Some Enchanted Evening

Dan fixes Angela a special dinner...a dark little tale...

approximately 1600 words

Some Enchanted Evening

by

Max Griffin

         Dan's fingers always trembled when he opened the door to the passageway.  Angela's room lay just beyond, in the darkness.  The hinge creaked, and he reflected he'd have to come back with some 3-in-1 oil from his kitchen to fix it.  But not tonight; maybe this weekend.  A golden glow leaked from under the next door and into the narrow hall, with her sweet scent trailing after.  His eyes narrowed to slits and he paused for an instant to inhale, then he stooped to pick up the tray of food and pushed inside.

         "I'm here, my darling.  I've fixed lamb chops for you tonight.  Your favorite."

         She waited for him, just like always, reclining on her bed.  Her auburn curls coiled down her back, and her earthy brown eyes warmed his heart.  Her lips, red as rubies against her pallid skin, bent in a timid smile. "Hello, Dan."  The soft lilt of her husky voice sang love songs to his eager ears.

         He closed the door with his knee, making sure that the latch clicked in place, and then hastened to place the tray on the rickety card table that sat next to her bedside.    Deft fingers arranged his best china and his finest flatware on the table.  He filled the moments with awkward chatter. "I used a new recipe for the sauce, and I fixed the garlic mashed potatoes you liked last week."  He planted cloth napkins, folded to resemble swans, on the shiny plates.  "I even went to the liquor store and bought wine, with a cork and everything, to go with the meal."  He paused to flash a smile in her direction.

         She sat up, pulled her knees to her bosom and wrapped her arms about her legs.  "You went to so much trouble, just for me."  Her gaze flitted about the room, looking at everything but him.  Nervous fingers twisted at the lacy hem of her nightgown.

         He frowned.  "I wish you wouldn't do that."

         Her eyes snapped to his face.  "Do what?" 

         "Fiddle with your nightie.  You'll ruin the lace.  I spent good money buying that, so you could look nice."

         She snatched her fingers away from the fabric.  Her hand fluttered for a moment, like a lost sparrow unsure of where to land, and then disappeared behind her back. "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to ruin it." 

         The pathetic quaver in her voice broke his heart.  "No, don't be sorry. I shouldn't have barked at you."  He forced a smile to his lips.  "Your meal awaits, my baby doll.  Come sit with me."  He bowed as he pulled a rusty folding chair away from her card table.

         "It does smell good."  She rose from the bed and started toward the table.

         His heart caught in his throat at her graceful movement.  "Wait, my darling; wait just a moment for me to take in your beauty."  She paused, her eyes downcast and demure, her fingers pulling her frilly robe about her slender body.  Her bosom rose and fell with each delicate breath, and her perfume filled the space between them.  He cupped his hands over his mouth and nose and drew a shuddering breath.  "You are too lovely for words, Angela. I d...don't know what I'd do without you."  He hated himself for the stutter that plagued his words.

         She drifted forward, her bare feet whispering against the concrete floor.  "I know you care for me, Dan," she murmured.  A finger caressed his cheek.  She gasped when his desperate hand grasped her wrist.

         He released her and ran his fingers through her curls.  A sudden thrill rushed up his arm.  "You're my everything, Angela.  You're the sun, the moon and the stars to me." 

         They froze like that for a magical moment, her finger on his cheek and his hand in her hair, barely touching, breathing the same air.  Perfection.  Longing, warm and resolute arose from deep within him. He fled from passion, from intimacy, and broke the spell.  "Please, my princess, sit.  We can eat and you can tell me about your day."

         He buzzed about the table, dishing up mashed potatoes and cutting her lamb chop for her.  "Do you like the rose I brought?"  He held the red bloom out for her to smell.  "The color reminded me of the lipstick I got for you.  Siren Red, the package said." 

         She closed her eyes and inhaled. "It's lovely."  Her voice turned wistful. "I miss smelling flowers."  She looked away and brushed stray hairs from her brow.

         He frowned and fought annoyance at her comment.  "Try some wine.  It's a Merlot."  He pronounced the "t" at the end. "I looked online to find the right kind to serve with lamb."  The ruddy liquid splashed into the crystal goblets he'd bought special for tonight.

         She took a sip and wrinkled her nose.  "I guess I'm not much into wine. It tastes kind of sour to me."

         He scowled and gulped at his own glass.  It did taste sour, not at all like the sweet Sangria he was used to drinking, alone in his room, but that wasn't the point.  His lips bent downward and depression dragged at him. 

         His words tore at his throat. "I really worked hard to fix you something nice tonight.  I found a new recipe, and I fixed lamb chops just for you."  He narrowed his eyes and his face heated as he thought about her ingratitude.  "I researched the wine.  I even bought you a god damned rose.  And all you can do is fucking complain?"  His voice rose in volume and pitch, and he clenched his hands into fists.  "I don't have to do this, you know.  I could just let you rot away here in your room, by yourself.  It's not like anyone else takes an interest in you." He stood in disgust.

         Her face paled and her hands shook.  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." She snatched at her wine glass and took a long sip. "It's wonderful.  See? I'm drinking it." 

         He glared at her. "Maybe I should just leave."

         "Please, no."  Tears welled in her eyes.  "I was so looking forward to your visit tonight.  All I ever do is watch television during the day."

         "So now you're complaining about the TV I bought for you," he groused.  "I just can't seem to do anything to please you."

         "That's not what I meant.  I love the TV."  She fingered her bodice.  "Please don't leave. I hate it when you're gone, and all I think about is when you'll come back."

         His heartbeat drummed in his chest while he stared at her.  Could it be she meant it?  Probably not. "You don't care for me," he growled. "You're just using me.  All you care about are the things I bring for you."

         "No, that's not true at all."  She sniffed and wiped tears from her cheeks.  "I...I love you Dan.  Really.  Don't leave me."  She reached for his hand, and her gentle touch sent electric thrills up his arm. "I need you.  I love you."

         Yearning welled in him, then, and loneliness, too.  He heaved a sigh.  "I guess we're a pair, all right."  His folding chair scraped on the floor when he sat back down.  "Finish your dinner, Angela."

         Silence stretched between them.  Flatware clinked against the china plates, and the building moaned as the furnace kicked in.  Her eyes, still moist from tears, flicked his way between bites. A secret smile, coy and inviting, seemed to play with her lips.  He wondered again what she was thinking, whether she really cared for him. 

         Mementos of his love filled her room.  The black evening gown he'd bought her hung on a hook in the corner, and the cyclopean eye of the flat screen television stared at them.  He'd even paid for her cable subscription.  The card table, the Matisse print on the wall, even her satin bed sheets all came from him.  She should love him, after all he'd done for her.  But doubt still nagged at him.

         Her fork chafed on her plate as she chased the last of the mashed potatoes. "Thank you for bringing me dinner, Dan.  It was delicious."

         He grunted.  "I'm glad you liked it." 

         "Really.  It was wonderful.  I appreciate everything you do for me. I don't deserve it."  Her fingers fussed at her bodice, and she glanced at her bed.  "How can I ever repay you?"

         He followed her gaze to the rumpled sheets.  "Not tonight.  You've spoiled the mood."  He stood and gathered the remains of the meal.  "Maybe tomorrow night."

         A tear trickled down her cheek.  "I don't mind, if you want me. It's all I can give you back." She sniffed. "I enjoy it.  Really.  Just don't leave me."

         "I said not tonight." His voice rapped out, cold, implacable.  But when he inspected her face, guilt tugged at him. Softer now, he tried to cheer her up. "Tomorrow's another day.  What would you like for dinner?"

         "I'm sure I'll love whatever you bring."  She heaved a quivering breath.

         He nodded.  "It'll be something special. I promise."

         He balanced the tray in one hand while he unlocked the door.  The last thing he saw before it clicked closed were her brown eyes, her adoring eyes, staring at him.

         He sighed, opened the sound-proofed door between the passageway to Angela's room and his basement, and then locked it behind him.  The stairs creaked as he climbed to his kitchen, where dirty dishes and lonely Sangria awaited. 

         Maybe tomorrow night he could make believe she loved him.