“Please.” I felt the blood rush to my face, damn, I was blushing like a teenager. I forced myself to pull out the chair opposite him and sit down.
“Are you in my Shakespeare lecture?” he asked.
“Oh. Are you a professor?”
“Yes. I thought, ah, but if you aren’t one of my students, do I know you from someplace else?” Same line between his brows when he was puzzled.
“Do I look familiar to you?” Stupid, but I blurted it before I could think of something clever to say.
He chuckled, then said, “I’m not much good at guessing games. Why don’t I order omelets for both of us and then we’ll figure out who we are.”
He turned and caught the eye of the passing waitress, held up two fingers of one hand, made a pouring gesture with the other.
I knew that I should refuse his offer but as I could barely think, let alone speak, I peeled off my wet jacket, hung it over the back of the chair and then sat down and waited. The waitress put a full coffee mug in front of me. I stared at it while he made the decisions. He ordered for both of us.
Then he said, “Shall we start with names? I am Graham Berkold. Want to tell me who you are?”
“Do, uh, does the name Laurence, um, were you ever called Laurence?”
“I’ve been called numerous names, but never Laurence. Oh! I see. You mistook me for someone named Laurence. Lucky Laurence. But you must not know him very well.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Is there some reason why you prefer not to tell me your name?” He gave me an amused glance from under those arched eyebrows while he stirred sugar into his coffee.
“Not really. No. I was hoping you’d remember Laurence. Umm, can I ask you something?”
“Beautiful ladies who share my table may ask me anything at all.” There it was again, that Laurence smile.
“Is there anything about me that looks familiar to you?” Stupid, April, stupid, stupid, but I wasn’t clear headed like Macbeth or clever like Cyd.
Tilting his head back, Graham Berkold gave me a long scrutiny, his eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth twitching, and I could have sunk under the table. Trouble was, I’d have to come out sometime.
He must have seen my embarrassment because he leaned forward, put his hand over mine on the tabletop and said, “Darling, if I’ve forgotten that we’ve met before, I deserve any insult you want to toss at me. I do beg your forgiveness.”
I mumbled, “I thought you were someone named Laurence. It’s me who is rude. I shouldn’t have bothered you and I am terribly sorry, Professor Berkold.”
Still holding my hand, he said, “Call me Graham, will you, because I will never remember to answer to Laurence. And don’t apologize. For the rest of my life I shall consider it my great good fortune that on a particular winter day a particular trick of light made me resemble someone named Laurence. Lucky me, that brought into my world a mysterious lady of unsurpassed beauty and no name.”
Okay, I had to laugh at that. I pulled my hand away from him. “My name is April Didrickson.”
He said, “April Again in Avrille.”
“What?”
“It’s a line from Millay. I teach poetry.”
“Can you recite that poem?”
“Yes, but I won’t. It’s your turn, April. Tell me who you are and who this lucky Laurence is and why you’re looking for him.”
The waitress set huge platters before us, heaped with toast wedges and mushroom omelets. The steam rose in fragrant spirals. I hadn’t even thought about being hungry, but that did it.
How could I be anything less than honest with a man who ordered such a great meal for me? I really do love eggs.
Over lunch I explained that I was an unemployed dropout.
“What an enchanting self-description,” he said. “You need something better if you’re filling out job applications. I know,
“Are you in my Shakespeare lecture?” he asked.
“Oh. Are you a professor?”
“Yes. I thought, ah, but if you aren’t one of my students, do I know you from someplace else?” Same line between his brows when he was puzzled.
“Do I look familiar to you?” Stupid, but I blurted it before I could think of something clever to say.
He chuckled, then said, “I’m not much good at guessing games. Why don’t I order omelets for both of us and then we’ll figure out who we are.”
He turned and caught the eye of the passing waitress, held up two fingers of one hand, made a pouring gesture with the other.
I knew that I should refuse his offer but as I could barely think, let alone speak, I peeled off my wet jacket, hung it over the back of the chair and then sat down and waited. The waitress put a full coffee mug in front of me. I stared at it while he made the decisions. He ordered for both of us.
Then he said, “Shall we start with names? I am Graham Berkold. Want to tell me who you are?”
“Do, uh, does the name Laurence, um, were you ever called Laurence?”
“I’ve been called numerous names, but never Laurence. Oh! I see. You mistook me for someone named Laurence. Lucky Laurence. But you must not know him very well.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Is there some reason why you prefer not to tell me your name?” He gave me an amused glance from under those arched eyebrows while he stirred sugar into his coffee.
“Not really. No. I was hoping you’d remember Laurence. Umm, can I ask you something?”
“Beautiful ladies who share my table may ask me anything at all.” There it was again, that Laurence smile.
“Is there anything about me that looks familiar to you?” Stupid, April, stupid, stupid, but I wasn’t clear headed like Macbeth or clever like Cyd.
Tilting his head back, Graham Berkold gave me a long scrutiny, his eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth twitching, and I could have sunk under the table. Trouble was, I’d have to come out sometime.
He must have seen my embarrassment because he leaned forward, put his hand over mine on the tabletop and said, “Darling, if I’ve forgotten that we’ve met before, I deserve any insult you want to toss at me. I do beg your forgiveness.”
I mumbled, “I thought you were someone named Laurence. It’s me who is rude. I shouldn’t have bothered you and I am terribly sorry, Professor Berkold.”
Still holding my hand, he said, “Call me Graham, will you, because I will never remember to answer to Laurence. And don’t apologize. For the rest of my life I shall consider it my great good fortune that on a particular winter day a particular trick of light made me resemble someone named Laurence. Lucky me, that brought into my world a mysterious lady of unsurpassed beauty and no name.”
Okay, I had to laugh at that. I pulled my hand away from him. “My name is April Didrickson.”
He said, “April Again in Avrille.”
“What?”
“It’s a line from Millay. I teach poetry.”
“Can you recite that poem?”
“Yes, but I won’t. It’s your turn, April. Tell me who you are and who this lucky Laurence is and why you’re looking for him.”
The waitress set huge platters before us, heaped with toast wedges and mushroom omelets. The steam rose in fragrant spirals. I hadn’t even thought about being hungry, but that did it.
How could I be anything less than honest with a man who ordered such a great meal for me? I really do love eggs.
Over lunch I explained that I was an unemployed dropout.
“What an enchanting self-description,” he said. “You need something better if you’re filling out job applications. I know,
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