I liked the way Darrin kept touching my hand as we talked. He was very animated with his hands; they never rested in one place for long. They were in the air, on his glass, in his hair, on me...
Again, I was struck with the feeling of familiarity. It was as if Darrin and I had known each other for years.
He smiled a lot, too. That was nice, to be around someone that seemed genuinely happy, as if he hadn't a care in the world. I have never in my life felt that way. I never thought I would want to. I was always so focused, so goal-oriented. Relax? Ha! No time. Well, maybe when I was five.
Darrin and I were sitting in a very crowded, very noisy eating establishment, at a table in the back corner.
After we had left my house earlier in the evening, we caught a cab, even though I had offered the use of my car, and ended up at a Chinese restaurant. Darrin announced he was picking up the tab tonight, and proceeded to order two specials - enough food for a small family.
"I'm not that hungry," I protested.
"Then I'll eat it," he said, handing the menus back to our waiter.
The waiter disappeared. A few seconds later, the power went out.
Darrin groaned. "This doesn't bode well."
We sat in the dark, in silence, for at least ten minutes. Our waiter returned with a candle.
"If you care to wait," he said, "we can cook your meal when the power comes back on."
Darrin looked at me questioningly. "Should we wait?"
I shrugged.
"You're so noncommittal!" he exclaimed. "Should I worry about my job?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, is there going to be a wedding to photograph?"
I scoffed. "Of course."
Darrin and I (okay, Darrin) elected not to stay at the restaurant. We apologized profusely to the waiter and made our exit.
"Any ideas?" Darrin asked. "I'm so hungry!"
I looked up and down the street. It was dark as far as I could see.
"I think you're out of luck; if you want your food cooked, that is."
The proverbial light bulb seemed to go off over Darrin's head. "Do you know where there's an oyster bar?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"Do you like seafood?"
"Sure."
Darrin hailed a passing cab. "Excuse me," he said, leaning in the passenger window, "can you tell us where there's an oyster bar around here?"
"Get in and I'll take you to it," the cabbie answered.
By the time we reached McGraw's Oyster Bar, the power was back on. Darrin paid the cab fare and escorted me into the bar, where we got the table in the back.
"This is great," he said enthusiastically. "I love oysters. Do you?" Darrin signaled the waitress.
"I've never had them before," I replied. "Other than in soups and chowders, of course."
Darrin raised an eyebrow. "This'll be an adventure, then."
He ordered a round of oysters and beer for us. I told him I wasn't much of a drinker, so he asked the waitress to bring a Coke for me.
"So," I said, when the waitress had gone, "how long have you been in the US?"
"About six months. I was in New York for awhile, doing some work for the Associated Press when Rigfort hired me."
"He said you had other offers?"
"Yes."
I cocked my head. "Care to elaborate?"
Darrin took a deep breath. "I had job offers from eight major newspapers. I narrowed it down to Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle and Chicago."
"Why'd you pick Chicago?"
"It was Moe," he said, grinning.
"The Stooge?" I asked, thoroughly confused.
He began laughing hysterically. "No," he finally managed to say, "not the Stooge. I meant, 'Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Moe.' Chicago was Moe."
"Oh." My face grew warm. I imagined I was as red as the seat covers.
I was rescued, however, when our waitress reappeared with two beers, a Coke and a giant dish of oysters on the half shell.
"Ugh," I said, peering at the oysters. "They're not very appetizing."
Darrin had already downed three of them. "They're great! Try one."
"Not a chance," I said, shaking my head. "I am not putting anything that looks like that into my mouth."
Darrin shook his head. He swallowed a few more oysters, followed by some beer.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked me.
"Not hungry enough."
"Come on, Josie."
His use of my name sent a small shiver down my spine. Disconcerted, I shifted in my seat and attempted to change the subject.
"Have you been to Navy Pier yet?"
"No, no, no," he said. He shook his finger at me. "I'm not giving up." He held an oyster in front of me.
I pressed my lips together and shook my head back and forth.
Darrin sighed. He set the oyster down.
"Fine, it's come to this." He put his palms on the table. "I will give you twenty dollars to eat one," he said.
I frowned. Twenty? No, not worth it.
"No, thank you."
"Fifty."
I eyed the oysters. No, I decided, better not give in.
"No, really."
Darrin narrowed his eyes. "One hundred."
I paused.
He repeated his offer.
I looked at the oysters again. "One hundred dollars?"
"Did I stutter?"
I gave him a wry look. Pointing at an oyster, I said, "I eat that, and you give me one hundred dollars?"
He nodded.
I considered this, and then inhaled sharply. "Okay," I said, "I'll do it."
"All right!" He got out his wallet and rifled through. He removed a crisp one hundred dollar bill and set it on the table.
I picked up an oyster and prepared to swallow it. I had a thought. "Just a second," I said. "If I eat two, do I get two hundred?"
Darrin chuckled. "No. Any oysters eaten after this one are by choice. You don't get paid for those."
Looking back at the oyster in my hand, I said, "I can see why you guys drink lots of beer with these."
"Are you going to eat it?"
I closed my eyes and opened my mouth. I tilted my hand back and the oyster slid off the shell and into my mouth, down my throat. I nearly gagged at the slimy sensation. It was like a slug had crawled inside my mouth.
"Blech!" I exclaimed. I finished off my Coke and started on the beer.
Darrin cracked up. "That bad?"
I shivered. "That was weird."
But an hour and another beer later, it didn't seem that weird after all. They became decidedly less and less slug-like with each one I ate. Darrin was still downing them at such a rate that I worried about oyster extinction. I was consuming the sea critters at a much slower pace.
"I'm just glad," he said, placing his hand on my arm for the fourteenth time (yes, I was keeping count...so what?), "that you didn't take me to some fish and chips place."
"Don't you like fish and chips?" I asked, thinking he was somewhat of a traitor to his country if he didn't.
"I like them just fine. I simply don't want to eat them everyday. And it seems that when I visit any country, my hosts want to ply me with food from my homeland, so I don't get homesick, I guess. But I'd really rather have some food native to the host's country. I mean, I can get fish and chips any time at home."
I nodded sagely. "British people eat a lot of peas, too, don't they?"
"What?" Darrin laughed.
"My parents visited London for a week and couldn't stop talking about the peas. My dad went on and on about, 'Peas! Breakfast, lunch and dinner, peas, peas, peas!' He's not a vegetable person," I explained.
Darrin leaned in, touching my hand. "He ought to give peas a chance," he whispered.
"That's it," I said, grabbing his beer bottle. "I'm cutting you off."
"That's probably a good idea."
He sat across from me, still chuckling at his joke. I fiddled with my engagement ring and thought back suddenly to something he said earlier, when we were still at my house.
"Darrin," I asked, "why did you tell me you gave up on love?"
He stopped laughing. "Because I did," he said simply.
"No, I mean..." I began.
"I know what you mean," he interrupted. "It's a long story, and you're going to have to get me a lot drunker for me to spill my guts."
I handed him back his bottle of beer.
* * *
Post disclaimer: Drinking is fine if you're of legal age and know your limits. Drinking and driving, however, is never, ever okay. Either designate a driver or call a cab.
* * *