The cobblestone patio made the wrought iron chairs and tables jitter a bit back and forth when the traffic would pass and that was almost comfortable considering the awkwardness of the conversation at hand. The waiters wore black pants hidden behind long white aprons that began at the middle of the rib cage and flirted with the idea of touching the ankles. It made the man think of Crystal Gayle in a backwards sort of way. He smirked as he thought of this but was conscience enough of it not to make his female counterpart wonder what the smile could be about.

She sat there wondering why she never remedied the lipstick-on-the-wineglass issue she always encountered when dining out, especially at lunch. Her mescaline salad with balsamic vinaigrette was just not doing it for her and she mused over the delectability of the crab cakes with Dijon dressing one more time. She shunned the idea and refocused on the matter at hand.

He never was to good with these types of conversations, these unruly third or fourth month dating talks that revolved around some weird issue that had already begun to rear it’s ugly head like Lock-Ness coming up for air. One big gulp of oxygen on it’s behalf could send the entire sight-seeing cruise vessel capsizing to the frigid deep. He cautioned on glancing around at the occasional bicyclist that cruised by and avoided his apron analogy. He was learning to be safer and more reserved the more often he found himself in these types of conversations.

The chatter, clatter, and chitter of the hustle-bustle around them made it easy for both of them to forget the reason they had abruptly met in the middle of the day. They never really did the ‘lunch’ thing; it was mostly drinks and dinners and weekend romps where sex replaced almost all meals that could be deemed ‘lunch‘. Light reflected in a strobing manner off of his butter knife as it smeared the whipped butter across the heal of the French loaf. This seemed to bring both of their focus back to each other.

“Do you remember that weekend that we took to Santa Barbara? You know, the one where the hotel manager had to come up and ask for quiet three separate times?”, he said so with a gleaming that was meant to say that this conversation should not be happening and that the Hilton was right down the street. It made her feel dirty. As a matter of fact, it made her feel down right filthy. These were not afternoons that she would want to reminisce about ever again unless she were paying someone with a leather couch a hundred and fifty bucks an hour to hear.

The crab cakes took her thoughts back into a big black sack and beat them about the head again. “Mmmm … crab cakes … crab cakes … Oh God, crab cakes …”, she was gulping down the saliva as she thought more about the flavour, the escape. She knocked back the half glass of shiraz that had held her lipstick and motioned to the looming waiter for another.

“Ok. It is quite simple. I can not, no, I will not do this anymore. Easy. Simple. Done.” She looked up at the waiter who was trying to teleport himself away from the doomed conversation all while damning his expediency to all hell. “Thank you kind Sir”, she said with a wry sarcasm that bit through all of the tension in the air and let it snap back into a far more comfortable state. She motioned for him to wait one second with the bottle of wine and she proceeded to gulp down the freshly refilled glass. The last hit from the bottom of the bell swished through her mouth as she motioned for Mr. Uncomfortable in the Long White Apron to refill that little glass bad boy one more time. She smiled and completely forgot about the lipstick on the glass.

The man at the table was dumbstruck. His bread sat half chewed almost falling from his mouth. The way the butter had gathered in the corners made it look like it was trying to escape as well. She nodded at him with a raised eyebrow intending to say silently that he looked like a dumb-ass. She even made a little clicking noise from the corner of her smile. He swallowed the remaining bread hard and quick and reached for his Seven & Seven. The ice had melted a bit as he had been nursing it’s remnants over the course of the initial idle chatter and sense of unknowing. He thought to himself, “Who’s idea was this lunch?”. He recalled having made the reservations himself but was now left confused.

He sat there trying to think about why. The feet of his patio chair seemed more percussive than it had been and it was kind of jungle drumming his anxiety through the roof. He rubbed his smooth manicured hand across his stubbled jaw line and tried to look calm and assured after the obvious shock revealed by the bread incident. “Ok, was it that weekend in Santa Barbara or one of the endless nights of bathroom stalls and backseat rides from club to club as the sweat flew through the air like the rambunctious aphrodisiac of the depraved? Was it that one time that I forgot to call? That time I could not remember her middle name or compliment a dress colour or hair style? What the fuck is going on?!?”, the thoughts bumper car collided into each other like cascading drops of water spilling from the top of a gorge; completely out of control synapse.

The sex was good, the attraction was there. The dates were done impressively so. He smelled good, she smelled good. Money was spent, roses were given. Conversation was never difficult, common interests were held. He could not think of one damn thing that would make this lunch come to this fruition. He motioned to the waiter, who was trying to avoid any eye contact with the table, to come over and fill up his drink. She sat sipping her wine and gently biting the glass lip while almost giggling. She could smell his panic.

He straightened the napkin on his lap and wriggled his neck around behind his tie. The drink arrived and was very, very dark; filled with booze and sympathy from another man. “Would you care to explain to me what the hell you are talking about?”. These were the only words he could muster, the only words that could leave his lips and have any meaning in his now defensive state of paranoia and rejection. She giggled again and took a long hard swig from the glass before she actually leaned back and began laughing.

“Well, you see”, she began with some sort of composure just short of cackling interruption, “I just don’t see the point. You are not what I can see being with beyond this little tryst of seduction. For one, your taste in suits is appallingly childish and naïve. For two, you have never read Chaucer. And, finally, the part in your hair is no where near where it should be and makes the rest of your head look lopsided.” She burst out laughing hard and motioned for her fifth glass of wine to be presented. At this point the waiter was scared.

The Seagrams was inhaled by the man and he too motioned for a refill which sent the waiter running around more frantic than the beeps of a Morse code message. The man sat there rubbing his hands together and clenching his teeth as if he were making sand for the eroding shores of Daytona. With a glazed-over look he asked her if she was done and she responded yes as her sloppy shoulders did a saucy shake in his direction which knocked loose one of the spaghetti straps that held her dress up right. The drinks arrived and each of them marveled at what their only lunch date had become. He had become enraged; she had become giddy.

He raised his glass to her and she tried to kiss it’s rim with hers while sloshing red wine down onto the fine white linen. “To us, you dumb fuckin’ bitch. To us indeed! May you find a more snappy dresser to ruin your life!” He took a long hard tug of booze down his throat leaving only yellowed ice at the bottom and she struggled with meeting her lips to her glass. “By the way,” she said, “You have a small dick!”

Like a bull from the gate he shot up out of his seat and threw his alcohol ice into her eyes. “You are fucking insane!” Stepping away he threw the chair into the table sending dishes to the cobblestones in shards and emptying her wine down onto her lap and splashing down her smooth long legs. She sat there with her tacky and tawdry brassy bellows shouting out against the awning as passerby’s felt sorry for her in a shock-factor sort of way. She almost fell from her seat as she leaned back and caught herself just in time. She looked over at the waiter with her eyes almost crossed from guffaws and said, “Check please!”

He walked home as opposed to a cab, he needed the air even if it was mostly exhaust. The thoughts were racing, the insanity brewing; he felt as though he could not escape anything that was taking him over. Rage, the most powerful part of an unleashed mind. He arrived at his stairs and stormed up past his mailbox. The elevator was not working so he stormed up the inner staircase in hopes of exhausting the un-fleeting anger and undeniable fury. He walked into his apartment and tossed his keys into a glass dish on the coffee table. The dish cracked with the force of the toss. Shoes off, tie loosened, top-button undone; he walked into the bedroom and smiled.

“Come over here and take me; take me like never before”, she smiled as she scooted to the foot of the bed and her dress hiked up to the tops of her thighs. Wine had never tasted so good.