“Would you like a booth? Or a table?” asked the young woman.
“Don’t matter.”
She led us to a table near the corner, a red candle in the center. Other patrons ate and talked quietly nearby. Place was packed.
“Your server will be right with you.”
“Thanks.”
We sat. Ellen reached for the menu. I reached for the beer list. I felt her looking.
“Don’t say a word. It’s my birthday and I’m having a beer.”
“I didn’t say anyth…,” she said.
“You didn’t have to.”
“Please don’t be that way. I wanna have a good night.”
“Me too.”
“Then don’t drink.”
The back of my neck got hot. I hated when she said crap like that. I know I haven’t been a saint in the past, but c’mon. I only drank on special occasions now. And when she didn’t know.
“Hello. Welcome to Florence’s. My name is Candy and I’ll be your server this evening. Can I get you something to drink, maybe an appetizer?”
“Yes. I’ll have a Guinness.”
“OK. And for you, mam?”
“Just water, please.”
“Alright. Can I interest you in some cheese sticks or Florence dip?”
“No thanks,” I said.
“OK. Be right back with your drinks.”
Candy walked away, shaking her rear back and forth like a high school girl can. A young couple was being seated in a booth along the wall. Guy was the tall, dark, and handsome type, probably made of money. Girl was kinda cute for a goth chick. Skin pale, black everything else. We made eye contact. She smiled. I smirked.
“You gonna do that all night?” Ellen asked.
“Do what?”
“You know what,” she said.
“Just decide what you’re gonna eat and leave me alone. I ain’t hurting nobody.”
“You’re hurting me, Jerry.”
I let it go and looked around the room. Ellen gently put her menu on the table and crossed her arms, not really looking at anything. I could tell we were heading down the same one-way like always. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Why don’t you love me…blah…blah…blah. I hated it.
“Here you go.” Candy placed our drinks on the table. “Are you guys ready to order?”
“I’ll have a Caesar salad,” Ellen said.
“Is that it? C’mon. Eat something,” I said.
“I’m fine," she pouted.
“Suit yourself. Mam, I’ll have the filet, rare, baked potato, loaded."
“OK. It’ll be out shortly.”
We waited in silence. I pretended to gaze back and forth around the room. I glanced back at the goth chick. She was gone. I turned to Ellen, knowing she probably caught me. The goth chick was sitting across from me.
“Can I help you?” I asked her.
“Funny,” she said, pursing her black lips. “If you’re gonna get drunk, I’d rather just go home. I’m in no mood.” She grabbed Ellen’s purse.
“Whoa. What are you doing?” I grabbed her arm. “That’s my wife’s purse. You need to leave this table.”
“Stop it, Jerry,” she said, now obviously upset.
I stood up. “Look. I don’t know who you are, but I’m about to call the cops if you don’t get up and leave us alone. Where's my wife?” I said, glancing around her.
“Please stop,” she pleaded. “Let’s just go home.”
I looked over at the guy. Sitting there across from him was Ellen.
“Ellen, what are you doing?” I asked, walking over, grabbing her arm.
“Hold on there, buddy. Don’t touch my wife,” said the guy.
“Your wife? This is my wife. Ellen, get up. Let’s go.”
He stood up and approached me the way a guy about to kick someone's ass might approach. “Dude, I’m getting pissed. Unhand my wife before I drop you!”
“Let’s go, Jerry, you’re drunk,” yelled the goth chick behind me.
Then, as fast as it all went wrong, I remembered. I looked at Ellen. She was scared, shaking. I let go of her arm. I looked back at the goth chick. She was crying, black running down her cheeks.
Ellen, I thought. She is Ellen. The goth chick is Ellen. It came at me like a rush of cold air.
“Let’s go, please,” she begged.
“Listen to your wife, buddy,” said the guy.
“I’m sorry. I…I……don’t know what happened.” I felt everyone in the restaurant looking at me. Slowly, I began walking away, wondering what the hell just happened. The little goth chick, Ellen, my wife, grabbed my hand and led me out.
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