order, rock, simple
“The house cab …?”
“Ma’am?”
“Where’s it from?”
“California.”
“Yes?”
She always spoke with that upward inflection. Some guys found it cute. I had found it cute. She told me on our first date “You know that saying …?” I had said yes. Sometimes I’m cute. “For every beautiful woman somewhere is some guy tired of fucking her?” I had smiled like that was the very saying I was thinking of. I’ve never heard anyone but her say it.
“Sir?”
“I’ll have a rock.”
“Sir?”
“On the rocks. California rocks.”
The waiter gave me a helpless look. I had nothing for him. He’d get out of this meal with a tip; me I had to leave with who I’d brought.
“I need out.” She always blocked me in when we had a booth, one way or the other.
“That simple?”
“That simple.” I just wanted to go to the bathroom. As she slid across the naugahyde I thought about making a break for it. I couldn’t. I had a rock coming.
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