Fox News reporter who got in your face about your voting record -- like you're an elected official? -- right after you'd saved the freakin' President." Leah pokes her fork through her salad, hunting the next good tidbit, while she thinks. "Okay, here's mine: What did you want to be when you grew up?"
"I was rather wishing I could. How on earth can they see my voting record, anyway?" Sabby mutters in annoyance. "I always thought those things were supposed to be private." A bit of lettuce is speared with a vegeance. "Ha! What did I want to be? Depends on the age, really. A flower child, at one point. A surfer. I think I was set on becoming a bank teller for a summer when I was eleven." She shrugs slightly. "But since it's actually /mattered/, I find I've been rather unfocused. I like what I do well enough."
Leah assures her, "Nothing's private anymore, or it isn't supposed to be, in some people's minds. Reporters who need to fill a 24-hour news cycle, especially." She eyes her then. "Flower child? Were your parents? Oh, wait, it's your turn to go."
Sabitha grins easily. "I'll let you have one extra - my mother was, yes. Or near enough, anyway. She had great stories about those days, though she just caught the tail end of it." She leans forward and eyes Leah. "How'd you end up in New York?"
"Born here. Brooooklyn," Leah exaggerates with a bit of a swagger to her accent and a bit of that grin again. "Born and bred going back, oh, a hundred years at least. Mostly Italian, with some Irish in the mix, which probably explains why half of us are cops. Ha. And I've stayed because, well, what's a better place to live? There isn't one, for me." Her expression says, 'aw,' not at all self-consciously. "How'd /you/ end up in New York?"
Sabitha grins over a sip of tea at the accent. "Goodness. Quite the heritage." She settles back in with her salad and shares, "School. I always wanted to do something really different for college, and you don't get much more than California to New York. That, and I wanted to be close to the theatre. I went to Emerson." A pause, and she questions, "Have you always been so suspicious, or have you cultivated that trait?"
Leah nods to the answer and then crinkles her little smile. "Mmm, now we're getting more into the meat, aren't we? I'd have to say both: I was raised to be suspicious, or being suspicious was what I thought I should be, because I wanted to be a cop, too. I think working as a reporter down on the streets only made that worse -- or better, if you like. Certainly, the farther I've gotten in the media, the more exaggerated it's gone. It's--" She hesitates, shrugs. "It's tiring sometimes, but it's kept me going so far. A valuable trait, I think, all told. How's that?"
Sabitha watches Leah with a thoughtful expression, and then nods slowly. "It does, at that," she answers, and then abruptly catches sight of the time. "Oh.. shit.. I'm sorry, Leah, I've got to run. I slipped out a bit early to hit Tiffany's, and Joanne will have my head if I'm late getting back." She stands, rummaging for enough bills to cover her meal as she does. "I'll let you know if I hear from him again, ok?"
Leah waves it off. "No, no, that's fine, and yeah, let me know. I'll clean up here, don't worry about it. Sorry the lunch took so long; I'll take a better train next time!" She stays sitting and so turns up a wearied smile from her seat. "And if it gets too weird, /call/ me. Or someone, anyone. Y'know?"
Sabitha grins easily as she tosses a few bills on the table. "Oh, don't worry about me. I can take care of myself, trust me," she assures Leah, and then gives her a short wave before disappearing out the door.
[Log ends.]
Especially given some of the things she said, to hear her tell it! She doesn't suffer any fools, that's for sure. I do like her, what I've seen of her, what she's been willing to show. I am suspicious, as we discussed. The Twenty Questions was fun; I hope we have a chance to finish. The thought of her as a flower child . . . though "bank teller" seemed oddly appropriate, I couldn't say exactly why.
Anyway, I'm back home now, thinking jealous little thoughts about eight-thousand-dollar diamond bracelets and trying to focus on my email. To which I will return now. Yes.
6/7/2005
Logfile from Leah.
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Sabitha has already arrived and claimed a table by the window. She's currently pouring over a menu, one foot keeping absent time to the music piped in over the sound system, while her hand rests posessively over a slim blue case on the table. It wouldn't do for /that/ to be snatched away.
Leah swings in through the door out of breath, pauses to catch some air and look around, and then perches quickly at the table's other chair. "Subway delay," she apologizes with a crooked smile. "Sometimes, I don't think they'll ever /really/ get the Seven working properly; I might as well just walk that part of the trip." Reaching for another menu, she tips her head at the blue case. "Is that -- it?"
Sabitha looks up with an easy smile. "If I could walk all the way to work every morning, I would," she agrees, and closes her menu to slide the case slightly toward Leah and remove her hand. "That's it," she confirms.
Leah keeps /her/ hand on her menu while she regards the case as she might a dubious gift. Or snake-in-a-box. Then she tips pallidly amused eyes back up at the other woman. "I still can't believe he went Tiffany's on you at your first meeting, but here's the proof, I guess. Well. Better start at the beginning and tell me all about it."
Sabitha tips the case open, just enough to let Leah peek inside. "I stopped by before I came here," she reveals. "Eight thousand worth of diamonds in that case." Well, that's the end rather than the beginning, but it's surely an important fact.
Leah whistles and leans forward to see. "That's -- well, a damn sight more than I've ever seen in /my/ life. Can I take it out and, you know, just bask in its glow a little?"
Sabitha leans backward, settling her hands in her lap. "Feel free. It's more than /I've/ seen, and I've got a few pricey pieces," she reveals. "So tell me. What /exactly/ does it mean to give an eight thousand dollar piece of jewelry to a woman the first time you have her out?" She gives Leah a dry smile. "Is this an indication that I'm at least a high-class whore?"
First Leah draws the case closer; then she carefully opens the lid the rest of the way. Then she darts a smile back, just as dry, before picking up the bracelet to admire it in the light through the window. "God, you'd think that that's what he thinks, huh? You did say he wasn't a very good socialite; a move like this makes me think he's not too hot as a human being, or a man, either. Is he expecting money to dazzle you? Shiny gifts. It /is/ shiny," she adds quickly, hefting the bracelet in her palm, "but it says more about him than about you. And we thought he was weird in the bar. Where'd you guys end up going?"
"Tavern on the Green. He sent a limo after me and everything," Sabby shares. "It's odd, really. One minute he's doing fabulously. No surprises. Flattery and smiles and the like. The next it's as if he's off his game. Asking slightly odd questions, or just... something a bit off in his expression, you know?" Her brows lift queringly at Leah as the waitress appears, and Sabby quickly orders an iced tea.
"Just water, no ice, thanks, and I'll need a few more minutes for the rest." Leah gives the waitress her distracted smile until she's gone off again, then bends it more acutely on Sabitha, with the beginnings of a concentrated frown furrowing between her brows. "The Tavern, a limo, and a weirdo. /Did/ you think he was weird? Or just socially awkward? Were your instincts squawking at all?"
Sabitha frowns slightly, in thought, and she's flipped her menu back open again. "It's difficult to say, really. In those sorts of circles, no one's ever honest about who they really are. It's part of the game." She glances up, and shrugs easily. "It's difficult to say what slips are because he's not used to circular small talk, and what might be.. something else. He didn't strike me as a complete creep, no," she reveals with a small smile. "But then, I met Erik Lensherr once, and neither did he."
Leah's mouth rounds as she puts the bracelet back in the box. "/No./ You didn't. I will now confess to gut-wrenching journalistic envy here, Ms. Melcross. /The/ Erik Lensherr? Who," she notes wryly, "might not appreciate being in the same conversation as our friend Ray. He's always seemed so . . . dignified to me. Lensherr, I mean."
"It's been an interesting several months for me, you might say," Sabby agrees with a small smile. "Dignified is a good word, perhaps. I met him quite randomly, feeding ducks in Central Park. He was very polite, so far as things go." As Leah returns the bracelet, she reaches for the box. "However. Had I not known who he was, I wouldn't have been suspicious in the slightest. So I'm not sure my gut is to be trusted."
Leah shakes her head and opens her own menu for another fast scan. "Ducks," she repeats. "I'll be damned. I guess there's one international terrorist who feels perfectly free from worry about the local law enforcement, huh? But it sounds as if your gut /was/ right, since he didn't do anything to you." She tips an inquisitive look over the menu: did he?
Sabitha laughs quitely as she studies the selection of salads. "Just because he let me go free of harm doesn't make him any less a creepy person over all. Or any less a terrorist," she points out. "It's quite amazing, what one can hide behind pretty words." She glances briefly at her purse, where she's slipped the bracelet away. "Or pretty things."
Leah grunts softly. "Any guesses what's up Ray Hubbard's sleeve?"
Sabitha sighs quietly and shakes her head. "Not even close. If he has a hand to play, he's playing it well. I could read that conversation as one intended precisely to get certain bits of information from me while putting me at ease about others. Or I could read it as a dinner with a man who relays too much on money and not enough on wit, and is truly curious about that attack and wishes to use his money to good influence."
Leah falls into thoughtful silence for a moment. The waitress returns with the timing of all good staff, and she rouses to give her order: "Just the club salad, please, with the dressing on the side. Do you have vinaigraitte? Yeah, thanks, that's great." She folds the menu and sets it aside, staring out the window for Sabitha's turn.
Sabitha orders a salad, likewise, though she negotiates the exchange of meat for extra veggies of her choice. As the waitress departs, she turns her gaze to Leah. "I suppose, really, the most suspicious thing all evening - if we discount an expression here and there - was the fact that he claimed to have followed us to get my attention, because he was interested in the rally, and then we spent all of ten minutes discussing it."
Leah swings her attention sharply back. "So, it was a pretense? Huh. He was trying to work you for his own ends, obviously -- pump you for information?"
Sabitha shakes her head easily. "There was no information to pump for, really. Perhaps a pretence.. perhaps not." She gives the other woman a rueful smile. "I'm afraid there's not actually much to offer about 'what really happened'. I mean, I hardly know who organized it, or why."
"All the networks were trying to pawn it off on the Brotherhood. Don't suppose you got a chance to ask Mr. Lensherr about it when he was feeding the ducks." Leah crimps a joking little smile for that. "Then maybe he just wants to get close to you, whatever /that/ means, to get information through your boss's office? Though I can't see why. The senator's hardly the most controversial or -- sorry -- interesting one on the Hill these days."
"I'm not nearly that brave," Sabby replies with a low laugh before she sips at her tea. "Mm. Well. I suppose that's possible. It might explain the bracelet, I suppose. As much as assures I'll speak to him again, really." She shrugs slightly. "But no, you're right. Senator Williams sits on the MRA committee, but she's hardly loud or outspoken about it.. and more importantly, I've hardly got her ear. I've only met the woman a handful of times."
Leah levels a finger across the table at her companion. "Exactly! He must know that you're an analyst -- is that right? -- and not her aide-de-camp or anything. If it's a fishing expedition he's on, he's in the wrong spot and using bad bait, however pretty the bracelet is." She shakes her head again. "What occurred to me just now, too, is this: he sounds like a guy who's pretty good at hiding what he's about -- motives, intentions, and all that -- and those people aren't always Gandhi, know what I mean? It's the ones who have something to hide who get good at it."]
Sabitha waves her hand slightly. "Yes, but like I said... lying and hiding is par for the course with those sorts. Intentions, bank accounts, mistresses... it could be anything, and most of them aren't really that dire."
Leah huffs, though only mock-indignantly. "Well, maybe I just need a little gossip to sink my teeth into. Throw a bored reporter a bone." She rests her chin on an elbow-propped hand and blinks tranquilly. "What all did you cover in the course of dinner? How long was it?"
Sabitha twirls her glass absently, listening to the clink of ice against glass. "Mmm. A good couple hours, at least, I'd say," she guesses. "Long enough to wait on fabulous food, eat, and have a cigarette. We discussed... who had or had not done research on whom." She levels an amused look on Leah. "He seemed quite interested in knowing just how deep I'd dug and why, and just as interested in pretending that he didn't know much of anything about me."
"Checking each other out, okay. I'd expect nothing less." Leah takes a sip of water, puts the glass down, scratches under her chin as she thinks, squint-eyed. "Sounds like a guy who wants to be in control. Of everything. Did he limo you home, too?"
Sabitha nods easily. "He did, yes. And I agree. Most men do, really, but I suppose I did feel a bit like he wanted to keep the upper hand. It's something of a curse of money, too." She pauses, and then continues. "What else? The rally, of course. Briefly, the danger of protecting the president against mutants, and his hopes that Mutant Registration might control that a bit." She flicks her fingers dismissively. "He was quite willing to change the subject, though. Asked me what one does for fun around New York, and was /quite/ offended when I suggested he might be interested in theatre only to have something of culture to talk about at parties."
Leah sits back to let the returning waitress slide their respective salads before them; then she's leaning forward again, listening intently. "Wait, he was offended at your suggesting he take in some culture at the theatre?"
Sabitha shakes her head slightly and she reaches for her fork. "Oh, no. I mentioned that I have a bit of a thing for theatre, and he asked me for suggestions. I asked whether he wanted to know what I thought was good, or if he wanted something he could talk about to prove his culture. Not always the same thing, you know." She smiles dryly, and spears a bit of lettuce.
Leah digs her fork into chopped, multi-hued salad and laughs a little. "Gotcha. And no, it's not. Sounds like you were pricking his ego -- or that's what /he/ thought, anyway. What'd he say to that?"
"Not your typical socialite, concerned about fellow man, etc, etc," Sabby replies with a brief wave of her fork before she shakes her head.
Leah continues, "And is then when he talked about first-aid training? I think your email mentioned that."
Sabitha frowns slightly as she thinks, and then nods. "I believe so, yes. He wanted my advice on where to set up shop to train first aid. I told him any Y or high school would love to have him, but he wanted something with college students." Her brows quirk, and she adds, "At which point I suggested that he was too lazy to use his own brain and bother to call universities and ask them himself."
Leah laughs out right. "Oh, you didn't! That must've gone over like a lead balloon." She forks up a bite, eyes twinkling at the other woman. After she swallows: "I /knew/ I liked you. Say, speaking of first-aid and all, did he bring up that kid he was trying to find from the accident?"
Sabitha coughs quietly, and admits, "I did. He professed to enjoy the honesty." She gives a rueful smile, and then shakes her head. "Didn't so much as mention him."
Leah scoffs, "Oh, I'm /sure/ he enjoyed it. With a tight little smile or squint to his eyes. I've gone out with those guys, though not at his level, obviously. Is there going to be a follow-up to this . . . meeting, dinner, date, what-the-hell-ever?"
Sabitha shrugs slightly around a bite. "Well. I promised to give him suggestions on the theatre. And I need to do /something/ about /this/." She taps her purse at her side circumspectly.
Leah makes a soft noise in her throat as she chews. ". . . Anyone in the Diamond District would take it off your hands, of course, and lo, you are $8000 richer, thanks to Mr. Hubbard. But -- in his debt, kinda, by the same token. Me, I'd send it back." She sighs, eyeing the purse. "As much as I like jewelry, though that's a little much for me, I /would/ send it back. With a thanks-but-no-thanks note."
Sabitha nods easily enough. "I think that's what I'll do, actually. With perhaps a name or two of a show tucked under it, and we'll see whether he returns anything or not." She gives Leah a small smile. "And then the question becomes, what does it mean if he does? And what does it mean if he doesn't?"
Leah laughs a little hollowly. "Welcome to my job. Are you okay with this, seriously? It seems all a bit much."
Sabitha laughs abruptly, and shakes her head. The sound is light and easy. "Oh, I'm fine, trust me. It's the world I've chosen to live in after all, isn't it? It's not entirely bad."
"I guess not. It can still slap me upside the head," Leah admits ruefully and chomps another bite. "--Never mind, then. You had other options for living your life, you're right, and look at what it's brought you!"
"Mystery and mayhem around every corner, hm?" Sabby replies in low amusement. She's silent for a moment as she eats, and then offers, "You do realize that we've managed to dive heads first into a so-called mystery without knowing much more than each other's names, don't you?" She pauses to flash Leah a grin.
Leah waves her free hand airily. "Such is the nature of the biz," she lofts in reply to the latter comment. "But yes, you're right -- about the mystery and mayhem, too, though I hope for no more car accidents. Well. Wanna trade life stories, or just do Twenty Questions?" She grins over another sip of water.
Sabitha laughs again, and stabs a crouton before answering. "Let's do twenty questions. Far more fun." She levels a look on Leah. "Animal, mineral, or vegetable?" she teases before asking, more seriously. "Leah Canto. Age?"
Leah stifles a chuckle into the back of her hand. "Uh. Thirty-four. Just turned last month. Are we taking turns, or are you going all first?"
"Taking turns, of course," Sabby assures her. "I'm trained to be terribly polite, after all." Uh huh.
"Oh, yes, of course. Pity, too: I was rather hoping you'd take a swing at that Fox News reporter who got in your face about your voting record -- like you're an elected official? -- right after you'd saved the freakin' President." Leah pokes her fork through her salad, hunting the next good tidbit, while she thinks. "Okay, here's mine: What did you want to be when you grew up?"
"I was rather wishing I could. How on earth can they see my voting record, anyway?" Sabby mutters in annoyance. "I always thought those things were supposed to be private." A bit of lettuce is speared with a vegeance. "Ha! What did I want to be? Depends on the age, really. A flower child, at one point. A surfer. I think I was set on becoming a bank teller for a summer when I was eleven." She shrugs slightly. "But since it's actually /mattered/, I find I've been rather unfocused. I like what I do well enough."
Leah assures her, "Nothing's private anymore, or it isn't supposed to be, in some people's minds. Reporters who need to fill a 24-hour news cycle, especially." She eyes her then. "Flower child? Were your parents? Oh, wait, it's your turn to go."
Sabitha grins easily. "I'll let you have one extra - my mother was, yes. Or near enough, anyway. She had great stories about those days, though she just caught the tail end of it." She leans forward and eyes Leah. "How'd you end up in New York?"
"Born here. Brooooklyn," Leah exaggerates with a bit of a swagger to her accent and a bit of that grin again. "Born and bred going back, oh, a hundred years at least. Mostly Italian, with some Irish in the mix, which probably explains why half of us are cops. Ha. And I've stayed because, well, what's a better place to live? There isn't one, for me." Her expression says, 'aw,' not at all self-consciously. "How'd /you/ end up in New York?"
Sabitha grins over a sip of tea at the accent. "Goodness. Quite the heritage." She settles back in with her salad and shares, "School. I always wanted to do something really different for college, and you don't get much more than California to New York. That, and I wanted to be close to the theatre. I went to Emerson." A pause, and she questions, "Have you always been so suspicious, or have you cultivated that trait?"
Leah nods to the answer and then crinkles her little smile. "Mmm, now we're getting more into the meat, aren't we? I'd have to say both: I was raised to be suspicious, or being suspicious was what I thought I should be, because I wanted to be a cop, too. I think working as a reporter down on the streets only made that worse -- or better, if you like. Certainly, the farther I've gotten in the media, the more exaggerated it's gone. It's--" She hesitates, shrugs. "It's tiring sometimes, but it's kept me going so far. A valuable trait, I think, all told. How's that?"
Sabitha watches Leah with a thoughtful expression, and then nods slowly. "It does, at that," she answers, and then abruptly catches sight of the time. "Oh.. shit.. I'm sorry, Leah, I've got to run. I slipped out a bit early to hit Tiffany's, and Joanne will have my head if I'm late getting back." She stands, rummaging for enough bills to cover her meal as she does. "I'll let you know if I hear from him again, ok?"
Leah waves it off. "No, no, that's fine, and yeah, let me know. I'll clean up here, don't worry about it. Sorry the lunch took so long; I'll take a better train next time!" She stays sitting and so turns up a wearied smile from her seat. "And if it gets too weird, /call/ me. Or someone, anyone. Y'know?"
Sabitha grins easily as she tosses a few bills on the table. "Oh, don't worry about me. I can take care of myself, trust me," she assures Leah, and then gives her a short wave before disappearing out the door.
[Log ends.]