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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1115306-The-Purse
Rated: E · Short Story · Drama · #1115306
There was a man sitting at the far end of the restaraunt
The Purse

She carried the purse on her right side when she walked in. There was a man sitting at a table on the far end of the restaurant, and he fixed his posture at the sight of her. His eyes gleamed when she smiled and waved to him. However, the excitement in her eyes seemed to dissipate in one quick moment as she turned her head and began rummaging through the purse. She pulled her phone out, and as she answered it lifted a finger to her ear then walked away. She came back and the host led her to the table where the man sat.

“You look marvelous,” said the man as he stood from his seat.

“Thank you, David.” She sat down quickly. “How is your mother doing?” she asked.

“Oh, just fine. She has been asking about you quite a bit, though.”

She smiled vaguely, and then dropped her head down to the menu. It seemed like quite a long time before either of them said a word, and the man seemed to look more at her than at the menu.

The waiter came over. “For you, Miss?”

“I’ll have a glass of sauvignon blanc, please.”

“Sir,”

“I’ll just have water for now, thanks.”

He smiled, and looked at her. She fixed her hair and they caught eyes for a moment. She rubbed her nose and quickly looked away, and then at me.

“So how was the show?” he asked.

“Oh it was so wonderful. You should’ve seen it the costumes looked so great, and everyone loved it, and-“

“Well I would have loved to go. I left plenty of messages. You never called.”

“I’m sorry.” She lowered her hair over her face and played with her straw wrapper, and then looked back up at him. “You know how busy I’ve been lately.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

She said nothing, and continued to look at the menu. He stared at her but not the same way as before. He was slumped back in his chair and his eyes seemed to be slightly glazed over.

“So how’s Tim?” he asked.

“I’m not gonna talk about that, David”

“I don’t understand that.”

“You don’t have to.”

They were silent. She looked around again quickly, rubbed her nose, and turned the menu over. His eyes were wide open as he stared directly at the wall to his left. He lightly tapped the table and turned towards her.

“Why don’t you love me anymore?” he asked.

She shook her head and stared at him for quite some time before she began to pack her things.

“Don’t do this,’ he said.

“I swear David you’ll never change.”

“Please don’t leave.” She picked up the purse.

“Wow that’s a real nice bag, where did you get that?”

“You know where I got it, David.”

She took some things out of the bag, and left it on the table.
He was staring at it when the waiter came over.

“Just you tonight, Sir?”

He shook his head and the waiter slowly walked away leaving behind the glass of wine, and the water. I left a twenty-dollar bill on the table before I finished my drink, and went out the back door to meet her at the car.

“Was everything alright?” I asked.

“I’m fine.”
© Copyright 2006 Charles A. Walsh (cwalsh at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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