Liz sits in silence, fuming. She looks around the room. Matthew sees defiance in her eyes, as if she were daring anyone to look at her, to register any acknowledgment of the little scene. In the mirror, he scans the room himself, to see if anyone is registering any acknowledgment. All eyes are down, on food, except those of the beautiful couple, who are smiling tight controlled smiles and glancing their way. Matthew smiles into the mirror and is rewarded by seeing their smiles relax and broaden. Are they aware that I was aware of their difficulty earlier? They must know. There’s a bond between us now. I’ve relieved them of some of the weight of their embarrassment. Maybe I should introduce myself.
“What are you smiling about?” asks Liz.
“Oh, nothing. It’s too complicated to explain.”
The waif returns with the check; Liz begins berating her as soon as she arrives at the table: “You know, we used to come here very often, and the service was always a little distracted, but this is ridiculous. We had to wait about half an hour to get our order taken, and then I didn’t get what I wanted.”
“You got the wrong dish?”
“No, it was the right dish, but I didn’t want so much of it. I wanted the half order, not the full order. Our waiter should have asked me which I wanted, not just brought the full order without giving me an option.”
Matthew looks the check over. The second order of bouillabaisse stir-fry is on it. Matthew hesitates for an instant, then decides not to bring it up; he even includes it when calculating the tip.
Liz says, “You know, I don’t know how many times we’ve eaten here, but something always goes wrong.”
Never as wrong as tonight. It’s true, though. She’s right, really.
“Oh. Well, the restaurant is under completely new management now,” says the waif.
“I wouldn’t brag about it,” says Liz.
The waif takes the check and walks off.
MATTHEW AND LIZ are at the door, Matthew helping Liz into her coat, when the waif comes bounding up the steps from the dining room, calling, “Sir! Sir!” and waving his check at him. “I’m terribly sorry,” she says, “but I forgot to take the bouillabaisse stir-fry off your bill. That second order. Let me make out a new charge slip for you.”
“Never mind,” says Matthew. Shit. She’s been in a daze the whole time we were here. Why did she have to wake up now?
“It will only take a minute.”
What should I do?
Basically, says BW, you’re facing a choice between the waif and Liz. I suggest you choose the waif. Frankly, I don’t think you have a ghost of a chance there, but —
But it’s Liz I want.
Still?
Still.
“Forget it,” he says to the waif. “Just forget it.”
WET, SLOPPY SNOW is falling, and Matthew regrets having left his umbrella at home. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, walking toward the corner, he can’t help hoping that it might be possible to reverse what has happened. Now, how could he do that? He might say, as he used to say so often, “I’m sorry,” or he might claim that he was only kidding, or —
I could fall apart. Throw myself at her. Tell her I’ve been behaving so miserably because I’ve been trying to save face. Tell her I was trying to hide my feelings because I want her back so much. “I know it’s impossible, Liz, but still, I — ”
“Oh, Matthew.”
I could drop to my knees. Put my head between her legs. She’d smooth my hair. Grab her bottom. Nose between her thighs. It might work.
[to be continued]
In Topical Guide 542, Mark Dorset considers Love: Desperate Measures in the Pursuit of: Pleading from this episode.
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🎧 542: Liz sits . . .