I shared a Sexy Without the Sex scene from this novel a
few weeks ago. I love Lionel. He's a fun character. He's the epitome
of the absent minded professor. Arista isn't quite sure what to make
of him. When they first meet his behavior is quite erratic and
confusing. As he's leaving after their interview, he invites her to
dinner at the most exclusive Italian restaurant in town, Sarducci's.
He doesn't need a reservation, he just walks right in. Arista isn't
quite sure what to make of it all.
Lionel was in the lobby when she breezed into Sarducci's
at 7:05. He wore the same suit as before. He smiled when he saw her,
motioning to the hostess.
"This is she," he said, pointing over the
crowd to Arista.
The hostess nodded, smiling as she grabbed menus. They
followed her to a corner table, out of the traffic patterns, just off
the main floor. They were near the windows that overlooked the river.
The swirling currents wove around the water in an intricate, spiral
pattern.
"Your usual, Lionel?"
"No. We'll need a minute. Thanks, Constance."
"You know the hostess by name? And you can walk in
the door without a reservation?"
He frowned. "Yeah. So?" He opened the menu,
glancing at it.
Arista opened her own. It was written in Italian. There
were no prices beside anything.
"What's good?" she asked.
"I like everything except calamari. Always reminds
me of rubber bands."
She giggled, agreeing with him. "I can't read
Italian."
"No? Okay." He translated for her, pointing to
some of the dishes on the surrounding tables.
Their choices made, he waved to a waiter. The young man
rushed over, grinning.
"Wazzup, Doc?" He did a complicated handshake
with Lionel. He spoke with a strong Hispanic accent.
Lionel ordered for them, including a bottle of wine. A
wine steward brought it out, opening it with a flourish. He went
through the tasting ceremony with Lionel, then filled Arista's glass.
She tasted it as she'd seen him do, smiling as the fragrant bouquet
filled her mouth.
"Oh, God, that's amazing!"
"1842 was a good year."
"18- Holy God! That's a hundred and seventy-one
years old?" She whispered, holding the glass with greater
respect.
"Yeah. Are you okay?"
"I'm in over my head," she whispered, setting
the glass down like a holy relic. "This is unreal. Any second
I'm going to wake up and be at home with the worst hangover of my
life!"
"Arista." Lionel leaned over, trying to find
her eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Today. Today is all wrong."
He said nothing, a worried frown creasing his brow.
"You're the most confusing person I ever met. I
don't know if this is going to work out or not."
"What? Why?"
"Because! You're so—and so . . . !" She
gestured erratically, feeling like a mime with Tourettes.
"You aren't making any sense, you know."
"Before, when I first met you, you were way out in
BFE. I don't even know where you were. You stared at that paper for
ten minutes, forgot I was there, and then came back all normal. You
have things handed to you on a silver platter at the university. You
walk into the most exclusive restaurant in town like you own the
place. . . ."
"I do."
"Excuse me?"
"I do. Own the place. I do."
Arista groaned, her head flopping onto the table as her
body finally gave up.
© 2014 Dellani Oakes
2 comments:
That was cute i empathize with Arista.
Thanks, Karen. I do too. Lionel is an unusual man. He takes some getting used to.
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