Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Giavanni’s Pancake House was an extremely small, open-air eatery with no tables. An L-shaped, waist-high, speckled gray countertop ran the entire length of the establishment, and short, circular stools upholstered with red vinyl were bolted in place on the wooden floor along the counter’s edge.
The place was packed.
A line extended down the block, around the corner, and out of sight.
People stood patiently, sipping Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and reading papers as they waited for a spot to eat breakfast. Rather than find the back of the line, Quinn walked up to two conspicuously empty stools at the farthest end of the counter, pulled a RESERVED sign from the top of each seat, and motioned for me to sit on the stool adjacent to the wall.
Before I complied, I asked, “Did you call and make reservations?”
He shook his head no. “Come. Sit,” he said, and he placed his hand on my arm above the elbow and pulled me to the red vinyl seat. “I want to know more about mammals.” His mouth hooked to one side in a poorly hidden smile.
I complied, frowning at him and his teasing.
Before we left the apartment, but after Quinn finished dressing, he suggested I look through his sister’s clothes if I wanted to wear something to breakfast besides my little black club dress.
All her personal things were located in a room adjacent to the bathroom, but it was really more like an oversized walk-in closet.
I had to walk through the bathroom to get to the closet.
I didn’t feel especially comfortable digging through someone else’s things, so I grabbed the first casual outfit I saw: a blue cotton knee-length skirt and a V-neck black T-shirt.
Her feet were a full size smaller, so I wore my zebra print stilettos out to breakfast. Thankfully, the skirt fit perfectly. The shirt, however, was snug over my chest. The strapless bra I wore was surprisingly supportive, but it was also a push-up.
Therefore, paired with the snug fit of the V-neck, my usually well-concealed cleavage was brazenly, visibly ample. I thought about removing the strapless push-up bra, but I was never one of those girls who could go comfortably braless; there was too much jiggle in my wiggle.
I washed my face and used my finger to brush my teeth then paused to look in the mirror.
My mishmash of Northern European coloring was especially pastel under the bright, fluorescent bathroom light: pale skin that burned instead of tanned, a light smattering of freckles, and red-brown hair, eyebrows, and lashes.
I felt marginally better after the brief ministrations; my hair, however, was a complete disaster.
I thought about asking Quinn if his sister owned any hair ties or barrettes or rope or anything I might be able to use to tame the wild beast. In the end, I just wore the fuzzy mess of knots loose down my back, over my shoulders, and at times in my face.
I figured that, worst-case scenario, I could use it to cover my ample bosom.
As we walked to the breakfast cafe, however, Quinn brushed it back from my cheeks when it became too unruly, which invariably caused my skin to burn from pale pastel to scarlet, and I would lose all semblance of thought or focus.
Directly following these interactions, I prattled on about the concept of leap seconds, nanotechnology, and the inevitable space elevator that would allow the moon to rival Disney World as a tourist destination.
Quinn didn’t talk much but seemed to listen with interest as I expounded on these various and sundry topics.
He asked questions periodically; the moon space elevator in particular drew an avalanche of questions.
When I didn’t have all the answers, I promised I would email him a link to the NASA update page for the project.
And now here we were, seated quietly at the counter.
I was trapped between him and the wall, and stared at the menu without seeing it.
Maybe it was the fact that I was silent for the first time since leaving the apartment, but I found myself attempting to ignore the sudden, uncomfortable, yet omnipresent self-awareness that was alternatively giving me goose bumps and making my neck hot.
His thigh brushed against mine; his elbow grazed mine lightly.
I leaned against the wall to gain as much distance as possible, but I couldn’t avoid the small touches in the tight space.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eyes; he appeared completely at ease, studying his menu, oblivious to the gentle torture his careless closeness was causing.
I was so absorbed in my discomfort that when the waitress spoke to me, I was visibly startled.
“Hey-ya, Quinn. Where’s Shelly? Who’s yer friend?
” A short, dark-haired woman in her late fifties or early sixties gave me a brief, friendly smile as she placed two mugs of coffee in front of us.
She had the unmistakable rasp of a smoker, and, paired with her thick Midwest accent, she sounded like Mike Ditka.
“Shelly left early this morning and couldn’t come. This is Janie. Janie, this is Viki.”
I dumbly reached my hand over the counter and tried to look and sound more composed than I felt. “It’s nice to meet you, Viki.”
She held her hands up. “Oh, baby, my hands are covered in grease. You don’t wanna shake deeze unless you wanna wash yer hands with turpentine.” A deep, gravelly laugh escaped her lips as she pulled out an order pad and pen. “But it sure is nice to meetcha. Are you a friend of Shelly’s?”
Before I could answer that I didn’t know Shelly, Quinn interrupted me. “She’s here with me.”
Viki lifted her brow, for it truly was a single brow, in what I guessed was surprise, and her mouth formed a small O. I felt her eyes move over me with renewed interest, which made me blush… again. I gripped the menu a little harder and tried to swallow but found the simple action difficult.
“That’s…” Viki blinked. Her big brown eyes continued their open assessment, and her mouth moved, but she seemed to struggle for words. Finally, she murmured, “Well, that’s a surprise.”
My cheeks burned; I could hear my heart drum and the blood rush between my ears.
I knew that this Viki person didn’t mean to be rude.
She looked honestly perplexed, and, if I was reading her awkward soundlessness correctly, she was obviously stunned at the possibility that Quinn and I could be there as a couple.
I felt the need to distance myself from the notion and make certain she believed that the very idea was beyond ludicrous to me as well.
I need to make certain that she knows that I know that he knows that he isn’t interested. I was starting to confuse myself.
Before I realized that I was speaking, the verbal diarrhea spilled forth.
“Oh, we’re not together. I mean, we’re sitting together and we came here together, but obviously, we’re not together.
How could we be together? I’m probably never going to see him again after today.
We’re not even friends. I don’t even know him.
I mean, you know, not really.” I inclined my head toward her and a small laugh burst from my lips.
“Can you even imagine? It’d be like Planet of the Apes.
He’s Charlton Heston with all the muscles and such, and I’m that girl ape.
They could never be together because it’d be like a Neanderthal with a human, cross-species breeding…
and that’s just not right. Although Neanderthals are closely related to humans and are in fact part of the same species.
If you want to be precise, they are a subspecies or alternate species of human. ”
I glanced at him and gave him a closed-mouth smile.
I categorically hoped it dually conveyed confidence and cheerful ambivalence to the obvious disparity in our compatibility.
His eyes, however, narrowed as they watched me.
I wondered if he found my analogy to be imperfect.
Maybe he didn’t like Charlton Heston because of his NRA involvement.
Conversely, Quinn did seem like the sort to like guns.
I cleared my throat and continued. “And why would Charlton Heston want to be with the ape? No one would, even though she has this huge…huge…brain.”
Viki blinked at me and looked at Quinn. “Where didja meet this one?”
Before Quinn could speak, I felt compelled to answer, hoping to make up for my gaffe. “I met him last week, and before that I saw him a few times at my building where he works as a security guard. I used to work as an accountant there before I was downsized.”
Viki’s unibrow crinkled over her nose until it came to a point. “A security guard?”
I gulped and gave her a tight smile as I reached for my coffee, wanting to change the subject.
“I love coffee. Brazil is now the world leader in the production of green coffee, but in East Africa and Yemen, coffee was used in native religious ceremonies that competed with the Christian Church. Because of this, the Ethiopian Church banned secular consumption of coffee for many years.” I brought the mug to my lips and sipped the bitter black brew, mostly to keep myself from talking.
The coffee burned my tongue. I ignored it. “Mmm, coffee.”
Viki’s eyes moved between Quinn and me, her unibrow still suspended on her face. “R-i-g-h-t,” she finally said, drawing out the word.
I heard Quinn clear his throat, and then he placed our order.
“She’ll have eggs over easy, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and toast with extra butter.
I’ll have the usual.” As he ordered, he pulled my menu away and handed it to Viki along with his, and I noticed his voice sounded different, distant.
Viki gave us both a small, quizzical smile, and then she left.