Garlic Sticks on the Side

Garlic Sticks on the Side
By
Joseph Timothy

         Hester played with her light, brown hair, pulling at first one twisted curl and then another, stroking them to length and then releasing each again, and again, into lazy resilient coils.  Her eyes were a crisp blue, the blue that could either sparkle in candlelight or beam under a welling tear.  But that was it for her natural beauty.  Her face was quite simple but highlighted to majestic wonder as with an artist’s wand.  The palette’s color dappled her pale complexion, giving even it a splendor, though the kind more popular in Victorian times.  Small diamond earrings set off the simple wonder of her face with occasional flashes of light, gently dangling alongside her bare, long throat.  Her left hand played about the crystal water glass, her married finger tracing its rim as a large diamond needle running the familiar groove of an old love song.  Her arms angled back to her slight, straight frame, dressed in peach with a white lace trim.
         Service was slow, and her husband seemed a bit preoccupied.  She casually observed the corner table where a woman sat alone.  Hester figured her to be in her 30’s as she, though the way she dressed made her appear younger.  Her short skirt rumpled now high up her thighs revealing long, dark-stockinged legs.  She could see the outlines of her lace brassiere through her thin, lavender blouse.  The red bobbed-hair woman at intervals of checking her watch, dabbed color to her eyes, lips, and cheeks, and perfume along her neck, ears, and just insider her loose blouse.  Hester watched with discreet fascination, and tried to grab a waft of lingering scent.
         Her man was late, Hester observed.  With quick sporadic movement he dropped his briefcase into one of the side seats and apologized dramatically with loud gestures.  The woman sat patiently smiling, neck craning upward, chin in palm, the other hand rubbing the back of her head.  Her nose crinkled.  She laughed like a stream; quick and bubbly in spurts, smooth and singing in longer stretches.  Now composed, the man slid his overcoat down his extended arms before smoothly twirling the garment, and draping it over the chair much like a magician would set the stage for his next illusion.
         Hester found the stranger tall, dark, and literally charming.  His suit was dark, well cut, and an extravagant indulgence, just like her Daddy’s.  The stranger’s naked face bore clean sharp features set in bronze.  The smile that flashed intermittently was broad with large white teeth.  His black, medium cropped hair, held a slight curl or wave.  His eyes seemed that of a large cat – black beady pearls set in larger white orbs that served a duality of sweeping the field with an edgy intensity and that of directing its hungry gaze upon a prey and consuming it from stare alone.
         He eased into his seat, shoulders square, brow firm, lips betraying a poaching smile.  He thrust his hands into hers, just aside the port bottle candle.  Hester knew they were married by the fire lit sparkle.  Just as suddenly they pulled back, hands now vanishing beneath the table with clutched napkins.  Their smiles now a bit more subdued, both their faces slightly flushed.  They extended their right arms to rendezvous again across the crimson tablecloth.  He whispered something.  She guffawed, blushed brilliantly, and then giggled.
         Hester turned back to her own table.  Stuart’s face was still buried in the menu, poised as a cold waxy wall across the center of the table.  She cleared her throat, took a deep breath – and sighed.  She took a deeper breath yet, and inched her left hand across the table, past the cold candle, and towards Stuart’s lax fingers.  Then, first barely touching she caressed his hand as if stroking an outer shell, and then plunged her hand into his surprised grip.  The menu cam down with a shock revealing Stuart’s grim, lean features, lost gray eyes, and thin wired spectacles hanging precariously close tot the edge of a long, tin nose.  Just as quickly his hand moved away from hers and came to rest across his other wrist.  His brow wrinkled in silent question.
         “I was just wondering if you decided what to eat yet, dear?”
         “Yes.”  He looked up and then about.  “Why do you ask?  Our waiter’s not ever here, yet?”  His hands fumbled about, awkward, then found the silverware and began wiping them.
         “Well, when he comes, perhaps you could ask him to light our candle.”  Stuart stilled his hands and looked up at Hester.
         “I thought the – the sulfur, bothered your allergies?”  Hester now sat back, pressed to her chair, one arm rubbing the chill off of the other, shoulders almost touching her cheeks.
         “It does, - doesn’t really bother me that much anymore.”  She smiled a little more loosely now, shaking her head, blushing faintly.  “I’m all right with it.  Really.  I just thought it would be nice.”  Stuart regarded her, a little more relaxed, now.  His cheeks loosened.  He grinned.
         “Sure.”  His arms relaxed and fell to his sides.  Then, with a startle, he sat up and groped through his jacket.  “Here,” he said flipping open a matchbook.
         “You don’t smoke.”
         Stuart pursed his lips as he struck a flame.  “No.  I don’t.  A client gave them to me.  It’s a formality.  They always do.  I should start a collection.”
         “Why I’m jealous,” Hester said, reaching over and lightly slapping his arm.
         “Why?”
         “Well, first they keep you from me all day long – and every other Saturday, and now they’re plying you with gifts.”  Hester relaxed her shoulders and slid her bare, flushed arm across the linen tablecloth.
         “Who?”  What do you mean?”  Stuart shifted his clutched hands close to the edge of the table, at the middle of his place setting.
         “Well, your clients.  Work.  Oh yes.  And racquetball.”  Hester smiled casually, “You know, it’s really starting to show.”
         “Well, it’s a very demanding job.  Very stressful.  I’m sure you know from your Dad – father.”
         “Daddy must be very proud of you.”
         Stuart shifted uneasily.  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know.  He’s always very busy.”
         “Oh.  I’m sure he could take some time for lunch with his favorite son-in-law.”
         “No.  Don’t bother,” Stuart said with both hands pushing out over the table.  “It’s better this way.  Really.  Besides, it gets kind of awkward.”
         “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean -, I just thought, - “ Hester shrugged, paused and regarded her husband.  Stuart glanced over to his prone menu, fingers absently picking the fold.  Hester carefully advanced her hand towards the menu, encroaching the near corner.  “So, what’s racquetball like, anyway?  Is it something that you think I would like?”
         “It’s a lot like tennis, but instead of playing off of another person you just keep smacking it against a wall.  It’s boring, tiring, and sweaty.  No.  You wouldn’t like it.”  Stuart turned the menu upright.
         “Then why do you do it?”
         Stuart sighed.  “I guess I just need the exercise.”
         “Wouldn’t it be nice if we exercised together?”  Hester whitened as Stuart shifted uneasily.  “I mean – I just thought …”
         “Like what, for instance?  You admit you’re not very physical.  You get tired easily.”
         “Well, how about walking?  We could take walks together, in the park, maybe?”
         “You complain your feet get sore after a short distance.”
         “Well, yes.”  Hester’s eyes searched the floor to right.  “But there are plenty of benches in the park.  I could sit by the pond, maybe, feeding the geese, and wait until you come around.”
         “Yes, well.  Actually,” Stuart put the menu back down and eased a breath of air, “I’ve been thinking about spending less time at work and the gym.  You like going out, like tonight?”
         “Well, yes.”  Hester eyes broke off and searched the floor again.  “But we don’t have to, all the time.  I mean if …” Stuart was sitting back now, smoothing out the tablecloth, adjusting the flatware.  Hester observed a little concern in his face.  “If work’s a problem …”
         “There’s no problem at work.”  Stuart replied, eyes slightly averted.
         Hester smiled slightly and tried to be as casual as possible, “I know how Daddy can be tight at times – “
         “We’re fine.”  Stuart gestured with open palms, slightly angled down, over the table.  “I don’t want you asking for anything.”  Stuart met her eyes firmly.  “Understand?  Where’s our waiter?”  He jerked his head first in one direction, and then the other.  Clumsily, his hand first moved towards the menu, and then to this water glass.
         Hester’s shoulders tightened.  She bought her arms close to her chest, trying to rub off a chill.  She turned away and found herself eyeing the corner table again, with subtle envy.  They were joined across the table with clasped hands, still smiling, nodding, their voices a bare audible murmur over the backdrop of chatter and clashing plates.
         “Hester.”  She turned back to the table.
         “Yes, Stuart.”  Hester noted the waitress standing patiently with broad grin, tapping her pen rhythmically to the pad.
         “I’ll take the usual, Stuart.  You know.”  Stuart irritably closed his menu and handed both back to the waitress.  Hester noted he probably still had his mind on work.
         “She’ll have the grilled chicken with rice, and corn on the side.  And a glass of iced tea.”
         “We don’t have corn, just green beans…”
         “Then an extra portion of rice.”  Stuart smiled tightly at Hester.  Hester smiled in appreciation.
         “I’ll have the veal scaloppini.”  Hester looked confused.
         “Are you sure you want that rich food?”  Hester reached over to place her hands over his.
         “And a basket of garlic sticks, please.”  He added withdrawing his hands to take off his jacket, “And I’ll have a bottle of Cabernet with that please.  Kendall Jackson.
         “Stuart,” Hester blushed, “we never had wine for dinner before.”
         “Then we’ll only need one glass.  And I think I’ll have a screw driver while I’m waiting.”  The waitress smiled curtly and wheeled about. 
         “I just don’t want to see you drink yourself into the grave.”
         Stuart’s hands busied themselves at the edge of the table, adjusting the cloth.  His eyes wandered off to the left and fixed on a seemingly interesting mural.
         She decided to say nothing more about the alcohol; after all, he was carrying a lot of stress from long hours at work.  The food wasn’t really that much either, she reasoned, now that he was playing racquetball on weekends, he seemed to be even trimming down some, and looking a bit more athletic.
         When his drink cam, she looked away, returning her attention to the table in the corner.  She watched how the woman leaned over to loosen the man’s tie.  They seemed very comfortable with each other, she thought.  And the man being at least 15 years her senior!  They giggled a little, and the man tipped his wine glass to her lips as she gently undid his tie, stroking the material, pulling it around his neck, and folding it up neatly on his lap.
         Hester turned to Stuart who she noticed was watching too, with a lazy, side-ways grin.
         “Isn’t that nice?”  Stuart choked on his last gulp, his face reddening.
         “Didn’t your Daddy ever tell you that it’s not polite to spy on another man’s business?”
         “Oh you prude,” Hester said slapping him on his arm, “it’s no harm to check out your neighbors, every once in a while, and see what you’re missing.”  Stuart withdrew his arm with a wince.
         The couple, she noticed, though very affectionate, was very shy.  They would seem to get lost in each other’s eyes holding hands underneath the table for long moments, and then at the sound of the door opening or a loud voice nearby, break of quite innocently, like children stalking a cookie jar.
         Hester turned back to Stuart, who was now lost in his drink, apparently trying to forget his business worries.  Shed dried her palms by clutching her napkin.  Smiling, she leaned across the table and gently reached for his tie, stroking the smooth silky fabric as her other hand neared the knot.
         “Hester!”  Stuart said firmly, “What are you doing?”
         “I’m just trying to help you relax, dear.  You look all tense.”
         “We’re in a restaurant.”  Stuart said, looking up at Hester with a disgusted and uncertain look.
         “Well of course, honey.  You just need to loosen up, that’s all.  Why are you so touchy?  I was just unknotting your tie.  That’s all.  This isn’t business, after all.  This is dinner with your Georgia Peach.  Remember?”
         “I can unknot my own tie, thank you.”
         She felt bad for Stuart, yet it was her fault.  She knew it.  She shouldn’t have let him drink.  He took her out because he felt guilty for neglecting her for business.  He had said so.  But now after a couple of drinks, his attention was turning back to work.
         The waitress returned with the salads and set the dressing carousel in the table’s center.  Stuart reached up and set his empty glass on the tray, silently gesturing with a single forefinger.  Hester pretended not to notice.  She discreetly sat, hands on lap, in silent waiting.  Stuart reached over for the dressing and began to ladle his own plate, looked up, smiled tightly, and stopped to ladle the low-cal Italian onto her salad.  Hester smiled in appreciation.
         “You know, Daddy always said that you could judge a happy marriage by how well one anticipates the other.”  Stuart slopped some ranch on his plate before plopping the ladle back in the dish, splattering little white droplets on the tablecloth.
         “You know, it would be great if I could get through one night at home, - one meal, without being reminded of work.”
         “I’m sorry, Honey.  Do you want to tell me about it?”  Stuart responded with another ladle of dressing, adjusting the carousel firmly in the center of the table.  Hester continued to eat, head down, but could hear the knock of a new glass and the sound of clinking ice as the waitress passed.
         She nibbled at her salad, carefully avoiding the cucumbers and cherry tomatoes.
         “Poor Stuart,” she thought, “he eats just about anything.”
         Stuart was still irritable over something at work, she could tell.  She turned her casual gaze back over to her neighbors.  The man was now leaning over towards the woman, one arm caressing her bare shoulder.  He buried his face into the woman’s short, red hair, so for a moment she could only see the woman’s face, which blushed redder yet, and then with a shrug of her shoulders her nose crinkled, her eyes sparkled and she burst into a giggle.
         “Are you going to eat your food or play with it?”  Hester jerked back around to Stuart.
         “I’m sorry, Stuart, what?”  She could feel her face burning and looked down at the greasy breadstick in her hand, which she quickly dropped into the basket.  Stuart shook his head with a smirk that had been becoming more and more familiar to Hester.  His lips seemed to mouth something before disappearing behind the tumbler.
         “I’m sorry, Stuart.  What was that?”  His eyes simply averted back to the fascinating mural.  She started to lick the salt off of her fingers and remembered she didn’t like garlic.  Hester wiped her fingers on the folded cloth napkin before meticulously pressing it out on her lap, soiled side down.  She sensed that Stuart was annoyed with her latest unwomanly behavior.  She was, too.  Her daddy taught her better than that.  As if to compensate for this faux pas she sat and ate with particular attention to etiquette.
         Dinner arrived.  Stuart, not a little relaxed by several screwdrivers, ate his meal almost a gulp of wine to every bite.  Hester worried.  His personality had gradually been changing the last couple of months.  It seemed the longer hours were bringing out the best and the worst in him.  Some days he would bring flowers, or maybe must lavish her with affection.  On other days, he would seem impatient or just distant.  On the whole, it was almost like he was growing a new personality, developing his own interests, his own tastes.
         Hester returned to picking at her food and sipping her iced tea.  Covertly she lifted her eyes to the pleasant scene of the man out with his wife.  She was startled and blushed to see them raising their glasses in a toast to her direction.  Hester turned for Stuart, but he already had his screwdriver in the air, with a sort of half, drooping grin.  She picked up his wine glass and turned to meet the silent toast, feeling the wine tingle even before she sipped it.
         It was a long moment.  The two men’s eyes met, and then the man smiled at Hester.  The woman smiled and even giggled at Stuart, and then nodded to Hester who smiled yet broader in return.  Hester thought she caught herself giggling or at least opening her mouth to say something, but seemed to forget what she was going to say.  She was surprised to feel a oneness with the other woman, like a bridge partner.  She was aware of wanting to be friends with her, though realizing on another level they never could for some reason.  The woman, too, cocked her head to the side a little, as if listening, or waiting to listen.  Her smile broadened, if only for a moment, before becoming wax-like, her eyes growing distant and blank.  It was a strange but not an altogether uncomfortable moment for Hester.
         Without recall of the dry taste of alcohol, Hester finished the wine and returned to Stuart.  His spirits seemed suddenly buoyed, too, she noticed.  With an impulse that surprised even her, she reached and touched his arm.
         “Wouldn’t it be wonderful, Stuart, if we could be more like them?”  Stuart grew suddenly sober and sullen.
         “Would you really like that, Hester?”  There was a tone of vindictiveness about his voice, which made it come out more like a threat or a sad prophecy.
         “Damned liquor!”  Hester thought.  Perhaps he’ll remember tomorrow.”
         Hester returned to her food, scraping the rice up on her fork, occasionally glancing over at the next table, hoping for another more verbal exchange.  The other woman was now stabbing at her food.  She sat, a little more drawn back now, with one hand underneath her short bob-cut, scratching or rubbing her ear, while she picked lazily at the food with the fork.
         “Her food must be cold by now,” Hester surmised to Stuart.  “That’s what happens when you neglect it long enough.  It just gets cold.”
         “Unless it was cold in the first place.”  Stuart glanced briefly at Hester as he drained his drink.
         “Poor thing,” Hester said wistfully as she turned back to their table.  “The food must have been cold.”  The woman was looking kind of sullen, now, and the man was obviously trying to console her.  He was leaning towards her, arm on table, head gesturing up and down, smiling as if he was telling her something funny.  Hester could see his hand reach for the one bare knee visible beneath the table.  The woman put her fork down, reached for his hand, clasped it, placed it on top of the table, and – pressing his hand down on the table – began talking rather rapidly.  Hester noticed the smile evaporate from his face and his jaw and his shoulders drop.  As she now sensed an unpleasantness about, Hester turned away.
         The waitress returned with the dessert tray.  Hester silently deliberated, her tongue slowly rolling along the bottom of her lip.
         “What’s that?”
         “That’s the Strawberry Charlotte.  It’s made with sponge cake, fresh strawberries, and whipped cream.  Would you like me to bring you one?”
         “Oh no.  I’m just curious.  It sounds too rich for me.”
         “Oh come on, Hester!  What are you afraid of?  It’s just a few ounces of cake and cream!”
         “Oh, Stuart.  You know I’m not a big eater.  Besides, it’s getting late and I think we should be calling a taxi, now.”
         Stuart slammed his fist on the table rattling the glass and silverware.  Hester could sense heads turning.  The waitress discreetly disappeared.  Stunned.  Paled.  Hester looked up in horror at her husband, a never-before-seen cruelness in his eyes.
         “I can drive the goddam car.”
         “I know darling.  I just thought you might want to have to drive home.  Wouldn’t you like that?”
         “Don’t tell me what I goddam want!  It’s my car.  I worked for it.  I earned it.  I’ve got the keys.  I want to drive home.  If you don’t like me driving the car, you can take the goddam taxi!”
         “Stuart, I just mean it’s not safe for you…” Stuart lowered his pitch to a low growl.
         “Quit telling me what is and is not safe or good for me!”
         “Please, Stuart, you’re drunk.  People are staring.”
         “Oh!  Right!”  Stuart continued in a low gruff voice.  “We can’t have people staring either!  Everything’s got to be so friggin’ private and secret to you!  Everything has to be perfect and orderly, the same way over and over…”
“Please, Stuart, you’re rambling.”  Hester blushed.
         “I mean you’re just like you whole family.  The manicured lawn, the polished silver, all the, the, the f- fuckin’ nicker nacks in the right fuckin’ place all the time, … all the dirt swept underneath the rugs.”
         “Please, Stuart, leave my family out of this.”
         “I’m not talking about your family!  I’m talking about you!”  Hester’s face burned red as she searched through her purse for a tissue.  Her lips quivered, her hands trembled.
         Tears began to well in her eyes as the face she held in command for so long shook and winced. 
         Stuart stopped.
         He blurted some unintelligible fragment of speech.
         He paused again, wiping the spit from around his mouth and the sweat off of his cheeks and brow.
         He regarded her face silently, regaining his breath.
         “I’m sorry dear.  I’ve been under a lot of stress.”  Stuart slurred with softened composure, caressing her hand.
         “Well maybe you should slow down, Stuart.”  Her voice cracked.
         “I was considering cutting back on hours, but I realize now how much we both need this.  You know I love you, Maggie.  I wish I could make you understand that everything I do – work, I do for our happiness.  It’s just very difficult to hold things in all day, and I can’t afford to let them out when I need to.  That’s why I’m taking up handball, you know, to relieve the stress.”
         Hester stared vacantly at the empty wine glass, the rouge, waxy lipstick staining the crystal.  The tears in her eyes dried up, as if sizzled away on red-hot skillets.  Her lips and hands stilled.  Her jaw set with determination.  Unclenching the napkin before her, she pressed it out with both hands, smooth, on the table.  Slowly she lifted her head till her eyes became fixed on the glazed eyes of the drunk, little man at the other end of the table.  Without breaking eye contact, she slowly and deliberately brushed aside a wisp of hair dangling over her brow.  There was no detectable movement in her face, or expression.  Even when she spoke now, her lips parted with the slightest movement, like a seasoned boxer conserving energy and strength with each calculated step and strike.
         “Don’t worry about me, Stuart.  I understand completely.”
         Hester leaned back, arms folded on her lap, head bowed slightly forward, slightly cocked, watching Stuart struggle to fix his tie.  Stuart half smiled, half smirked.  His lazy eyes losing and regaining focus, his jacket ruffled up on his shoulders, his tie still loosened at the collar.  He looked to his watch, his head half-falling, half-nodding.
         “I have to make a quick call.  I’ll go pay the bill and call from the lobby.”
         “Is this for business or racquetball?”  Hester shot.
         Stuart paused, his eyes rolling from side to side, with a sort of ambivalent expression.
         “Business.  I have to get back to this client with some specs.”
         “That’s just what I figured,” Hester replied.
         “You know I’m doing this for us, sugar.”  Stuart divided his weight between the table and the chair as he staggered upright.
         “Go to the bar, Honey,” Hester said with embittered affection, “and have another drink.  I’ll drive tonight.”
         Stuart opened his mouth, paused, and said, “I thought you didn’t like to drive at night?”
         “Don’t worry about me, dear.  I’ll drive.  Go have another screw driver.”
         He slapped the keys into her hand.  Hester watched Stuart’s swaying frame stumble away.  She reached over for the wine bottle and shook it.  Empty.
         There was one remaining garlic stick in the basket.  She reached for it and snapped it in two.  She turned to her friends at the corner table.  She hoped they hadn’t ruined their dinner but could see now that they had been quietly involved in their own little scene.  They were both standing now.  Hester was surprised to see the woman standing as tall as the man, though on long legs and high heels.  The man was staring at the woman wide-eyed as she looked down at her busy hands, re-knotting the tie around his collar, speaking rather quickly and at length, much like, Hester humorously thought, a mother wrapping up a child for school.  The woman finished with a sudden yank at the knot, which seemed to draw a gasp from the man.  He held his arms out in a seemingly last gesture of pleading.  Running her hands down each of his arms she grabbed and held his hands, and then, in one quick and surprising jerk, she seized and jammed each of them in his trouser pockets with a loud, demeaning giggle.  With a flourish she swirled around, grabbed her coat, swung it over her shoulder, and in a single instance, Hester believe – or maybe wished to believe – exchanged some sort of knowing smile with her.  Then she turned about and strode away towards the exit, head back and hips rocking with exaggerated boldness.  The poor man, as Hester thought, stood there with fallen expression and rumpled tie, hands still in his pockets, like a lost little school boy watching his red balloon float away.
         Hester looked away from the man before he could become conscious of her watching.  Gingerly she nibbled at the stick, rather absent-mindedly.  Gradually she became aware of herself being watched – studied.  She turned halfway around in her chair to meet his eyes.  He eased back into his seat, smoothing out his tie.  He smiled.  Hester became aware of the greasy stick.  She set the uneaten piece on the tabletop and reached for her lap.  Realizing the white cloth was no longer there, she slowly absorbed each red-tipped digit into her mouth, savoring the lingering flavor of garlic, salt, and butter; not daring to break away from the gaze of the fascinating stranger.
         He eased his tie and flashed a toothy grin.
         She smiled, and reached for her glass, tilting the contents towards parted lips, her large doe-like eyes reflecting the undulating glow of a flickering, restless flame dancing recklessly through shimmering, chilled waters of melted ice.