Le Cul de la Bouteille

When you arrive at Le Cul, you're a little unnerved. While driving, you'd begun to remember fragments of a dream you had last night. You were sitting across a table from Rick, who was naked underneath his old Fish and Sips apron. You knew this because sometimes, in dreams, you just know things, but you also knew it because you were naked under yours, too.

"I don't want to do this," you remember saying to him.

"Keep telling yourself that," he replied, with a blank expression on his face. You don't remember much else. Maybe that's all there was to it.

It's true, of course. You wish that you didn't have to do this. You shouldn't be having to explain your way out of sucking anybody's dick, but sometimes life's a bitch, especially when you have one for a sister. You are looking forward to having lunch, after everything has been set straight. You're just dreading having to navigate the initial awkwardness of the situation, and the dream sequence playing on a loop inside your head has you feeling a bit out of sorts.

You arrived early, having overestimated the drive time, and there's no sign of Rick in the dining area. As you approach the hostess station, you are greeted by a young blonde woman.

"Bonjour, madame! How many?"

"There will be two," you tell her, and she proceeds to walk you to your table. Your server is an older gentleman, possibly the same age as Rick, which you fully intend on pointing out once he joins you (when the server is out of earshot, of course). You know he'll have plenty to say about it. Nothing disparaging about the gentleman, himself, mind you. Having done the job himself for over a decade, Rick has the utmost respect for servers. He's just glad that he isn't one anymore.

"I couldn't imagine still having to do that," he likes to tell you, before sometimes taking it a step further and proclaiming that he'll never work with the general public again, and that if he had to, he'd likely kill himself or someone else. On this, you share his sentiments. Rick works an office job now.

"Can I interest you in a glass of wine?" asks the gentleman as he fills two others with water.

"I'm already interested," you tell him. "A glass of the grenache blend, please."

"Excellent choice."

Rick arrives while it's being poured, and smiles warmly when you lock eyes from across the restaurant. You stand and greet him with a hug, then pat him on the arm as step back. "You look good," you tell him, then feel your face flush as you realize how it might be interpreted in the present context.

"As do you, as always," he says as you both take your seats. "We're day drinking, I see! Were you, uh... doing that yesterday, too?"

"Not exactly," you say, sheepishly.

Sensing the tension, perhaps, your server interjects. "Any wine for you, sir?"

"That looks like a new bottle. Why don't you leave it and just bring another glass?"

The request is met with a confirming nod and the gentleman backs away, but he doesn't immediately move toward the bar area for a glass. Instead, he stops at another table, and so you know that he won't be back before you've had time to explain things to Rick. You drain your glass of liquid courage, pour yourself another, and begin.

"Rick, before you say anything else, I need to tell you that I neither wrote nor sent that text. The one you got before you asked me here, I mean. My sister did it. It was a... I don't know." You shrug, then continue. "A prank? She's an asshole. I don't know what else to say. I apologize."