THE WAITER
Part 1.
It was the way she handled her cutlery – and Michael considered himself an expert on that subject. He could tell a lot about people from the way they handled their cutlery.
When she came into the restaurant Michael had given her the appraisal he usually gave to female clientele, assessing their physical qualities and imagining what it would be like to date them. He didn’t lay too much importance on what they chose from the menu, personal taste is a peculiar matter, but the way they handled the cutlery – that told him a great deal about their character and background! He had developed his theory over the five years that he had worked as a waiter in ‘The Silver Spoon’, a three-star establishment.
The other waiters, there were four on duty in the evenings, also made their appraisal of the clients, especially the females, passing assessments between the trio often as much by facial gestures or movements of the eyes as through sotto voce comment. Michael didn’t join in, even if he happened to be standing with the team; their ideas and remarks struck him as crude, purely physical – Michael imagined how the women might be as partners in love. The relationship would be an aesthetic experience, not one of animal lust. Within the team Michael’s nick-name was ‘Virge’, which had no reference to the eminent Roman Virgil but was short for Virgin, which his co-workers had decided Michael obviously was.
The present object of study he judged to be in her thirties, matching the age of the man who accompanied her. She was tall and slender, stepped with a natural grace that caused her shoulder-length fair hair to sway in a liquid motion. The curves of her body were all in the right places and the right amounts. Her face could enhance the cover of any beauty magazine, the wide mouth inviting, detracting nothing – but the way she fed it! Using the fork like a farm worker shifting muck in a cow-shed, was Michael’s opinion. Which told him that the culture and the beauty were entirely external.
Would he want a date with her? Definitely not! But that was phantasy any way; the trouble with Michael was that he never dated anyone. He told himself, or the rare person who might discuss it with him, that the absence of social engagements was due to the awkward hours he worked, serving the public when the public was socialising. That was part of it; what he knew but tried not to admit to himself was that he lacked the confidence to make an approach to women he fancied. Sure, he had the skills as a waiter to be suave and affable with customers but that was role play. At work he became an actor, a professional, became someone else; that wasn’t the real Michael.
There was nothing wrong with him physically, aged thirty, he was taller than average, not slim, but he carried no fat. Sometimes in the bedroom of his bachelor flat he stood in front of the mirror, sometimes naked, sometimes clothed, and studied himself: really he reckoned he should be quite attractive to the other sex, his height giving him an air of command, his full but hard body proclaiming strength and fitness, his face (he thought, viewing himself profile and full on) was as good as many film-star’s, firm jaw, grey eyes, dark hair styled with just a hint of waves. He would square up to himself, ready for combat, the image in the mirror being an enemy; stand upright, fists raised in classic boxer stance, or crouched in Kung Fu pose ready to perform remarkable gyrating swirls of execution, hero triumphant against all odds. The film makers ought to discover him! Yes, women should want to get close to him. If only he could get close to women.
Frustration and lack of opportunity led him to answer an ad. in the ‘Lonely Hearts’ page of the local freebie paper. A woman, thirty something, ns, gsh, tall, likes dining out, theatre, looking for company maybe more. Seemed like a worthwhile try. Not that he had much experience of the theatre but the possibilities of ‘maybe more’ attracted him. He responded to the box number. They arranged an exploratory meeting, an evening meal, to coincide with his night-off, and not at The Silver Spoon. As means of recognition she would carry a silver-textured bag on a shoulder strap, he would hold an evening paper rolled up in his left hand, an idea taken from a spy novel which had seemed good at the time but now made him feel rather stupid.
Deliberately, he arrived at The Golden Apple early but did not go in. Instead, perhaps influenced again by the spy novel, he tucked himself into a doorway on the opposite side of the road a few places down from the restaurant’s entrance and tried to look insignificant. He wore a knee-length rain-coat, a trilby hat with the front pulled low above his eyes and felt like a PI, which actually gave him a good feeling and boosted his uncertain confidence. The season being late Autumn the coat and hat were not out of place and the gathering darkness helped to give him cover.
It was still early for most diners but a few couples came along the street or arrived by taxi; no single women though. Michael began to wonder if Maureen ( the name she had given him) had changed her mind, lost her nerve. But she arrived. He was sure it was Maureen even before he saw the silver bag. Her pace slowed as she neared the restaurant, hesitant seeing no-one waiting. She walked past the entrance, trying to look inside the large windows as she passed. When she could not see him emerge he hurried out of his hideaway, crossed the road and went to meet her. He raised the rolled up paper sufficiently for her to see. She angled her body so that the silver bag turned toward him. They exchanged self-conscious ‘Hello’s and went inside.
Michael decided that she was quite attractive, no glamour-puss, no painted make-up, just the right amount of powder and lip-stick. Shorter than himself, but that was hardly surprising, she was plump, but cuddly-plump. He liked what he saw.
They made selecting from the menu and confessing their food likes and dislikes excuses for avoiding proper conversation, but with their orders made the talk had to begin. It was not long before the ghs bit of her profile became evident, but the humour that triggered her laughter seemed mostly to be that of her own making. Every contribution she made to their conversation was followed by a hoot of laughter – her laughter. Like a fog-horn, or maybe more like a braying donkey, it attracted attention, much to Michael’s embarrassment. He imagined with horror how it would have been in ‘The Silver Spoon’. Valiantly, he made a great effort to take over more of the talking – in order to limit her opportunities to laugh, but he was not practised in small-talk and it became a losing battle.
Their meals arrived. Being so busy using her mouth for the purpose of talking, the insertion of food had to be a rapid operation. Michael noted that she handled her cutlery well enough, but her chatter reduced that skill to a nuisance, interfering with the talk. Her dissection of the food on the plate was swift and neat, the transfer to her mouth was a flash of lightning, if she chewed at all before swallowing it must have been with the rapidity of a waste disposal unit, it certainly did not interrupt the verbal flow for very long. Maureen was enjoying herself. Michael was undergoing torture.
When they left the restaurant Michael pleaded feeling unwell, which Maureen clearly recognised as a feeble lie. He escorted her to a taxi rank, saw her aboard and shut the door on her firmly, his arm strengthened by a surge of relief.
It was three days before the next issue of the freebie paper arrived, in which time he had managed to work up the courage to scan the ‘Lonely Hearts’ page and risk another date. This one gave her name as Sandra – ‘Call me Sandy.’
THE WAITER
Hi Leslie. Seems the prose board is a no-go area but at least it exists and that's a bonus.
I quite enjoyed the story but felt that it could have been improved by using a first person narrative; putting words and thoughts directly into Michael's head and mouth and giving the reader a sense of being addressed rather than told. With a loner for the main character I think it gives the author a chance to develop his traits and characteristics in a more controlled fashion.
For instance, during the meal with Maureen, it would be more entertaining to have his attention wandering to what he imagined might happen rather than what actually did.
I also thought the names of the two establishments 'Silver Spoon' and 'Golden Apple' might have been given some more thought. Although I did like the main title considering Michael's character.
Some thoughts to consider or not. I think there is further mileage in this with a re-write in the first person.
R
I quite enjoyed the story but felt that it could have been improved by using a first person narrative; putting words and thoughts directly into Michael's head and mouth and giving the reader a sense of being addressed rather than told. With a loner for the main character I think it gives the author a chance to develop his traits and characteristics in a more controlled fashion.
For instance, during the meal with Maureen, it would be more entertaining to have his attention wandering to what he imagined might happen rather than what actually did.
I also thought the names of the two establishments 'Silver Spoon' and 'Golden Apple' might have been given some more thought. Although I did like the main title considering Michael's character.
Some thoughts to consider or not. I think there is further mileage in this with a re-write in the first person.
R
Thanks 'R' (I like the cunning name!) Yes, I've noticed in the past that the Prose dept can be a rather lonely place, so thanks for the observations.
A first-person account of something on these lines would be a good method, literally getting inside the character. I don't want to do it in this case; this is only part one and I have things in mind for 'Michael's ' future. Names of the restaurants: perhaps I was a bit lazy there, though names of eating places do seem to be generally unimaginative. So thanks for the crits, I must try to give a bit more attention to detail and not be so lazy in future.
A first-person account of something on these lines would be a good method, literally getting inside the character. I don't want to do it in this case; this is only part one and I have things in mind for 'Michael's ' future. Names of the restaurants: perhaps I was a bit lazy there, though names of eating places do seem to be generally unimaginative. So thanks for the crits, I must try to give a bit more attention to detail and not be so lazy in future.