(no subject)
Typetrigger time! See if you can guess on whom this is based.
Typetrigger: Salad Bar
"It bothers you that I'm older than you."
She toyed with the skin of her chicken. In the corner of her vision, a tourist dropped a plate of mealy iceberg lettuce and began pretending she'd been bumped by the oblivious summer hire. She hated it when he told her how she felt.
"It's not that it bothers me. It's just that I wish you weren't."
"So it does bother you--"
"No," she said. "It doesn't. You wouldn't be who you are if you were younger, I just...the fact that you're older doesn't bother me, the fact that there's a gap does."
For a moment, he was lost in the middle distance between her and the little old ladies fussing over each other or the waiter or who even cared what. He caught himself, shuddering, and ran to the shelter of his iced tea. He was old enough to be her father, just barely. If he'd made some bad decisions in 10th grade, she could call him Dad.
This wasn't what she'd envisioned, at all. In her mind it was all cigarette smoke, martinis and stockings, the glamour of an older man, an experienced lover. Instead it was retirees and piped-in adult contemporary and Mr. Pibb. Salad bars, not cocktail bars.
"It's only for a few more days. We can go home and pretend we never--"
"I don't want to pretend we didn't. I want to know how to make it what I wanted it to be."
"We try again?" he asked. There was too much happening in his timeless, clear eyes.
"Another time. More honesty, less speed. A different hotel."
He returned to his iced tea, this time with a nervous chuckle. The hapless summer hire coughed as he swept fallen iceberg into a butler.
Typetrigger: Salad Bar
"It bothers you that I'm older than you."
She toyed with the skin of her chicken. In the corner of her vision, a tourist dropped a plate of mealy iceberg lettuce and began pretending she'd been bumped by the oblivious summer hire. She hated it when he told her how she felt.
"It's not that it bothers me. It's just that I wish you weren't."
"So it does bother you--"
"No," she said. "It doesn't. You wouldn't be who you are if you were younger, I just...the fact that you're older doesn't bother me, the fact that there's a gap does."
For a moment, he was lost in the middle distance between her and the little old ladies fussing over each other or the waiter or who even cared what. He caught himself, shuddering, and ran to the shelter of his iced tea. He was old enough to be her father, just barely. If he'd made some bad decisions in 10th grade, she could call him Dad.
This wasn't what she'd envisioned, at all. In her mind it was all cigarette smoke, martinis and stockings, the glamour of an older man, an experienced lover. Instead it was retirees and piped-in adult contemporary and Mr. Pibb. Salad bars, not cocktail bars.
"It's only for a few more days. We can go home and pretend we never--"
"I don't want to pretend we didn't. I want to know how to make it what I wanted it to be."
"We try again?" he asked. There was too much happening in his timeless, clear eyes.
"Another time. More honesty, less speed. A different hotel."
He returned to his iced tea, this time with a nervous chuckle. The hapless summer hire coughed as he swept fallen iceberg into a butler.