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Chapter OneDrinks: One bottle of Sangiovese-Cabernet-Merlot (Tuscany, Italy).Starter: Raw oysters with homemade cocktail sauce, grated horseradish & mignonette – x2.Main: Creamy lobster linguine with fresh tomatoes, garlic, white wine and parmesan – x2.Dessert: Chocolate fudge brownie with rich vanilla ice cream – for her.***Grace smirked. ‘I think you can do better than that.’‘How do you mean?’Her eyes darted across his face, reading him in, playing. ‘Ask me something more interesting. Ask me something you really want to ask.’Oh, he liked her. He liked her a lot. ‘You telling me we’re not playing by the rules?’ A delicate yet un-innocent giggle. ‘Some rules apply. Not all.’Thomas appeared confused in all the right ways. I’d seen him with many girls over the years – some who’d made enough of an impression to warrant a second date, most who hadn’t – but this here was a woman. A woman, I hasten to add, who clearly had much to offer and, perhaps most importantly, wasn’t prepared to play all her cards at once. Shadows cast themselves across her elegant light-brown skin, an air of mystery oozing from her like a long unopened jewellery box. Her hair, darkest black, curly and captivatingly unkempt, fell just above the shoulders, framing her bewitchingly. Thomas had noticed it, too – all of it – and I could tell, even from where I was sitting, that his mind was racing.He took a sip of wine – rich, indulgent. This was all a game… and it was his turn. ‘All right,’ he said, leaning back into a half-stretch, ‘I take it you ain’t gonna tell me which rules?’ ‘Find out.’ A mighty quick turnaround. Well-played indeed. Leaning forward again in his chair, staring back into those mischievous eyes, he said: ‘Why tonight?’ Grace knew exactly what he meant. I could tell. He could tell.Thomas continued: ‘It’s – shall we say – an unusual way to start a new year.’ ‘I like unusual, don’t you?’‘Sure I do. It’s just –’‘Go on.’The young man permitted himself a nervous laugh. The table next to them was getting ready to leave, buying him a few seconds to think as the family of four loudly pushed in their chairs and made for the door. ‘I guess… I guess some people might think twice about taking a chance so early on. You know, just in case it don’t go to plan and then, well, it feels as if things, you know, have got off on the wrong foot before anything’s really begun.’ She feigned offence. ‘Are you telling me, Thomas Gardner, that we’ve got off on the wrong foot?’‘Oh, no not…’ He caught on, looking down at his shoes and laughing again. ‘What I mean to say is, and I’ll put it bluntly –’‘Just say it.’ ‘A first date on the first day of the year? C’mon, you don’t think that’s a bit of a bold start?’ ‘I like bold, don’t you?’ ‘Bold and unusual. I suppose you could say I’m liking them qualities more and more.’ Her eyes darted some more. ‘Good.’ They momentarily drunk in the silence. All the words left unsaid. And then, finally, they were spoken: ‘But it’s not just a new year, is it? We got ourselves a brand-new decade to start over. How often does that come around? –’ Grace interrupted his interruption ‘– and yes, Thomas Gardner, I know how often.’‘Just checking.’ ‘I say why wait?’ she continued ‘Why wait for someone to show you to your table when there’s so many spaces free?’‘Huh. Are we still talking about the new year?’Grace ignored the comment and pushed a wispy flick of hair from her view. If that kid’s head wasn’t swirling, mine sure was. ‘Ah. It’s a simile!’ he said.‘A metaphor. But yes.’ So close. Move on, kid. ‘Right, right. So, if the new year is a table at a restaurant, what about the reservations? Surely you can’t take a table if it’s reserved?’ ‘You can just about do anything if you act like it’s meant to be. No one’s gonna question it if you look the part.’ ‘Ah. Well that’s where I have a problem,’ said Thomas, ‘coz you see, I don’t look so much the part.’ He extended his arms, showcasing himself. ‘A black man like me walking into any joint not Richie’s, strutting about the place like he owns it or something, well he’d be lucky if he’s booted out with all his teeth.’ If Grace didn’t fully agree, she did well to hide it. Thomas took another shot: ‘Why wait, huh? I like that. So, what you’re saying is…’ C’mon, kid. ‘… no one else’s gonna give you thrills unless you go find them yourself?’ A fresh smiled appeared on Grace’s face. ‘Close enough.’ That-a-kid. ‘But where do I – we – come in? Tonight, of all nights?’ ‘Because it’s January 1st 1980 and I like you, Thomas Gardner. I liked how bold and unusual you were coming up to me in this very seat, however many days ago it was, and asking for my number. I liked how you pretended you’d never done such a thing before when I can tell for a fact that you’ve done it plenty –’He blushed. ‘Most of all, though, I liked the idea of – as you said yourself – taking a chance, because personally I can’t think of a better way of starting things off than in the company of a stranger.’ ‘I’m strange, too, am I?’ ‘Yeah. And I like it.’ ***Norman appeared with an ornate bowl filled with ice. On top sat six perfectly-shaped oysters organised into a semi-circle, with sauces in the middle. For a split moment, doubt had revealed itself on Thomas’s face. Grace hadn’t noticed, apparently all too keen to tuck in. ‘Thanks. Richie’s sick?’ enquired Thomas.Norman gave him the eyes, a look of don’t get me involved. ‘Yeah. Says he’ll be back on Friday. Nothing serious. Just a bug.’‘So, who’s out in the kitchen?’ The look again, less subtle. ‘JoAnn from Seaside Shanty.’‘Not Frank?’‘No.’ Don’t push it, kid. ‘Thanks again, man.’ ‘Good luck,’ said Norman before wandering over to another table.Grace stared, bemused. ‘What does he mean, good luck?’ Thomas shrugged. I knew. She changed the subject, offering Thomas the safety net he so clearly desired. ‘So, you know everyone here, do you?’ Grace smiled in neutral. ‘Me and Norman go way back. Not as far back as me and Richie, though. You know, his pa always used to say why wait, too?’ Politely enough, she steered him forward. ‘How long you been coming here, then?’ ‘Well it’s funny really, coz I can’t remember I time when I wasn’t. Back when Richie opened this joint in ‘45, just after the war, my ma was his very first customer. The very first.’‘No kidding?’ Grace seemed almost genuinely interested as she reached for an oyster – no sauce. Prodding it briefly with a fork, she adeptly necked it. ‘That’s good.’ Thomas paused, seemingly shaken up. Before Grace could see, though, he carried on with the story: ‘So anyway, my ma was the first here and she’s been bringing me ever since… Well, I bring myself now but you know what I mean.’‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’ The smile moved up a gear – a combination of fascination and endearment. ‘In fact, it’s here she met my pa. He worked behind the bar over there, see.’‘Wow. So, you have some serious history with this place.’ She leaned in. Thomas, I could tell, was trying hard not to look at her breasts. He was, without doubt, a tits guy – if you can excuse my crudeness. There was also no mistaking the look of gratification on his face, the appearance of a man who, despite myriad uncertainties about himself, was at least managing to keep such an alluring woman quite literally on the edge of her seat. If I was that way inclined, I suspect I’d feel much the same way. But that, of course, wasn’t likely the only thing on Thomas’s mind in that moment. He reached for an oyster and lathered it in sauce until he was holding what I could only describe as a shell-full of soup. This time, Grace noticed. ‘You ever seen From Russia with Love? Bond movie.’ Thomas had stopped short of putting the red gloop into his mouth. He was relieved, if a little lost. ‘I can’t say I’ve seen any James Bond movie. Not my thing, really.’‘It’s not really mine, either, but my dad loves them. Watches them on repeat all the time. His favourite is From Russia with Love because he thinks it’s all proper. Very British. Near the end of it, there’s a scene on a train where the bad guy is pretending to be a good guy. KGB or something like that, I think. Anyway, they’re having dinner together and this Soviet guy orders fish with a glass of red wine. Well sooner or later, of course, Bond finds out this guy’s a Soviet, and you know what he says? Red wine with fish. Now that should’ve told me something.’Thomas peered at the bottle of the table, a little embarrassed, a little amused. ‘Well I ain’t no Russian spy, I can tell you that much.’ ‘Maybe not, but you’ve sure as hellfire never had oysters before.’ ***After the laughter died down – and the three remaining oysters had been taken away – Thomas asked: 'So what about you?'Grace stole the briefest of glances towards the window, looking out to where a night-laden New York lay restless – and not seeing any of it. The blinds were down, which, had it been daylight, would've at least exposed a dim, fragmented view of the sidewalk. But the contrast of light inside and darkness outside revealed little other than a muted reflection. 'We haven't finished our game yet.''Oh? I mean, sure if you want.''I have a question for you, Thomas Gardner.''Fire away.'She took her time, an artful smile forming in the corner of her mouth as she swirled her fork into the pasta. 'You're nervous.''Well sure I am. I don't know what you're going to ask,' Thomas replied, shuffling in his chair.'No. I mean you're nervous – with this. All of this. And you don't strike me as the nervous type usually. Am I right?''Is that your question? Am I usually nervous?''No... Well, sort of. You're nervous coz I'm making you nervous – I'm not an idiot, I can see that as much as anyone else here can,' – was that pointed towards me? – 'and I'm making you nervous because there's something about me you're not sure about. I get it a lot. Hell, I think it of me a lot, too. My question, then, is, What does someone like me have to do to make a guy like you squirm in your seat like that? I'm gonna go ahead and assume it's not my tits seeing as you seem plenty comfortable with them.'Woah.'Woah. That's – um. Right.''That's my question.'It was clear that Thomas was fighting every urge in his body not to fidget. He put down his cutlery and pulled the napkin out of his lap. For a moment, in fact, I thought he was going to get up and leave. But instead he looked up at Grace with a slight tilt of the head, and began to explain: 'So far, this has been quite the roller-coaster – I ain't gonna lie to you,' – that laugh again – 'and yes, you have... a way... about you.''But what is it?''… That. Right there. You just... say things.''I say things.''Yeah. You say things! What else do you want me to say?''I say things.'Thomas, laughing sweetly, sincerely, said: 'Whaaat?... Seriously though, I’ve never met anyone so comfortable saying the first thing that pops into her head. Don’t get me wrong I admire it and all but it’s just not what I’m used to.’‘I suppose you’re used to girls smiling and nodding and telling you their life stories and all that shit.’He momentarily considered his next statement before saying it anyway: ‘I suppose I am, yeah. If I’m honest.’‘And how many of their life stories do you forget the moment you’ve heard them?’Again, he pondered. ‘Most.’‘I thought so,’ she replied empathetically.But Thomas wouldn’t forget hers – if only she spoke it. If only she knew, perhaps saw, all the times he’d fallen over himself with flat courtesies and monochrome small talk. The times where he’d surrendered his true character for a feeble impersonation of sincerity. Some might’ve seen it as rude and shallow to act in such a manner – and they’d probably be right. But those were the other girls, the ones who rarely showed an ounce of realness themselves. And this here was Grace. The stranger Grace. The Grace who played games and called out bullshit when she saw it. The Grace who said things.'Careful,' he said, 'you don't want to be predictable.'Interest piqued. 'Am I?''Not yet. But you're heading into dangerous territory.'Very piqued. 'Enlighten me.'A tease if ever there was one, Thomas stabbed a sizeable hunk of lobster and filled his mouth. He was getting comfortable. He was getting brave. Taking a final, agonising sip of wine, he finally said: 'This whole hard-to-get attitude. I might not be used to it,' – He really wasn't, I can tell you that much – 'but I sure know how this plays out.''Oh? You do, do you?''Yeah.?Mysterious Grace Pritchard,'?he declared mockingly.She interrupted '–?Mysterious Grace W. Pritchard, if you don't mind.''Fine.?Mysterious Grace W. Pritchard' –?He'd ask another time. Thomas was having too much fun – 'girl from afar, girl who doesn't like to answer questions, girl who keeps the kid guessing until he's bursting at the seams. Until EVERYONE is bursting at the seams. Is she real or just a dream? Is she an alien from outer space or... or...''– a troll from under the bridge?' She smiled.' …?a ghost of... the Queen of England!''– I was beginning to wonder if you'd noticed my accent.'Again, another time. '…?Does anyone know the truth about Grace W. Pritchard? Only Grace W. Pritchard, it seems. Many foolish folk have...'She finally began to laugh. 'All right. All right. I get the picture. You're a mighty good story-teller I'd wager, but I wanna order dessert before the night's over.'Norman, at last seeing a window to collect the empty plates, walked over in that moment without saying a word. Despite fumbling about with the cutlery, dropping the fork twice onto the floor, the waiter left without being noticed.'Sure I'm a good story-teller,' said Thomas, 'You're not.'Grace took the menu from the middle of the table, feigning indifference. 'What if I don't have a story worth telling? You considered that? It could be just I'm boring as hell rather than playing hard-to-get.''I don't think so somehow. I know what I'm seeing.'And seeing is believing.'Well I'd hate to be predictable,' she replied, lifting her glittery black top and hot pink bra in one swift stroke to reveal her fullness. An inharmonious chorus of gasps followed, with Thomas leading the ensemble, his face the look of all sorts.***'I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure you shouldn't give cheese to cats.''A little bit don't do them no harm, surely?''Like I said I'm no expert,' said Grace, dragging her spoon between the melted chocolate and cream to create spirals. She was still getting the odd look (in both senses) from the few customers who remained, with most having left promptly after her... display. It was apparent she didn't care, though, the same way she hadn't cared in its immediate wake. Instead she had launched into a snowballing collection of senseless topics as guests made their ruffled departures, showing little remorse and even at times revelling in their offence.Thomas relaxed in his chair, finally able to shift his legs without embarrassment. 'How's dessert?''Fucking aces,' she replied with a full mouth.'Let me tell you a story about that brownie of yours.' And he did. And she found it hilarious.'You're kidding. And Richie served it anyway?''Well, ma asked for it. Said she'd give it a try to be polite and all. But there wasn’t no polite word to describe what she got in the end!''And your pa?''What do you mean?''You said your pa was there.''Oh, sure – he was there.''That all you got to say?'Thomas shrugged. 'What else?is?there to say?'More. And Grace could see it, too. She put her fork down and leant in, hands on the table, eyebrows raised. 'It looks like it's Thomas Gardner's turn to be mysterious.''Not mysterious. Just... I'm not big on talking about my dad. It's nothing personal, of course –''– Never thought it was.''It's just...''Thomas,' she said sincerely, stopping him in his tracks, 'you don't have to explain. Hell, it's not like you're getting much from me in return.''Well, I wouldn't say that... I've learnt you're at least a D-cup – very nice, by the way.'Grace pretended to fan herself like a southern belle. 'I was beginning to worry you hadn't noticed.''… and your dad likes Bond movies...''Just the Sean Connery ones. He can't stand Roger Moore.''But yeah. I guess that's it.'They descended into another silence – a little less comfortable than the last. Over at the door, a couple had walked in hoping for dinner only to find out that the kitchen had closed for the night. Disappointed, they strolled back out, looking up and down the street for somewhere else to go. They'd be lucky – it was getting late.Grace lit a cigarette, taking a single drag before holding it by her side. 'You want one?'It seemed like an afterthought.'I don't smoke. But thanks.''Huh. I pegged you for a smoker.'If Thomas had been offended, it didn't show.'Um. Nope. Not me.'She took another drag, tapping the burnt tobacco over the ashtray to no avail. It looked like she could cough. 'That's probably for the best. I should quit.''Well it's at least something else I know about you.' It was no doubt the best response he could muster, his hesitant words revealing, for the first time that night, the years between the two of them.'Yeah. I'd say you've done pretty well. All things considering.' Again, Grace tapped against the ashtray. Again, she failed.'You think so? I don't think so.?Mysterious Grace W. Pritchard?has stayed mysterious from where I'm sitting.'She smiled a smile of childish satisfaction.In that moment, Norman appeared with the bill. Neither of them had asked for it. The waiter put it in front of Thomas, but Grace was quick to snatch it away.'My treat,' she said, seemingly thankful for the distraction.Before Thomas could protest, she placed a sizeable wedge of notes into Norman's shaking, wrinkled hands.'Wow. I don't know what to say,’ said Thomas. 'Thank you, perhaps?' 'Well sure. Thank you! But –''– But you usually pay? I understand, I do. I mean?I don't care?of course, but I do understand.'Something flashed across the young man’s face as he looked down at the candle oozing molten wax onto the tablecloth. His gaze then settled comfortably, if a little sensitively, on Grace. 'Okay. I'll take a hint. But before we go, allow me to ask you?one?question. Just one.'Ash fell clumsily onto the floor.She nodded slowly, reluctantly. 'Fine.''Are you going to finish that last piece of brownie?'Her smile returned. ................
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