just something you assume about people who are eating together. If you see a man and a woman walking down the street you don’t assume they’re lovers, because walking down the street isn’t sexy. But if you see the same two people in a restaurant it’s different. It is sexy. It’s great.
I look around the huge room at all the people leaning toward one another across the lavender tablecloths, their faces glowing with candlelight and quiet erotic energy, but then I realize that all these other couples, people who look like they can’t wait to get home and fall into bed with each other—maybe they’re all just like David and me. Maybe there’s nothing really happening between them, maybe it’s just the wine and the food and music. Maybe nobody’s getting what they want anymore, maybe everything is complex and involved, and everyone here will go home alone to their cats and clock radios.
Heath arrives, with a second round of drinks. “Hi,” he says. “Welcome to Cafe Hysteria.” He puts his hand on David’s shoulder. “Are you guys having fun?”
“It’s great,” I say.
“The drinks are on the house,” Heath says. “But you have to pay for the food.”
“What should we order?” David asks.
“The swordfish isn’t bad. Avoid anything with sauce. The sauce chef didn’t show up. They’re trying to wing it back there.”
Heath gets off work early and joins us for coffee. He’s changed into his street clothes and it looks like he might have taken a shower. He smells very clean, and his hair looks wet, although it could just be slicked back with stuff.
The three of us have trouble talking. We talk about the dinner—it was good; then about what Heath’s doing for Christmas—he’s working. I excuse myself and go to the ladies’ room.
There’s a woman leaning against the sink smoking, and she’s still there when I come out of the stall. She’s wearing a gold lame space suit. “Did you happen to see this guy out there?” she asks. “He’s wearing sunglasses and has a funny nose?”
“How funny?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s too big or something.”
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“Could you check. Please?”
I open the door. There’s a man standing at the telephone watching the ladies’ room. He’s wearing shades and his nose is funny looking. I close the door.
“He’s out there,” I say. “He’s on the phone.”
“He’s been on the fucking phone for hours,” the woman says.
“Who is he?”
“Oh, just some noxious freak of nature I used to be married to. He follows me around and verbally abuses me. Could you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Just walk out with me, and talk. He’ll leave me alone if I’m talking to someone. He’s a coward.”
“O.K.,” I say. “Sure.”
We walk out of the ladies’ room. The man hangs up the phone and shouts “Julie! Julie!”
“Walk,” Julie urges. “Just keep walking.”
I escort Julie safely to her table. She is dining with a large group of similarly outfitted people. She promises to do the same for me someday.
I return to my table. “We’re going over to Heath’s,” David says. “It’s a Wonderful Life is on TV. Do you want to come?”
“No,” I say. “I’ll just go home.”
“Come,” says Heath. “It’ll be fun. Besides, you’ve never seen my apartment.”
This hardly seems like reason enough to go, but I don’t argue this point. I’m sick of resisting things.
The cab drops us off at the corner of Twentieth Street and First Avenue. David goes into a Korean market to buy coffee beans and cigarettes.
Heath and I go up to his apartment. It’s right over the little store. There’s a large open room which has a kitchen at one end. There’s a fat cat sleeping on the kitchen table. Along one whole wall is a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
Heath picks up the cat. “This is Spike,” he says.
“What are the mirrors for?” I ask.
“My roommate is a dancer,” says Heath. He hangs
I look around the huge room at all the people leaning toward one another across the lavender tablecloths, their faces glowing with candlelight and quiet erotic energy, but then I realize that all these other couples, people who look like they can’t wait to get home and fall into bed with each other—maybe they’re all just like David and me. Maybe there’s nothing really happening between them, maybe it’s just the wine and the food and music. Maybe nobody’s getting what they want anymore, maybe everything is complex and involved, and everyone here will go home alone to their cats and clock radios.
Heath arrives, with a second round of drinks. “Hi,” he says. “Welcome to Cafe Hysteria.” He puts his hand on David’s shoulder. “Are you guys having fun?”
“It’s great,” I say.
“The drinks are on the house,” Heath says. “But you have to pay for the food.”
“What should we order?” David asks.
“The swordfish isn’t bad. Avoid anything with sauce. The sauce chef didn’t show up. They’re trying to wing it back there.”
Heath gets off work early and joins us for coffee. He’s changed into his street clothes and it looks like he might have taken a shower. He smells very clean, and his hair looks wet, although it could just be slicked back with stuff.
The three of us have trouble talking. We talk about the dinner—it was good; then about what Heath’s doing for Christmas—he’s working. I excuse myself and go to the ladies’ room.
There’s a woman leaning against the sink smoking, and she’s still there when I come out of the stall. She’s wearing a gold lame space suit. “Did you happen to see this guy out there?” she asks. “He’s wearing sunglasses and has a funny nose?”
“How funny?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s too big or something.”
“I don’t think so,” I say.
“Could you check. Please?”
I open the door. There’s a man standing at the telephone watching the ladies’ room. He’s wearing shades and his nose is funny looking. I close the door.
“He’s out there,” I say. “He’s on the phone.”
“He’s been on the fucking phone for hours,” the woman says.
“Who is he?”
“Oh, just some noxious freak of nature I used to be married to. He follows me around and verbally abuses me. Could you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Just walk out with me, and talk. He’ll leave me alone if I’m talking to someone. He’s a coward.”
“O.K.,” I say. “Sure.”
We walk out of the ladies’ room. The man hangs up the phone and shouts “Julie! Julie!”
“Walk,” Julie urges. “Just keep walking.”
I escort Julie safely to her table. She is dining with a large group of similarly outfitted people. She promises to do the same for me someday.
I return to my table. “We’re going over to Heath’s,” David says. “It’s a Wonderful Life is on TV. Do you want to come?”
“No,” I say. “I’ll just go home.”
“Come,” says Heath. “It’ll be fun. Besides, you’ve never seen my apartment.”
This hardly seems like reason enough to go, but I don’t argue this point. I’m sick of resisting things.
The cab drops us off at the corner of Twentieth Street and First Avenue. David goes into a Korean market to buy coffee beans and cigarettes.
Heath and I go up to his apartment. It’s right over the little store. There’s a large open room which has a kitchen at one end. There’s a fat cat sleeping on the kitchen table. Along one whole wall is a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
Heath picks up the cat. “This is Spike,” he says.
“What are the mirrors for?” I ask.
“My roommate is a dancer,” says Heath. He hangs
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