He wants to order a drink, but he isn’t certain who might take his order. He suspects that the young woman walking past his table is connected with the restaurant in some official capacity, since she has been walking around since he arrived, but she isn’t dressed as a waiter, and she seems to have no idea what she should be doing with herself beyond walking around. She has the hair of a waif, uneven strands that fall in ringlets, damp, as if she has just come in out of the rain. This apparent dampness is, Matthew knows, a look, probably expensive to achieve.
“Excuse me,” he says, not in the tone that signals a request or an order to a waiter or waitress, but in the tone he would use if he were going to offer to help someone. The woman stops and looks at him. She seems, at first, startled to have been accosted by a stranger, but then, perhaps because she’s relieved to find on his face the smile of someone who seems to want to help her, she smiles herself and says, “Yes?”
“Are you lost?” Matthew asks. To his delight, he realizes that he’s flirting with this girl, who is, if not obviously attractive, desirable for her vulnerability. He glances at the door, thinking how wonderful it would be if Liz were to come in just now and see the girl smiling at him.
“In a way, I am,” she says. “My boyfriend and I just took this place over, and I’m like, ‘What do I do now?’ I just walk around trying to make sure everything’s okay, but to tell you the truth, I can’t even tell whether everything’s okay. Does it show?”
“A little,” says Matthew. “You do look a little overwhelmed.”
“Believe me, I am. Is everything okay? Is someone taking care of you?”
“Well, not yet.”
“I’m sure someone will be over in a minute. We never expected crowds like this.”
“I think a lot of people have been waiting for you to reopen.”
“Oh, yeah. I know what you mean. The place had quite a reputation. But we’re not going to be like that. We kept the same name, the same look, but everything else is going to be different. We have a wonderful chef, completely different menu, and a different approach. You know what I mean? It was like, everybody who used to work here wanted to come back? And we go, ‘Uh-uh. Wronnnnng. We’re not running the place that way.’ So, can I get you a glass of wine?”
“Actually, I’ll have a Bombay martini, straight up, with an olive.”
She winks and goes off to the bar.
She winked, thinks Matthew, feeling buoyant, hopeful, confident. Winked.
A band of mirror runs around the room, at eye level for a seated diner. In it, Matthew observes himself, tiny at the end of the room, where he sees himself straight on, a little larger in the band on the room divider, full-size in the band right beside him.
My face looks thinner than it has recently, he thinks. Could be this shirt. A dark shirt is a good idea.
Or it may have been that wink, BW suggests.
Is that really all it takes — the attention of a woman? Am I that — hungry?
Perhaps, Matthew, says BW. Perhaps.
Go to hell, BW, he thinks. Where on earth is Liz? What’s keeping her?
[to be continued]
Have you missed an episode or two or several?
You can begin reading at the beginning or you can catch up by visiting the archive or consulting the index to the Topical Guide.
You can listen to the episodes on the Personal History podcast. Begin at the beginning or scroll through the episodes to find what you’ve missed.
You can listen to “My Mother Takes a Tumble” and “Do Clams Bite?” complete and uninterrupted as audiobooks through YouTube.
You can ensure that you never miss a future issue by getting a free subscription. (You can help support the work by choosing a paid subscription instead.)
At Apple Books you can download free eBooks of Little Follies and Herb ’n’ Lorna.
You’ll find overviews of the entire work in An Introduction to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy (a pdf document) and at Encyclopedia.com.
🎧 533: He wants . . .