I sat across from Franny admiring my manicure and letting my bones warm. Franny looked hot tonight. Maybe too hot. We were going to be eating delicious Naruto Ramen in just another few minutes. Franny looked across the table at me and reached across to take my hand.
“Your hands look super pretty, Jess. Thanks for bringing me for my absolutely favorite food! You know I love me some Naruto!”
“You’re looking drop dead gorgeous yourself and you’re so welcome.” I felt my face force a smile. It was the least I could do for Franny tonight.
Franny smiled right back at me then took a look around the jam-packed ramen shop. It was a bitter cold, rainy, Sunday night in January. But Naruto was the best ramen spot in Park Slope. Somewhere, someone must have just opened a window. A blast of icy cold air hustled against the ambiance of the soup steam; logarithmic spirals of steam rising then suddenly freaking out; disturbed by the extreme temperature differential. The steam formed shambolic shapes that quickly dispersed into nothingness.
Franny took a healthy sip of her third J-Pop and said, “I’m getting a little tipsy. I better go find the bathroom.” I nodded as Franny levitated, doing a mostly okay job before making her way towards the bathrooms. It looked like there was a long frustrated line that had beat her to it.
Alone at our tiny table I first noticed the man and woman at the table to my left. They seemed to be nearing the end of their meal and having an absolutely unlovely time.
The woman said, “There’s something that’s really bothering me. Are we still having a, ‘casual and low key’…,” The woman’s hand made a vague Italian gesture that came a little too close to my face. I skooched my seat back a few inches and tried to observe covertly.
The man looked to be in his early fifties. He had a freshly shaved head and no facial hair. He had clear blue eyes and a rather angular jawline.
“It just got so fucking cold all of a sudden,” he said grinning. “Oh, but wait, I have an indoor hat!”
The man reached across the table and grabbed a wool hat from on top of a fedora that the woman had handed him a few minutes earlier.
He put the hat over his head then smiled, “That’s better.”
The woman was Asian and had pretty long black hair. She was busy knitting something that appeared to be the beginnings of a scarf at the table, a giant ramen bowl empty before her.
“Did you hear what I said?” she asked sharply. “I don’t really like talking about this stuff.”
The man said, “Yes, it’s still casual and low key. But it sounds like you want to fuck other guys.”
The woman sat up a little straighter and stopped knitting for a moment. Her brow furrowed.
“I don’t think I can be monogamous.” She resumed knitting. The man said nothing. For all the background chatter in the shop I could have heard a cockroach stroke out.
The man said, “It’s fucking cold,” and took off the powder blue wool skull cap and put on a fedora that looked like the one Indiana Jones wore.
The man was drinking Asahi beer. He took a pull.
“Well, then I don’t think you should be monogamous.”
The woman appeared to be a good ten years younger than the man. Her knitting continued unabated and she said, “This is New York. You’re supposed to tell the other person if you get feelings!”
The man took another sip of his beer. He looked none too pleased. Somewhere I heard a plate drop and break.
“I’m pretty sure I made it clear I liked you from the first date,” he said.
She started to say nothing then changed her mind.
“We could still see each other. It doesn’t have to change anything…” she said plaintively before looking up at him for a moment. The knitting resumed.
I put my hand over my face trying to appear disinterested and tried to appear interested in my soup. Franny returned from the bathroom along with the waitress from the kitchen with our ramen and another round of drinks.
The man adjusted his fedora slightly. It cast a wobbly shadow across the planes of his angular face.
“God I must have low blood sugar, Franny,” I said. “I just need to be quiet and eat for a bit.”
Franny smiled and shrugged. “Sure baby,” she said and picked up her chopsticks.
The man took another pull of his beer then put it down holding it in both hands. He rotated the bottle clockwise then counter-clockwise before nodding his head and saying, “No.”
“No, we can’t see each other, or No, it doesn’t change anything?”, she asked.
The man watched her knit for a moment then said, “No, I don’t want to see you again.”
“Even if I still want to see you?”
“If you’re thinking of other dicks then you ain’t thinking of mine. That means you shouldn’t be fucking me. If you’re fucking other guys and thinking of me then I don’t know what to say.”
The woman was quiet. Finally, she said, “I respect that.”
They were both quiet and I slurped some noodles pretending to look at a balding ginger man with a very big nose. I suddenly realized the pit in my stomach that was on fire since last Thursday was tame. I shifted in my seat and my hand brushed the pocket of my blazer. I could feel the vial sliding around with my cigarettes and keys.
“Why wouldn’t you want to have me and other women if you could?” the knitting woman asked.
The man took a pull of beer and appeared to think a moment before saying, “Why go out for hamburger when you have steak at home?”
The woman appeared to think a moment then nodded reluctantly.
“You know you should have said something if you were getting feelings,” she said again.
“I don’t think there’s anything to be upset about. You can go fuck whoever you want now without stressing.”
She knitted some more. Franny made slurping noises. “Mmmmmmm. Sssooooo goooood,” she slurped.
The woman seemed to be looking for the waitress. The man seemed to notice and said, “It’s been a long day. I’ll get dinner and you can just get your coat on and I’ll give you a hug goodbye.”
The woman stared at him quizzically.
“No. I’ll pay for dinner.” She looked around hard for the waitress but she was not there.
“It’s okay. I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.”
“Why do you want to pay for dinner?” she asked.
The man finished his beer and put it next to the other empty bottle.
“I suppose it has to do with propriety.”
“What do you mean?” she asked hard.
The man let out a slow sigh heavier than a broken heart.
“It means doing what’s appropriate I suppose.”
The woman stopped knitting and appeared to be trying to decide something. She nodded and stood up. She handed the man a recyclable shopping bag with pictures of vegetables and fruits all over it. The man looked inside and pulled out a neatly folded black wife beater and a black tee. He put it back in the bag then put the bag down.
The woman finished buttoning her coat and pulled on a sky blue ski cap that had embroidered across the front in gold, “Brooklyn vs. Everybody”.
The man stood up. The woman skooched out between the tables brushing against my arm. I felt someone step on my grave. My head rocked back and my neck cracked. Franny picked up her bowl and made a loud slurping sound.
The man put out his arms and the knitting woman stepped into them. They hugged.
“For what it’s worth I still think you’re the rat’s ass,” she said.
The man looked at her and said, “Everybody says that.”
The man unwrapped her and stepped back. She turned hard and fast and made her way through the steam and the tables and out into the night. The man sat back down.
The waitress appeared and he asked for the check. She nodded and disappeared.
The man took a deep breath and removed a pair of aviators from his face. He rubbed his eye with the cuff of his shirt then said, “Jesus fucking Christ…” softly to himself.
I looked at the man. He noticed and his face softened into a smile.
“How’d you like the food?” I asked. Franny looked at me funny.
“It was great. How about you?” he asked.
“Really good,” I said and smiled.
The waitress returned and the man tapped for dinner. The waitress thanked him and disappeared again.
The man put on his raincoat and buttoned it up to his neck then turned up the collar. He adjusted the fedora and said, “Have a good night,” to me.
“You too,” I said.
He smiled appreciatively and I felt the last embers of the fire in my stomach die.
And then he was gone.
When Franny and I got home that night I went straight to the bathroom and stood over the toilet bowl and said, “I’m so sorry Jesus. What the fuck was I thinking?”
I poured the vial’s contents into the toilet then flushed it. I rinsed the vial out with hot water in the sink and then put it on the soap dish to dry. I realized I had been bawling like a baby.
I whispered, “You ain’t worth the salt in my tears, bitch,” through my tears.
Does anyone know a good divorce lawyer?