latino_menace | OOM: Dinner

"I'm paying it."

That was a big help, obviously.

"We talked for a long time, a couple of days in a row. She works that street most days. I stopped her one day, and we got talking. I'm good at that."

'Yeah, I guess you are.'

He lights a cigarette and goes with the conversation, for the sake of convenience.

'You talked her into wanting to change her life? That's good of you. Are you paying it or am I?'

"I am, I guess."

The question sort of hurts, just a little, and he has to look away.

"Whatever you're paying me for drumming. I've never thought of you as my employer before. What do I make?"

Ramon frowns, the question annoying him even further as well as the connotations of it.

'I'm not your employer. You own half the club, remember?'

I gave it to you.

'For that matter, there's $20 million dollars in your name in a bank in Colombia. Didn't you read the note I left you when I gave you my favourite house?'

He hadn't meant to lash out. It was just there suddenly, and he couldn't stop it.

"Then I'll pay for it."

He can barely put any breath behind the words, just mouthing them faintly and taking a shaking sip of wine.

'Pay for what? Half the club? The girls' rehab? What are you talking about?'

He's getting wound up now, confused and just...hating this.

'I didn't say you had to pay for anything. What the fuck is this about?'

"Please don't do this here."

Half the glass of wine is gone now.

"The rehab. Just. Please, Ramon."

He glowers but doesn't say anything else for a few moments. He does finish his wine and pour another though.

'I don't care if I'm paying for it. It's not important. Forget it.'

This isn't about money. Which isn't to say that it isn't pissing him off as well.

"Later."

He has to put the wineglass down before he drops it.

'Alright.'

If he were feeling more casual, he'd say 'whatever'. Possibly it's a good thing he isn't.

The first course arrives and he just starts to eat in silence, hardly tasting it.

He manages a few bites. It's dry.

He says so, politely. But the wine is good, he adds.

Random will always know how to be polite. Disconnected.

It's noticed, of course. Ramon just doesn't know how to make it different. Or maybe isn't inclined to make the effort right now.

He finishes, puts his cutlery down, arranges it neatly and picks up his drink again. And just waits.

Random's finished as soon as Ramon is. Maybe the food isn't gone, but he's finished anyways.

"And now?"

'The entree.'

Of course.

'Unless they bring sorbet for between courses.'

They will, it's that sort of place. Ramon briefly muses on the fact that he prefers sorbet to ice cream, then goes back to waiting for something else to occur.

"Okay."

The silence reigns.

But Random decides, quickly, that this is stupid, and to the shock of one or two onlookers and the disappointment of another few, his hand reaches for Ramon's across the table, catching his fingers and gripping them tight.

Get through this.

It takes Ramon rather by surprise and for a moment, his hand is unresponsive. It just lies in Random's and he doesn't move.

But then he does and it squeezes back. He can never not respond to the man's touch, unless he forcibly pushes it away. And this would be a bad time to do that, he thinks.

Can't make it stop.

He thought, for a crushing moment, that he would. But he doesn't, so Random smiles and reaches for his wine with the other hand, and only lets go when the sorbet comes.

"Christ on a Cracker. What's this?"

He pulls back too, not giving the waiter a glance and picking up the spoon.

'Sorbet. You've never had sorbet? It cleans your palette between courses so you can get the full flavour of the food, without it being mixed up with the previous course.'

It always seems pointless to him. But whatever. It's what you do in places like this, so he does it.

"Oh yeah."

He tries a bite, then another.

"Doesn't make much sense, but there you go. I thought that was supposed to be the entree."

He laughs. Tries to stifle it and that just makes him laugh harder.

'If this was the entree, I don't think I'd be coming back here again.'

Not that he will anyway. He's already decided he hates the plce.

"That's a fair point."

Their feet brush, under the table. Just for touch.

"But this isn't bad. Cold, but not bad."

'Well, it's ice cream. Only not. You know what I mean - of course it's cold.'

There's not much, it's only supposed to be a small thing to get you ready for the next course. And the wine waiter appears with a different vintage for the main course, which is lobster. Ramon couldn't care less.

No, neither could Random.

But he pours Ramon a bit more wine, and offers him a faint smile before setting into the lobster.

"Feel like going home after this? At least for a little?"

He picks up the necessary tools to crack through the shell and makes a half-hearted attempt to look interested in dinner. The suggestion is met with internal relief - but also a hint of dread because then they can talk.

'Yeah.'

But the prospect of talking is better than a roomful of people and noise when he feels like this. There's almost no way it wouldn't end in a fight. It would only take someone looking at Random in the wrong way.

"Thanks."

He sets to work on his lobster in silence, and eats as fast as he can.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject