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(PART 2 of She Asked: "Why Bother?")
He suggested Greek food….Connie frowned in response while smiling. She held her purse by the straps with a slack right arm. A schoolbus rolled past them, the shouting kids like an auditory blur.
“Alright what about Arabic food?” Fred looked directly into Connie’s eyes as he asked, searching for clues as to what to suggest next. Connie gave him an encouraging nod but responded: “I would but I just had some last week. Kabobs are my shit.”
“Damn girl! What about Indian food? Are you high maintenance or what?” Constance flashed Fred a glance of malice but it was too quick. As the lights dimmed a cough rang out from a corner in the back. Connie took another last look around at the melting pot audience all staring ahead, the obsolete carpet and the 70s lamps. Most of the crow looked subdued but enthused. A group of riff raff in the corner quickly passed around a metal flask, tipping their heads back and smacking their lips once they faced forward again. Riff raff is a subjective term. Eitherway everyone was quickly enclosed in shadow.
As the trailers began Fred felt the urge to hold the hand of Constance Montreux. As Fred looked at Connie’s face he felt lucky. He felt a warm feeling build as he studied her nose, her chin and her cheeks amongst the shadows. He studied her brown eyes staring intently at the flickering screen and felt foolish for having such an attraction. He clasped his hands on his lap and dutifully turned back to the bouncing animation. Gentlemen are not overeager. A preview for a children’s movie lit up the screen. An outsider kid discovers a portal to a magical world. He meets new friends and finds his destiny….the same old story.
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As the protagonist trained with the comic relief Connie wondered why she felt anxious at all. Yes Fred seemed nice and he wasn’t ugly. Connie wasn’t knocked off her flats but she reminded herself not to think like the movies. She hadn’t been wrapped up in a guy since she was an immature young adult. Connie had to admit to herself that even though she only liked Fred a little…she wanted him to like her.
In the dim light Connie speculated to herself about where to go and what to eat. As the matador proved himself to the townspeople Constance wandered to thoughts about work. She abruptly snapped out of it and re-focused on the film. It seemed like it was wrapping up.
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The film ended with an unexpected outcome. The matador did not come out on top in the tournament but he received the praise and respect of the townspeople. Which seems to made the hero happier than winning.
“Foreign films are so quirky…” Fred murmured as the still shot of the hero smiling among the celebrating crowd began to fade. Connie did not know how to feel as the credits began to roll. She couldn’t identify with the characters and she attributed it to her attention being focused inward.
“Yeah the movie was alright.” Connie stood up as the Flamenco intensified. Galloping acoustic guitars with clapping that tempted to entrance. A deep voiced woman sang with striding tones. As they stood watching the line from the seats to the lobby shuffle along Fred got the urge to touch his date. Maybe a hair flick or a shoulder grab. But he decided against it. They walked to the doors, weaving in between blocks of standing people, turning sideways to fit through narrow gaps in the milling about crowd.
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He had briefly turned his head to look around storefronts and street signs. When Fred returned his gaze to his date she was smiling brightly.
“There aren’t any Italian places downtown. At least none I can think of. You want to look for one?” She raised her voice an octave to be cute. She didn’t know why exactly, she just knew she preferred this Fred character to be relaxed.
“Uh…sure. Hold on.” Frank fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He moved his finger around the screen with a look of concentration. Connie suddenly felt the tug of Newport cigarettes.
“No no put that away! I mean let’s really look for one. Like walking you know?” She put her cute voice back on and wondered why as the sounds starting coming out of her mouth. She knew there wasn’t an Italian restaurant nearby. She knew she didn’t want to stand on the corner any longer either.
“Alright sure which way?” Fred smiled big as he put his phone away without taking his eyes off Constance. Connie wordlessly pointed and together they walked side by side. A bitter faced teenager passed them after a few strides. The teenager turned his head back to see what Mrs. Montreax was working with and smiled. I guess he was too young to be subtle about it.
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Constance was on the lookout as they walked, scooping for a particular Coney Island that she was fond of. Fred walked with a confident stride and a slight smile. The day was clear with thin wispy clouds on a background of pale blue. Connie was glad she wore flats.
“So I told the guy…listen you gotta work out to lose weight. It isn’t about what you eat it is about the energy you burn through activity.” Fred went on and Connie let him even though she was half listening. She was looking at the cracks in the sidewalk. She was looking at the closed storefronts and the thin crowd of glum faced people. A city with a population a little less than 714,000. A quarter of the people gone in 25 years and the empty space never refilled. A city losing talent like a rusted out bucket.
‘So how do you feel about it?” Fred’s question jerked Connie out of her inner thoughts. She tried not to look startled.
“I find people that don’t take care of their bodies to be taking them for granted. If you don’t care enough to stay in shape I can’t help but wonder what you care about. Is that harsh?!” She briefly judged his positive reaction to her statement then continued looking out for her restaurant. The breeze kicked up and played with a tattered newspaper page in front of them.
Connie suddenly smiled big when she saw the diner she was looking for. She playfully tapped Fred’s shoulder and pointed across the street.
“I want to go there.” She said matter of factly.
“Whatever you want Shorty.” Fred gave her a creepy smile and Constance rolled her eyes in response. Did he think he was being charming?
They briskly crossed the street while steam billowed from a manhole. Ruby’s Diner was an ordinary building surrounded by a dry cleaner, a pawn shop and properties for rent. The white sign had no picture, just ‘Ruby’s’ printed in black capital letters.
“You like to keep it simple huh? That’s what’s up, me too. And what you said aint harsh.” Fred held the first door open for Connie and she returned the favor for the inner door. The place was small and uncluttered. Ruby’s was clean and unpretentious. The booths were burgundy and over a decade old. The floor tiles were grey and swept. The few plants were real, big and green. Light poured in from unobstructed windows. There were framed pictures of Chuck Berry, Miles Davis, Thomas Jefferson, Frederick Douglas, Barack Obama and Martin Luther King Jr on the walls placed at eye level if someone 6 feet tall was standing up looking at them. In the front of the diner near the newspapers and gumball machine were framed autographed pictures of local news anchors and retired sports personalities. The air smelled slightly of cooking oil and coffee.
“This place is so small they must have good ventilation.” Fred absently noted as he passed by a standing sign that read ‘sit where you want. Someone will be with you before you know it.’ The sign was handwritten in black marker. Connie lead Fred to a corner booth where she sat with her back to the wall and the entrance in her field of vision. Malcom Little stylee. The restaurant wasn’t half full.
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