APB, darling—finally we meet, one-on-one, in the same time zone! My, you do look like Gary Cooper . . .
[Eve glances reluctantly back at her apartment, as cartoon smoke puffs and "#@*&%!"s emerge from the windows]
Off to Rector’s, then!
[Eve survives cab ride with this Perfect Gentleman, wondering if she regrets the lack of wrestling. We pull up, APB handsomely tips Jester, and we get out of cab to see a suspiciously familiar-looking doorman in front of the restaurant . . . ]
(CalMeacham sticks head in cab)
“Hey, did you people want some Circus Peanuts and microwave?”
So, what are you guys having for dinner? I know that I’m in the mood for a nice big steak, and maybe some red wine. Hey, you’re buying, right, AP?
<Looks at APB glaring at him.>
Oh, rigggghhhhtttt…the privacy thing. Well, fine then. I’ll just be in the limo, hanging out with my buddy, Jack Daniels, if anybody needs me.
Hey, don’t look at me. I’m gonna be the maitre’d.
How can I keep an eye on you two if I’m out on the sidewalk all evening?
Besides, maitre’ds get bigger tips. Let’s see how much company that Jackson Jester got has in that wallet.
I can read your mind Eve. Wrestling comes later, after I’ve raised the anticipation level.
Thank you, doorman. (Hmmm. He looks familiar, I just…can’t…place him.)
[now inside]
Good evening, Jasper. [subtly touches his hand. A crinkling noise is heard. Jasper puts his hand in his pocket and a smile on his face] You’re best table, please.
[Eve climbs stairs to second floor—lifted her skirt slightly as she does so, both trying to show APB that she has gams like Marlene Dietrich’s, and yet maintaining her ladylike demeanor]
Oh, the place is crowded tonight—look, there’s Diamond Jim Brady and Lillian Russell! Oscar Wilde and Lillie Langtry! And there’s the Cynicals, the Dennisons and the Tatertots!
Why, this must be our room . . . Candlelight, red velvet hangings, a cold bottle waiting. And that violin trio, they look oddly familiar, too. Here comes the maitre d’ . . .
::kicking feet sheepishly::
Eve, I picked these posies for you. They’re not as pretty as you are, but they’re the best I could find.
That’s sweet of you, dear, and I will tuck these posies into my décolletage and think of you when the scent wafts upward.
But isn’t that Mrs. Cynical and your newborn screaming baby over at that table?
[gruffly]
THANK YOU, portnoy. The menu, please.
[Holding Eve’s chair for her]
Here you are, gams - oh! I mean Eve, of course. How embarassing.
Let’s see what Jasper has given us. [reading the wine bottle] Hmm. Riesling Alsace Grand Cru Mandelberg 1998. That should be suitable.
I’ve hired the violin trio to play for us while we dine. I see they’re starting off with a Hendrix medley.
So…tell me about yourself.
Hmmm . . . That’s odd; the pizza-chef moustache just fell off of one of the violinists.
Me? [laughing tinkingly, batting eyelashes into left field] Oh, I’m just a typical Main Line girl—you know, country club picnics, garden shows; I had to come to New York to get away from the Social Whirl and try to make it as a writer. All that talk Ukulele Ike was spreading about my being in the Witness Relocation Program is just so much banana oil. And that was NOT ME on “America’s Most Wanted” last week.
And you, dear? What about you?
APB, I really wish you had listened when I told you I’m a flautist, not a violinist. This is bloody embarassing. Hendrix is all I can manage on a set of strings.
{squinting at list} Okay…the lady gets the potato skins with chili con carne…the gennulman gets the Swedish meatballs.
Oh, wait. Did anyone get your drink order? Hang on, I have to play the third violin…I’m afraid your scenario is a little understaffed tonight…the other waiter’ll be here in a minute.
<Waiter stumbles out of wine cellar, looking disheveled and wearing a chauffer’s cap>
<Admires Eve>
Hello, madam. May I say that you are looking EXTREMELY beautiful tonight. Your charm greatly outweighs the decor of our restaurant.
<Looks down nose at APB>
And you…uhmmm, sir, are looking as though you have just wandered in off of the streets. Tell me, did you obtain that unsightly stain on your jacket whilst drowning your sorrows with the rest of your underclassed compatriots? I suppose that the only way you “convinced” that limo driver to take you was by holding him at gunpoint, no? I must say that the musky, sour taste of the wine that I supplied you looks delightful in comparison with your attire for the evening. It shames me that someone would think that they could just walk in, here…off…the…uhmmmmmm, streets?
Excuse me, is that…a super-platinum charge card hanging out of your wallet?
WHY HELLO, SIR!!! It is delightful to have you here with us tonight! Truly, this booth is too cramped for you. Here, allow me to personally call in a construction crew to make you your own wing of the restaurant. It will be only a minute. My jacket? Why, of COURSE you can have my jacket!
Hey, stop looking at me like that. This date was too fun to spend waiting in the car, and Eddie Murphy played a whole family in Nutty Proffessor!
Me? Well, there’s not much to tell. I was immaculately conceived on a nuclear submarine under the arctic ice pack while crossing the international date line. Consequently, I don’t really belong to any zodiac sign.
I spent my early years in a Shaolin monastery learning the mystic wisdom of the east and how to really whale on somebody’s ass, but I’ve abandoned that faith as a result of the horrible wrongs I was forced to confront while fighting as a special forces commando in the Falkland War.
I was briefly married to an Italian supermodel named Maria, but after I foiled yet another mafia criminal scheme they took revenge by cutting my brake lines. Alas, it was Maria who went off that day, to buy yet more shoes, and it was she who plunged to a fiery death from a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean.
A broken man, I turned to the priesthood and became, for a while, a favorite of the holy father. But when he sensed my popularity growing with the cardinals, and I was held up (quite against my will) as a man who could heal the age-old schism with the eastern orthodox church, he began to grow jealous. After I wrote my little monograph conclusively proving, from basic principles of differential geometry, that the theological differences between the church and the Lutherans were simply cosmetic (thus offering to wipe away this Reformation business) it only got worse. Eventually, I was excommunicated.
Now I divide my time between running my multibillion-dollar-a-year exotic animal import business, acting as an international super spy, and researching clean, cheap, alternatives to gasoline.
And sometimes I write fiction.
But enough about me. What did you witness, according to Uke?
Now I recognize the doorman! It was Uke all along. Say, Uke, why are you bringing us appetizers when we haven’t even got the menus yet? We’re still in the middle of our aperitif, here.
Ah, yes, menus. Here you are, sir, please enjoy. The appatizers were merely a complementary service, for very SPECIAL custmoers. They were NOT a mistake due to the understaffing of the restaurant. No. <shifty eyes>
<crashes and curses coming from next room, construction worker runs out on fire>
Aheh, yes, excuse me, sir. It seems that your personaly annex is almost complete.
<runs to grap fire extinguisher>
Say . . . that’s the same story my LAST date told me!
[looking around at staff and realizing why Rector’s went out of business]
Violins? Oh, who needed violins. There’s too much violins on television as it is. I think this kazoo, Jew’s harp and sax trio is MUCH more delightful.
Dinner? I’ll let the gentleman order for me.
Now, APB, you promised to tell me the derivation of your name . . . And perhaps your REAL name? Could it be Gary?
{looks around at the other examples of manhood in this thread and shrugs}
Okay, but generally you let the guy who’s paying the check do the ordering.
She’ll have the chicken necks and braised giblets. And a side of kumquats.
Ah. Let’s see. For appetizers, we will both have the raw oyster-mango chutney on sourdough bread, and a small cup of the lobster bisque. I’ll just have oil and vinegar on my salad; I’m avoiding garlic tonight ;).
For entree, I’ll have the grilled Komodo dragon wrapped in banana leaves with satay sauce. Does that come with cole slaw? I dislike cole slaw; please substitute something else. Yes, beer battered caviar will serve, thank you.
The lady will have the drambuie shrimp flambe with macadamia nuts. [To Eve] (the secret ingredient is French truffles, you know).
Well, the truth is, Eve, I haven’t wanted to tell you my real name. You see, we are somewhat star-crossed. APB is my monogram, and the A is for…I can barely say it…“Adam”.
Yes, I know. It’s just sickeningly precious, the two of us together, and will never do. I’ve considered changing my name, but finally decided just to use my “handle”, APB, and keep the annoyingly cute secret to myself.
No doubt our waiters will now begin with the jokes, about us raising Cain together, and the like. I’m sorry I had to mention it, really.
BTW, Jester, I wouldn’t say this wine has a musky, sour taste. I’d say that
Impressive, no? It’s almost as if I were an internet wine critic or something.
[briefly shocked out of character]
Oh, PLEASE tell me your name isn’t really Adam. Or, PLEASE tell me it is . . . Now I can’t decide if it’s Kismet or Keystone . . .
[snapping back into character]
Yes, dear, the drambuie shrimp flambé with macadamia nuts sounds marvelous. I know the chef—a fellow from Brooklyn, I think he edits books on the side as a lark—and it should be delicious.
[glances at clock on the wall]
Oops, it’s getting toward 5:00, and I will have to visit the powder room, where the girls of the SD are all waiting anxiously to hear me do a “Bye Bye Birdie”-type musical number about you. I won’t be long, dear heart—I’ll be back tomorrow morning at 9:00 Eastern Time. You’ll wait? You’ll keep the champers on ice?