Nothing makes me angrier than when people do nice things for me. “Listen,” I said, grabbing him by the collar, “I’m the nice one. You’re the one with uncontrollable aggression. Understand?”
“Oh God,” he said, blood gushing from his nose. “Now you’ve done it, Belle—Now you’ve
really
done it. Direct phrasing gives me nose bleeds.”
“That’s better,” I said, releasing his collar. “Get nice and angry.”
“Can you please hold my nose for me? I don’t want to take my hands off the steering wheel.”
“Sure.” I plugged his nose. “Little vampire punk,” I added beneath my breath before I lost the adrenaline. “Whoa! Look at that palace!”
Edwart pulled alongside the curb. We were parking next to what I can only describe as a modern day pantheon.
Buca di Beppo
read the fancy script and neon lights.
“Isn’t it great?” Edwart asked, touching my shoulder and then taking it away and then firmly placing it back when I directed him to. “To think—Italy is full of these … these bistros.”
I was awestruck, and flattered that Edwart would want to introduce me to his cultured lifestyle. And yet a tiny part of my heart, maybe the pulmonary valve, sank. Were wereally as good a match as I told myself repeatedly in the mirror we were? He was more worldly and more otherworldly than I. What world could I bring to our relationship?
The underworld
, I thought, resolutely ripping in half my “Get Into Heaven Free” coupon. Looking back, I probably could have come up with a better world if I’d given it another moment of thought. Sea World comes to mind.
Edwart led me to a small, intimate table by the bar television. Interestingly, the waitress was very quick to interrupt our private tête-à-tête on whether the blue team was evil or good with her own irrelevant commentary on specials. And was it just me, or was her back completely turned to me as Edwart spoke? Maybe I was being territorial, but it seemed that she was standing on the table for the express purpose of snubbing me and filling her entire purview with Edwart.
“I’ll have a lasagna—buca small,” I told her muscled calves.
“Make that a buca large,” Edwart said.
“Are you sure?” asked the waitress. “A buca small feeds seven to nine people. We do things ‘family’ style here. ‘Screw sustainable population growth family’ style.”
“I’m sure,” he said, smoothly winking at me through her legs. She crossed her legs. We couldn’t really see each other after that.
Once she left, Edwart turned his dazzling, disco-ball eyes to me. Just looking at him transported me elsewhere, to a rave. A rave with pulsing, multicolored eye-shaped lights.
“I wouldn’t normally order for you,” he said, “but witheverything that’s happened in the last hour, all so confusing and fast-paced and condensed for comedic purposes, I’ll bet you’re pretty hungry.”
“How could you tell? It’s like you can read my expression.”
He frowned and looked down at the tablecloth. “Actually, you’re the one person I can’t read. I’ve always considered myself good at looking at people’s expressions and making wild guesses as to how they feel, but you—I look at your face and try to guess what you are thinking, and all I hear is ‘BEEEEEEEEEP.’ Just this giant beeping sound—the sound a medical monitor makes when you die and everything goes blank. ‘BEEEEEEEEEP.’ Like that.”
Ah, the old BEEEEEEEEEP—a sound I had grown accustomed to. A default sound, if you will, that my mind returns to whenever it has nothing more interesting to think about.
“I know what you mean,” I said.
“There’s that sound again,” he said. “What did you say? Because to me it just sounded like B BEEP BEEP BEE BEEP.”
The waitress carted my lasagna platter over.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” she asked Edwart, typically.
“Actually, do you make blood-sausage?”
“Yep.”
“Great. One order of that
“Oh God,” he said, blood gushing from his nose. “Now you’ve done it, Belle—Now you’ve
really
done it. Direct phrasing gives me nose bleeds.”
“That’s better,” I said, releasing his collar. “Get nice and angry.”
“Can you please hold my nose for me? I don’t want to take my hands off the steering wheel.”
“Sure.” I plugged his nose. “Little vampire punk,” I added beneath my breath before I lost the adrenaline. “Whoa! Look at that palace!”
Edwart pulled alongside the curb. We were parking next to what I can only describe as a modern day pantheon.
Buca di Beppo
read the fancy script and neon lights.
“Isn’t it great?” Edwart asked, touching my shoulder and then taking it away and then firmly placing it back when I directed him to. “To think—Italy is full of these … these bistros.”
I was awestruck, and flattered that Edwart would want to introduce me to his cultured lifestyle. And yet a tiny part of my heart, maybe the pulmonary valve, sank. Were wereally as good a match as I told myself repeatedly in the mirror we were? He was more worldly and more otherworldly than I. What world could I bring to our relationship?
The underworld
, I thought, resolutely ripping in half my “Get Into Heaven Free” coupon. Looking back, I probably could have come up with a better world if I’d given it another moment of thought. Sea World comes to mind.
Edwart led me to a small, intimate table by the bar television. Interestingly, the waitress was very quick to interrupt our private tête-à-tête on whether the blue team was evil or good with her own irrelevant commentary on specials. And was it just me, or was her back completely turned to me as Edwart spoke? Maybe I was being territorial, but it seemed that she was standing on the table for the express purpose of snubbing me and filling her entire purview with Edwart.
“I’ll have a lasagna—buca small,” I told her muscled calves.
“Make that a buca large,” Edwart said.
“Are you sure?” asked the waitress. “A buca small feeds seven to nine people. We do things ‘family’ style here. ‘Screw sustainable population growth family’ style.”
“I’m sure,” he said, smoothly winking at me through her legs. She crossed her legs. We couldn’t really see each other after that.
Once she left, Edwart turned his dazzling, disco-ball eyes to me. Just looking at him transported me elsewhere, to a rave. A rave with pulsing, multicolored eye-shaped lights.
“I wouldn’t normally order for you,” he said, “but witheverything that’s happened in the last hour, all so confusing and fast-paced and condensed for comedic purposes, I’ll bet you’re pretty hungry.”
“How could you tell? It’s like you can read my expression.”
He frowned and looked down at the tablecloth. “Actually, you’re the one person I can’t read. I’ve always considered myself good at looking at people’s expressions and making wild guesses as to how they feel, but you—I look at your face and try to guess what you are thinking, and all I hear is ‘BEEEEEEEEEP.’ Just this giant beeping sound—the sound a medical monitor makes when you die and everything goes blank. ‘BEEEEEEEEEP.’ Like that.”
Ah, the old BEEEEEEEEEP—a sound I had grown accustomed to. A default sound, if you will, that my mind returns to whenever it has nothing more interesting to think about.
“I know what you mean,” I said.
“There’s that sound again,” he said. “What did you say? Because to me it just sounded like B BEEP BEEP BEE BEEP.”
The waitress carted my lasagna platter over.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” she asked Edwart, typically.
“Actually, do you make blood-sausage?”
“Yep.”
“Great. One order of that
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