An Unlikely Dinner

Martin sat alone at a table overlooking the ocean at one of the resort’s many restaurants. He didn’t mind dining alone. He could enjoy the experience fully, savoring the food, being inspired by the scene and people around him. It put him in a writerly frame of mind.

He had to admit, though, that the mid-day moans of the newlyweds next door had invaded some of his imaginings.

“Could I start you with something to drink?”

The voice startled him from his musings, and he turned from the window to be startled all over again.

In a fitted white button down and pleated black skirt, was his barista from back home. She held a pen and notepad and a look of focus, which cracked when they made eye contact.

“Katie?” he said.

“Martin Tallchailatewithwhippedcream” she replied, as if his usual order was his last name.

“What are you doing here?” they said in unison.

They laughed and shared their stories. Katie expressed her jealousy at his incredibly good luck of him winning a grand prize. He said he could share a bit, having been given essentially unlimited BP, and told he could tip the staff with it if he wanted.

“I’m not actually supposed to be wait staff,” she said. “I’m a guest liaison, but they have us work almost every job here as part of training. Speaking of which, I really should get your drink order,” she said. “I have a big section, and I can’t linger too long. I don’t want to get fired on my first day.”

“What would you recommend?”

“I honestly have no idea. All I’ve tried is a couple of things the kitchen messed up. The pasta was good, the brownies were weird, and the sangria seems popular.”

“Surprise me with something that comes with a tiny umbrella, then.”

She nodded, made a note, and rushed off. He pleated skirt bouncing pleasantly off her youthful butt as she went.

*****

“What are you scribbling down?” Val asked of her dining companion. She lounged in a booth, sipping a Mai Tai waiting for her meal to arrive.

Aanya closed the notebook she always carried with her and stowed her pen. It was an old habit; one she’d picked up in undergrad. A professor had encouraged her to write stories about the people she sees around her as an exercise in imagination. “It’s about our sweet young server. I saw brownies on the dessert menu and thought it would be a funny story if there was a mix up in the kitchen. Like, if some of the line cooks brought in some special brownies and she ate one without knowing. Imagine trying to work your first dinner rush while slowly getting high as a kite.”

“You’re a villain,” responded Val.

“It’s just a story,” defended Aanya.

“Well imagination is fine and good, but I’m here to make sure you have a good time and get over shithead. Don’t glower at me. I left you alone today cause you said you were jetlagged, but you just moped around the room. Tomorrow you’re having fun whether you like it or not. Maybe you can fuck a pool boy or something. I’ll help.”

A squeal so high pitched it would have made a dog wince emanated from their server who had just arrived with their plates. Overhearing that had locked her in place as she tried to both hold in a fit of giggles and not drop their plates. She very slowly and carefully placed them on the table, then rushed off, hand over mouth.

“Ever think you might be psychic?” observed Val.

Aanya continued to glower as she dug into her fish. “I am not going to fuck a pool boy. I don’t know how that would help, and besides that’s workplace harassment.”

Val scoffed. “Oh come on, you don’t think any of the staff are hoping to bang a tourist? That’s why I’m here, to help separate the wheat from the chaff.” She found herself squirming a little, imagining a collection of tanned and toned men impaling her friend.

Aanya was not inspired. “Since when do you advocate for consorting with males. I believe they are all, in your words, pigs and assholes.”

“I’m not telling you to get into a relationship with one. God no,” Val was horrified by the suggestion. “I’m telling you to climb a magic beanstalk or two.”

Katie, who had come to do her duty of asking about the first few bites. Stopped at their table, overheard those words, turned briskly and marched on, fighting a grin which she could not control.

“I’m satisfied with mechanical marvels,” continued Val. “But you seem to like them warm and throbbing. All I’m saying is use them for what they’re good for, then leave them behind. Have a romp.”

“I am not having sex with a staff member,” repeated Aanya.

“How about a guest then? I bet that guy eating by himself over there would enjoy a roll in the hay.”

*****

Andi and Sophie were late to dinner. Sophie got dressed three times, trying to find a dress from her new collection she felt comfortable to wear in view of strangers. She’d looked stunning each time, but struggled to actually leave the room with that much chest and shoulder exposed. Eventually Andi managed to make something like a shawl out of the winter scarf she’d packed for travel, and with a book in hand to help distract her from the lascivious stares of menfolk, they managed to make it to a restaurant.

It was lovely, with a beach view and promises of the finest of local island cuisine.

As they were led to their table, Andi was distracted by a familiar face. “Martin Blanc! What are you doing here.”

In a wild twist of fate, Martin was staring at his personal trainer. She had always been the perfect mix of sexy and professional. Drop dead gorgeous, and she flaunted it enough to make working out in her company a pleasure. However, she expertly diverted any attempt at flirting into more push ups while she gushed about her girlfriend. She had a clear ‘look but don’t touch’ label, which Martin respected even as he lusted after her.

He presumed that girlfriend was the austere and elegant young Asian woman at her side, somehow cold enough to be wearing a warm shall, and clutching a very familiar book to her chest like a shield.

“Andi, oh my god! This is where you were going on vacation! What are the odds? You know the good barista at Caffeine Crutch? She's here too.” He pointed at Katie who was attempting to deliver some drinks.

She froze in absolute bewilderment. Tried to wave, found both her hands were too full to do so without spilling. Then tried to speak, but found no words. Finally, she did a sharp about face and marched back into the kitchen.

“Is she okay?” asked Andi.

“First day nerves, I think.” Changing the subject he turned to Andi’s girlfriend. “I’m so sorry, I’m being terribly rude. I’m Martin, one of Andi’s fitness clients.”

“Sophie, I’m a friend of Andi.”

There was just enough of a pause while she chose the word “friend” for Martin to be certain this was the girlfriend from Andi’s stories, and also that she didn’t want it to be public knowledge. She also seemed to be shrinking under his gaze, holding her book tighter and tighter.

Martin took a moment to realize what was happening. She thought he was staring at her chest and was using the book as cover. That was a reasonable assumption, but in this rare instance, she was mistaken. “That copy of Cemetery Stairs looks well-loved. I thought Graveyard Elevator was a stronger entry in the series.”

Sophie lit up like the Fourth of July. The refined poise vanished and the gleeful passion Andi spoke of poured out. “Oh my gosh you know her work!”

“I’ve read the whole series,” replied Martin, but left out the fact that he’d written the final two entries, including the one in Sophie’s hands.

“Well then you know the last two books suddenly got way better,” Sophie bubbled. “And I have a theory. Well, we have a theory. There’s a group of us online. See the author was secretly in rehab when the last books came out and we think somebody else wrote the final books for her. We have a whole list of books we think is by the same ghost writer. Whoever she is, though, she’s really good.”

Sophie continued for nearly a minute, listing off the most likely books by the mysterious ghost writer. Martin was impressed at how many of his books were on her list. He was going to need to hunt down that group and find out what his tells were.

Eventually Andi pulled her girl away, with promises of trading recommendations over drinks some other time.

*****

“Oh shit, that’s Plato’s Prick!” Megan had uttered the words before she realized it, and slammed a hand over her mouth in reaction.

Tabitha poked her head out of their booth to see a decent looking guy shaking hands with a cute little Asian lady and a hot redhead.

Sophie +2 VP touched master (first, double points)

Andi +1 VP touched master

“Don’t look!” snarled Megan in a whisper.

Tabitha pulled her head back into the booth. “What the everloving fuck are you talking about?”

“Doctor-patient privilege,” said Megan, then made the gesture of zipping her lips shut.

Tabitha sneered. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to walk right up to him and ask.”

“You wouldn’t”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“You hate people.”

“I hate crowds,” corrected Tabitha. She peeked again at the man. “He’s sitting alone.”

“Okay, okay, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Like, this can get me fired.”

Tabitha crossed her heart.

“So that guy came in for an appendectomy a while ago. Totally normal procedure. While he was under general anesthetic, he got an erection, also normal. It was a teaching rotation, though, and he’d consented to have a bunch of new residents observe the procedure. The draping came loose, and his penis was on full display.”

She was obviously trying to use proper technical language to avoid embarrassment.

“One of the female interns noted, quite inappropriately, that it was a practically perfect penis, like a textbook illustration, or the kind you’d model a sex toy off. I gave them a lecture about appropriate and respectful operating room behavior, and might have said something about it not being relevant if it was the ‘Platonic ideal of a penis,’ they shouldn’t be commenting on it.”

“Word got out and now half the hospital refers to him as Plato’s Prick.”

Tabitha was enthralled. “So what, is it massive?”

Megan did not want to continue the conversation, but couldn’t leave a misunderstanding uncorrected. “No, no. It’s just… perfect. Like the Platonic ideal of a square is the most perfect conceptual square. Perfect angles, perfectly straight lines. If it were massive, it would be too big, imperfect. Where are you going?”

“I’m going to see a perfect penis,” said Tabitha.

“You promised!” Scolded Megan.

“I’m not going to tell him,” replied her sister. “I’m going to find a way to get his pants off. Offer to blow him or something.”

She abandoned her table and nearly tripped over their waitress. She was crouched down behind their booth, knees to chest, biting a knuckle, and looking like she was about to burst out laughing.

Tabitha gave a “hush” gesture, to which the waitress agreed with vigorous nodding, before she went to meet Plato’s Prick.

“Hey man, are you here alone?” she asked. “My sister’s being boring. Need company?”

Plato looked at her very strangely. Like, not excited by a sexy young thing throwing herself at him, but also not opposed to it. Instead he seemed somewhere between curious and confused. “Sure, have a seat.”

There was something familiar about his voice. “What are you drinking? That looks fun.”

“I don’t know.” The man continued to stare at her as if she were a mystery to be solved. “My waitress couldn’t remember the name, but said she saw how they made it and could make another. Would you like one.”

After hearing his voice clearly, she entered the same bemused state. “Yeah, I’m out of potions and could use the heals…” she said cryptically.

“Tabbiecat?” said Martin, suddenly certain of the strange woman’s identity.

“Spine_martin?” returned Tabitha. “Holy fuckballs. Where have you been, our dives have been wiping without you, man.”

“I was on deadline,” he replied. “Had to finish some writing so I could come here. FlankSteak was supposed to come, too, but he ditched me at the airport.”

Tabitha had entirely forgotten her the mission which brought her to the table. Against all odds, a longtime online gaming friend was at the resort. She knew him only by his voice and online avatars, but he was still counted among her closest friends.”

The pair reveled in the absurdity of meeting in a place like this, and shared promises to visit the arcade together. They chatted and laughed, until they were interrupted by, for lack of a better description, Tinkerbell and Peter Pan’s lovechild.

*****

Val had abandoned Aanya.

She decided, against Aanya’s wishes, that the man sitting by himself was probably the best unattached talent around, and she needed to check if he was worth her “Taking for a ride.”

After fifteen minutes of sulking, Aanya finally couldn’t ignore her curiosity, and peeked out of her booth.

There, sitting at a table with that entirely unremarkable man, alongside some harlot with massive tits, was Val.

Val, loather of men, defender or women, refuge for the spurned, was laughing and drinking with some strange dude like they were best fucking friends.

Aanya stormed over.

She tried to walk over casually but fooled nobody.

“Aanya,” Val celebrated her appearance at the table, as though no apology were needed for disappearing for so long. “You are not going to believe this. I know this guy from junior high. We were friends for a hot minute before I moved away.”

There little so infuriating as having a good excuse for bad behavior. Aanya fumed internally but did her best to hide it. “Pleased to meet you, Aanya.” She put out a hand.

He reached out to shake her hand. “A pleasure. Martin.”

Aanya 1VP, touched the Master.

“And what do you do, Martin?” She said with cool civility.

“I’m a writer,” he answered.

How obnoxious. She was going to have to put up with some smug asshole telling her about his mediocre scribblings. Worse, she couldn’t put him in his place because all her work was under NDA. “Anything I might have read?”

“Maybe,” he replied. “But nothing I can confirm or deny. I’m actually a ghost writer, so most of what I do I’m legally obligated to keep secret.”

It couldn’t be.

The world could not be that cruel as to put that man here on an island with her, to ruin paradise. The asshole who had been a thorn in her side her entire career, the one who constantly yanked the big, prestigious contracts out from under her, leaving table scraps could not be stealing her friend away as well.

It was a coincidence; it was just a first name. She had to check. “It’s not, Martin Blanc, is it?”

Martin recoiled. “How did you…”

“Cemetery Stairs, Carnal Apex, Fury of Fangs and Flags, Case of the Reticent Docent, that Martin Blanc?”

Martin was shocked, exposed. Nobody should know all that. Even people in the industry shouldn’t know all that. “Who are you?” he managed to get out.

"Aanya. Aanya Singh."

Nothing. Not the faintest inkling of recognition in his eyes. He didn't know her name, didn't even know she existed.

Loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, Aanya announced clearly, and with great catharsis, “Fuck you!”