Conversation From a Night at Village Inn
“Well, I mean … I wouldn’t kiss her.” Sam replied his lanky body shrugging his explanation.
“Oh my God.” Sophie said as she placed her face in Katie’s journal on the table in front of her. “Can we trade spots?” she asked Katie across the Village Inn booth.
Katie scooted closer to me and chuckled.
* * *
When we arrived, the restaurant was packed and buzzing with dozens of conversations, loud laughter, the occasional sneeze, the rustling of coats as people stood to leave and sat to eat, and faint background music encouraging customers to “shake, shake, shake” their “booty.” It was another post-cinema Friday night at Village Inn, for Sam, Sophie, Katie and myself. We waited at the benches by the cash register for five minutes before a table opened up.
Katie and Sophie sat on the wooden bench while we waited. Sam and I remained standing. Sam was almost a foot taller than me and very thin. One of the best ways I can think of to describe him—the way he looks, his body language—is “flaily.” Whenever he gestures it appears his arms are about to flail out and hit someone in the head.
Katie pulled her hardback journal out of her bag, Sophie did the same and they exchanged journals. The two of them look like they could be sisters, yet they look very different. Their hair is almost the same color, except Katie’s is more red and she wears it pulled back from her face. Sophie’s is more brown and hangs around her face and shoulders. They are both short and curvy young women. What makes them seem so much like sisters is the playful mannerisms they share. Their mischievous nymph smiles and the light in their eyes that lets you know there is something witty going on behind them. Sophie was wearing a baggy brown sweater and baggy jeans. Katie wore tight jeans and a baby blue t-shirt, once plain, the shirt now had “Comic Book Geeks are Sexy” written in black permanent marker on the front.
“You really should have come with us to Nordstrom’s today.” Katie said to me as she looked up.
“Oh?” I replied, disinterested. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was now a little after 10 at night. I needed food.
“Yeah, we had so much fun bra shopping.” Sophie laughed, her face down while she wrote.
“Well, he would have missed all the fun parts.” Sam said smiling.
“Right, I mean, I’d feel useless … I couldn’t help or anything.”
Katie looked up at me smiling, “Sure you could have they have the special dressing room there.” I put my hand in my shaggy hair and gave her a confused look.
“Yeah, it’s communal. A bunch of mirrors and some couches. We all just stand around trying on bras.” Sophie explained, still looking down into the journal still.
“What?” Sam questioned, looking at the two of them doubtfully.
“Megan was there today,” Sophie added.
“She has got great tits,” Katie replied looking at Sophie.
”Absolutely, they’re just … big …”
“ … and firm too,” Katie added.
“Now, how would you know that?” I asked, much more interested in the conversation now.
“We felt them,” Katie replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“That purple bra she bought was perfect for her,” Sophie said.
“Oh, it was great, I wish they had it in my size … I can’t believe you guys haven’t heard about this before. You could have joined us.” Katie continued.
“You’re just messing with us,” Sam replied. “They wouldn’t let us into there.”
“Sure they would. Girls are always bringing their boyfriends in there,” Katie said as Sophie leaned over the journal more. “In fact, you could go there on your own, just go ask them about it. Tell them you’re shopping for a bra for your girlfriend. You can go in, sit down and find someone the same size, she can try on ones for you …”
“I don’t do much bra shopping,” Sam replied.
“But if you did … don’t you think that would be helpful?” Sophie said lifting the journal in front of her face, still writing.
“Well, yes, but … and people are just okay with that?”
“Absolutely. Trust me, it won’t be a problem. You should go check it out.”
“Maybe I will.” Sam said putting his hands on his hips and nodding.
“You won’t.” I countered.
“But I could.”
“Yes, you could,” Katie said. I saw a sly smile in her eyes. Before we could continue the conversation our table was called and we were seated.
Later, after we’d eaten the restaurant had mostly emptied, with only about five or six tables full, a lull before the surge of patrons after midnight. Sophie and Katie, who’d been scribbling in each other’s journals on and off since we arrived, posed a question: “What famous women would you want to have sex with?” Sam and I looked at each other somewhat thoughtfully and then at the girls. How does you answer a question like that without sounding completely shallow? What criteria does one use for such a truly deep and meaningful question?
I played with my napkin and then tossed it onto my plate next to my not quite finished cheeseburger. Sam sucked the last of his chocolate strawberry milkshake, one of his frequent special orders, through a straw as he thought over the question. In their journals Katie and Sophie had written down all of our names and underlined them. They started listing several women for themselves almost right away.
“Salma Hayak.” Sophie said after awhile, as though struck by an epiphany.
“Oh, absolutely,” Katie replied, scribbling Salma Hayak down under Sophie’s name and her own. By this time Sam and I had listed a few of our own and Sam got a quizzical look on his face.
“I don’t get it. You’re not lesbians …” He knit his brow and took a sip of water.
“So?” Katie and Sophie asked in unison.
“Salma Hayak is hot.” Katie answered. She leaned into me and looked into my face. “I’m beating you. I’ve got 16, you only have 12.”
“Put Salma Hayak down under my name too. But, I have another question, are these just women we’d want to fuck given the chance? Or would we also … I don’t know … have to talk to them, or otherwise have something to do with them afterward?”
Sophie and Katie squinted. Sophie pushed her glasses up on her nose and stroked her chin in mock thoughtfulness.
“No, I don’t think you have to have anything to do with them afterward,” Katie replied, shaking her head at me. So I rapidly listed a half dozen other women. This brought us to Sam’s deeply moving revelation. Perhaps stomach turning is more accurate.
“Monica Lewinsky,” he said matter-of-factly.
Sophie stopped writing immediately and looked up at Sam. Even sitting down, he was significantly taller than her.
“What?” Sam asked, suddenly becoming very defensive about his choice. “Write her down.”
“Are you serious?” Sophie asked, setting her pen down.
“Yes, put her name down.” He picked up Sophie’s pen and handed it to her. She grabbed it and wrote Monica down.
Katie propped her elbow on the table and asked, “But … why? I mean Sam … she’s not really … I don’t know she doesn’t seem all that attractive to me.”
“What? She’s attractive. What’s wrong with her?”
“It’s just … Monica Lewinsky.” I sighed, thinking her name and the association really should explain it all.
“Well, I mean … I wouldn’t kiss her.” Sam replied his lanky body shrugging his explanation.
“Oh my God.” Sophie said as she placed her face in Katie’s journal on the table in front of her. “Can we trade spots?” she asked Katie across the Village Inn booth.
Katie scooted closer to me and chuckled.
“Sam that’s just … it’s Monica Lewinsky.” Katie moaned as she wrote down the name in Sophie’s journal.
“Like I said … it’s not like I would kiss her or …”
“That’s just gross, Sam.” Sophie shook her head and laughed.
“I agree and that’s why I …”
“No, no, Sam, she meant your choice. She was not referring to your distaste for oral sex.” I explained.
“Well … it’s just … it’s disgusting, no one should be putting their mouth …” “Enough,” Katie said waving her hands in the air. “I don’t want to hear anymore.” Then she hid her face in her hands, laughing.
“I agree, we don’t need to get into this again.” Sophie chimed in.
Just then this our waitress stopped at the table. She was gaunt, with tired, typhoid eyes. Her teeth needed of straightening, but not so much that she didn’t have a welcoming smile. Her long skeletal fingers were sheathed in silver rings and from under her standard issue maroon Village Inn shirt, several tattoos peered out. On her chest near her neck a butterfly wing fluttered under the “v” opening, while her arms bore words in a foreign script. She looked down at us, smiled and asked: “How are you guys doing? Can I get you anything else?”
It had been over an hour since we’d ordered anything, so I handed her my empty glass. “Could I get some more,” I couldn’t remember exactly what I’d been drinking. It was getting late and my mind was starting to slip. “I think it was Sprite or Sierra Mist or whatever it is you have.”
She smiled and took the glass from me, “No problem.”
After she brought my drink back she cleared the table of our plates and Sam’s milkshake glass. Sophie and Katie each picked a last fry off their communal plate before it was taken away.
As the conversation on sex with famous women wound down we turned to the subject of horse racing. How the conversation turned to horse racing is really beyond any sort of logical comprehension. It was one of those random conversational leaps that afterward simply cannot be explained without a lengthy series of tentative connections that really only make sense if you’d been involved in the conversation. Even then the validity of those connections is dubious.
With our attention now turned to horse racing Sam brought up one of his favorite films, “Do you guys remember in ‘All Dogs Go to Heaven’ … the Grand Chahee?”
“Huh?” My face twisted into a question.
“The Grand Chahee! They go to the horse track and it’s his birthday?”
Sam then did his impression of the very refined sounding horses with British accents in the movie: “Excuse me … oh excuse me. But are you aware that it is the Grand Chahee’s birthday?” Sam changed the accent enough for us to be able to distinguish the horses “Oh, well … OH! Oh my. Terribly sorry.”
The memory of that scene came back to me and I giggled.
“Do you remember that?” Sam continued. He looked down his long nose, chuckling and shaking his head in exaggerated amusement.
“Yeah, and you know … it’s kind of funny, there is actually something kind of like that in real life.” I told him.
Katie turned to me; her normally bright blue-green eyes appeared tired and dull. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Well there’s this rule. It doesn’t come up very often, but if a race horse um dies before a race it automatically wins the race.”
Sophie just looked at me her mouth slightly agape, as if not sure whether to believe me or not.
“It’s kind of an unwritten rule,” I continued, “more like an understanding.”
Looking across the table at me thoughtfully, Sam pushed his small glasses up his nose closer to his eyes. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, the horse dies, and then it automatically wins, and whoever bets on it wins too, of course.” I rubbed my unshaven cheek. “Of course they have to be careful that people don’t just kill their horses to win.”
“I guess that makes sense. Y’know I hear that there are people, they, like, stick a sponge up the horse’s nose.” Sam thrust his long thin arm into the air as though he were stuffing something up some part of some large animal. “It … blocks the air and then when they run they get an aneurysm or something.”
Katie propped her head on her hand and shook it. “That’s awful, Sam.”
“Well, I don’t do it … someone else does. I mean …” His voice again hit a defensive high note as he defended himself.
Katie placed her hands flat on the table. “No, Sam, I don’t mean you. I just mean it’s an awful thing to do.”
Needing to use the bathroom, I nudged Katie and pointed in its general direction. She scooted out of the booth to let me by and I started towards the red neon “Restrooms” sign.
Using the urinal, I pondered, as I often do, why the smell of this particular men’s room reminds me so much of Fruity Pebbles cereal. I’m not even sure if the smell is the same, but for some reason that’s the association I always make. It reminds me of being a small child. I haven’t eaten or smelled Fruity Pebbles since I was a kid and the smell is almost comforting for the association. This is a very perplexing feeling to have in a public restroom. Washing my hands, I noticed how much brighter the men’s room seemed when compared to the rest of the restaurant. Its blue and white scheme probably had something to do with it. The rest of the restaurant was maroon and brown. I dried my hands on the last paper towel and checked my fly in the mirror. I was okay. Then I caught a glimpse of my face. I needed to shave. I needed a haircut. Under my mass of hair and beard my blue eyes squinted at themselves, big bags weighing them down. It would be time to go home soon.
I walked back into the more dimly lit and to the table where Katie and Sophie were discussing some of the lesser points of Monica Lewinsky with Sam. Katie stood up, insisting I go back to the inside of the booth. As I seated myself and wrapped my left arm around Katie’s waist I buried my head in her shoulder and asked her how we’d gotten back on Monica. I didn’t engage in the continuing discussion but glanced around the growing crowd of restaurant patrons.
I saw a few people I knew from my university classes and one or two people I remembered from high school, but no one I felt like talking to. There were many couples and a few groups of people like us, between 18 and 21, old enough to be out after curfew, but not old enough to be at a bar. Some of the groups were yuppie, some were goth, some were alt rock, some were mixed. The couples looked happy. Some were obviously together, others obviously wanted to be together. At this time of night most of the couples were eating desert. Seeing them together I was reminded of when Katie and I would come here before we started seeing each other. Sitting in a booth after midnight, alone, in an almost empty restaurant. We talked, laughed, flirted, threw around lots of innuendo and tempted one another. I could see that in many of the couples there. I smelled Katie’s hair and kissed the top of her head as the memories of nights past darted through my mind.
Sam’s voice would rise from time to time during the conversation. This would make people nearby would turn looking bemused, angry or disgusted. Mostly they looked bemused or disgusted. Directly behind Sam an overweight couple were eating dinner. Their portions were perhaps a bit larger than either really needed. The woman had her back to Sam, but I could see the man’s face, a thick salt and pepper moustache covered his upper lip. His chin bulged out from his collar, even with the top button unbuttoned. He wore small glasses, which reflected the lamp that hung above the table. Usually the reflection obscured his eyes, however, when Sam’s voice rose he would look up and I could see that his dinner was being ruined. I decided to end the Monica discussion before Sam got into graphic descriptions that would surely get us thrown out.
“Sam, you’re too loud.” I said.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You’ve got to tell me stuff like that, you know I can’t tell.”
“I know. Anyway … y’know what I think is funny?”
“I know some of the things you think are funny and I’m not sure I want to know anymore,” Sophie replied.
“You guys believed my bit about the horses.”
“What do you mean?” Sam leaned toward me.
“If a horse dies it doesn’t win the race automatically. That’s just stupid. Why would they have a rule like that?” I pushed my hair back on my head with my free hand.
Sophie began to laugh. “I knew you were full of shit,” she said.
Katie pulled away from me and punched my shoulder. “Bastard, I believed you.” She leaned her head against the shoulder she punched, and then hit me in the chest. I stroked her hair and laughed at them. Sam sat across from me shaking his head and cursing himself for being gullible.
“It’s getting late,” I said. “I should go home before I’m too tired to drive.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty tired.” Katie agreed.
We gathered our things and paid our bill. Once outside, Katie reminded Sam to go check out the dressing room at Nordstrom’s. He said he would. When he’d gotten in his car to drive off Katie and Sophie started laughing hard. I stood somewhat dumbfounded.
“I can’t believe he actually believed us,” Sophie said giggling.
“Well, if he’d seen you laughing he wouldn’t have.” Katie said. “God, Sam’s so gullible … he … You believed it too didn’t you?” As she looked at my eyes I shrugged. Laughing, she said, “How many girls do you know who are secure enough in themselves to do something like that?”
I laughed at myself and groggily spit out nonsense syllables. “I … pff … shhp … I dunno …” I responded shrugging.
“Come on, would I do something like that, baby?” The nymph grin spread across her face and she wrapped her arms around my neck. I pressed my forehead against hers.
“Go home and get some sleep.” she said and left me for her car. I stood under the amber parking lot lights, watching the sway of her hips as she walked away. Her natural and unique motion kept my attention until she reached her car.
Scratching my head, I hoped that I wasn’t always this gullible. I walked to my black Subaru wagon and again laughed at myself, as I turned the engine on and waited a moment for it to warm up.
My heart jumped into my throat at a knock on my window. I rolled it down and Katie leaned in, smiling, “Hey, don’t tell Sam, let’s see how long we can keep him believing it.” I watched as she jogged back to her car and then pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.