THE LOUNGE is getting more and more crowded. Matthew is amazed at how dark it is here. Everything is dark — the wood, the upholstery, the lighting. Most restaurants aren’t this dark anymore, he thinks. Does it have something to do with historical authenticity?
More likely, he seems to hear BW say, they are afraid that in bright light we would notice the authentic antique grime.
The cocktail waitress materializes out of the dark with another round of drinks. The group is surprised.
“Did we order these?” asks Richard. He pauses, grins a lubricious grin. “Or can you read my mind?”
“‘No’ to the first one,” says the waitress. “Your friend Jack ordered them. He said to tell you he’ll be right with you.”
“Is he here?” asks Effie. Her head swivels, like an action figure’s.
“He must have ordered these by telepathy,” suggests Richard. “Can you read his mind, too?”
A smile for Richard from the waitress. Matthew never realized before that Richard was the kind of guy who exchanges banter with cocktail waitresses. If he were alone, would he pick her up? he wonders. Matthew has often wished that he could make small talk. He realizes that you can’t pick up women in a bar without the skill, for one thing. He has observed that in bars where picking-up seems to be going on, everyone is good at that nonsensical chat, that cotton-candy talk, but he can’t seem to master it. When he tries, he begins perspiring across his upper lip.
“He called,” the waitress says.
“He called?” asks Matthew. “He ordered drinks for us by phone?”
“That’s Jack,” says Effie. “He’s probably in a limo with a car phone.”
Matthew wonders how Jack identified the group for the waitress. He can imagine a conversation like this:
“Should be a group of three,” says Jack. “An adorable little blonde, bouncy, full of life. A dull guy, her shithead husband, looks like a lawyer, probably tried to pick you up. And kind of a nondescript guy in his forties, most likely drinking a martini, the kind of guy you wouldn’t pick out in a crowd.”
“Well,” says the waitress, “there is one group like that, but there’s another woman with them, and the nondescript guy is wearing kind of surprising socks.”
No. That’s not it, Matthew tells himself. He knew the reservation was in my name. He just asked if the Barber party was there.
Suddenly there’s Jack, putting his arm around the waitress and asking the group, “Is Luanne taking care of you?” as if he owns the place, immediately in charge, as he always was. How did he find out that her name was Luanne? Did he just say, “What’s your name, honey?” or what?
Matthew’s name is called over a loudspeaker before Jack has a chance to sit down: “Barber, party of six. Barber, party of six.”
“Party of six?” asks Jack.
“I didn’t know whether you’d be alone or whether you might bring someone.”
Jack just grins. Is he offended? There was an edge to Matthew’s voice; he was a little annoyed at being put in the position of social secretary.
The group rises and goes into the scuttling around that comes after one’s name has been called at a place like this, trying to get the cocktail waitress to bring the check. Where is she? Where has Luanne gone? How can she have disappeared so quickly? Did she run off as soon as she realized they’d been called? She has come over to the table often enough to ask if they wanted more drinks, but now she’s nowhere in sight. Richard volunteers to wait for her while the rest of them go to the table. Jack thanks him and reaches for his wallet. Richard puts his hand up, and Jack smiles, nods, puts his wallet away, and offers Effie his arm. Matthew observes all of this, and it seems to him that, over the top of Effie’s head, just as Jack turns and heads for the dining room with her on his arm, Jack winks at him. He can’t be quite sure. It might have been nothing more than a blink of the eye, but it might have been more. Has Jack slept with Effie? Matthew wonders. Does he think I have?
In Topical Guide 439, Mark Dorset considers Cars: Limousines; and Gadgets, Electronic: Car Phone from this episode.
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🎧 439: The lounge . . .