A female finger rubs the rim of a glass. It tingles. She amiably smiles over the rim at her gentleman as her foot, clad in a t-strap heel, bounces in time with the piano. He utters a comment, and she laughs tilting her head back. The glass is an elegant bowl on a long thin stem and empty.
A waitress in a flouncy black dress whisks the glass away in mid stride. The woman and her gentleman barely notice. The waitress approaches the kitchen. “Corner.” A waiter jerks to a stop, and she speeds by without pause. Pans rattle, and a spoon clatters to the floor.
The glass held high in the waitress’s hand rounds the bar station, its lipstick stain evident from across the kitchen. Turned upside down, it is placed in a dish rack. “Need more white wines”, she commands.
The glass is rearranged in the rack. Another two, four, six surround it. “They happen when they happen,” is the response. The rack is pushed into the washer. The door clicks closed, and the sterilization clears away any residual memories.
The waitress gazes up at the ceiling. “You can always tell when something isn’t right at a table.”
“The looks?”
“No, the way they hold their glass. Tight.”
Steam whistles out from the dishwasher and the door pops open. The rack is pushed out. The glass is hot to the touch.
“While you’re here, take these to the bar.”
“Got it.”
The glass clinks against another repeatedly as the kitchen door swings open raising a veil on the bar sounds. As alcohol slides down the throat, laughter bubbles up to the ceiling. The waitress passes table nine.
“I know, but there can be no regrets.” The lady intones.
“No. No regrets.”
“We make choices.”
“Yes. Choices.”
“Another round?” The waitress announces herself.
The lady and the gentleman size up the evening’s progress. The lady speaks first giving the slightest lift of a question for him to respond to. “Of course, another round.”
“Let it flow,” he complies.
And the waitress moves on with a smile. “Two more Sauvignons. Table nine.”
“Got it. They’re on a tear.”
The bartender reaches for the rack and grabs the glass by the base. Spun right side up it comes to rest on the bar. Another is set beside it. The pale yellow liquid slips into the bottom of the bowl, one finger, two fingers, three fingers, and a splash for good luck. Rounded out, the glass is full.
“Good pour.”
“Someone just got lucky.”
The waitress swirls the glass and watches the wine tickle the rim. “Someone may get lucky.”
From across the room the lady waves off her man. He responds with a quick word. She locks her eyes on him. The waitress pauses, the glass hovers in the air above the table.
“Why do we always go round and round on this?”
“Why are you so damn stubborn all the time?”
“Someone has to be right.”
“Sauvignon blanc,” the waitress whispers.
Without recognition, the lady grips the glass under the bowl. She takes a long drink.
“Thirsty?” A derisive drawl elongates the question.
“In need of drowning.”
“I could help with that.” And he tilts his glass with a, “Here’s to you.”
Tables stand empty with dirty plates, rumpled napkins, and credit card receipts. The evening’s volume fades, the remaining voices easy to distinguish.
“I don’t care what you think.” The words slip around in a slur, her voice raised in pitch. The glass sloshes overhead full with the words.
“I didn’t ask if you did.”
They repose and sit behind their respective walls.
“Done for the evening?” The waitress breaks the blanket of silence. The man stares ahead as the woman looks away from the man. She rubs the rim of the glass. Three seconds pass.
“Yes. I am done for the evening. I am done with all of this.” As the lady rises, the glass tips, and slowly falls to the table. It spills a dark wet spot onto the tablecloth. She walks to the door and out into the night.
“I guess I’ll take the check.” He raises his glass and gulps down the remaining wine.
It is quiet. The waitstaff nod to one another over tasks. A long stem rose rises in the center of each table. . A spoon, knife, and two forks lay upon a napkin. The glass is placed to the right and up from the napkin. It stands empty waiting.
