DINNER AT 'TUCCI'S

C. Scott Ananian

June 25, 1999

[A restaurant. T has been waiting for ten minutes. S enters, walking quickly.]

T:

Hey.

S:

Hey. [Takes off his sunglasses and sits across from her.] Sorry I'm late.

T:

It's okay.

S:

[Settles himself; looks at her water glass.] Hey, I didn't get water.

T:

You weren't here. [S frowns.] I asked the waiter.

S:

I'll ask the waiter, too, then. [Opens menu.] Where is the waiter?

[Looks down at the menu.]

Should I get what I always get, or try something different.

T:

Do what you want.

S:

[Studies the menu.] I'll get what I always get. I'm nothing if not boring.

T:

[Arched eyebrow.] Yes.

S:

It's never bad to have a streak of...reactionary-ness? In a revolutionary?

T:

What are you trying to say?

S:

How do I make an adjective out of that? ``Reactionary.''

T:

It is an adjective.

S:

Reactionarity? I mean a noun, then.

T:

What do you need a noun for?

S:

For my sentence: ``A streak of reactionary...arity.''

T:

You don't need a noun. It's just reactionary.

S:

It doesn't work. A streak of reactionary. Doesn't work. Has to be reactionary-ness or something.

T:

That's not a word.

S:

It's a perfectly good word.

T:

It doesn't make sense.

S:

It does. I just need it to be a noun.

T:

``A reactionary streak.''

S:

There you go. That's it.

T:

It doesn't make sense.

S:

It's the opposite of revolutionary. Reactionary.

T:

No it's not. Reaction?

S:

It means opposed to change. Like me, here. Always artichokes.

T:

No it doesn't. The root's not right. It doesn't mean anything like that.

S:

It does. Tenth grade history book. All about the reactionaries and the revolutionaries.

T:

It doesn't. It's not a word.

S:

It's a perfectly good word. Eighteenth century France. Marie Antionette and her reactionary gang.

T:

``Reaction'' doesn't have anything to do with that.

S:

Look it up.

T:

You look it up. You're the one who's wrong.

S:

Hmph. [Goes back to looking at menu. Then looks up for a waiter. Finds a waiter in the corner and stares intently.] I'm trying to get the waiter-telepathy going here but it doesn't seem to be working.

T:

That's not our waiter.

S:

Then who is? Where is he? I want water.

T:

Here. Have mine.

S:

[Finally catching the eye of the waiter.] Mine's coming to me.

[The waiter arrives.]

Can I have some water?

W:

Are you ready to order?

S:

Sure. I'll have the rigatoni with artichokes.

[To T.] Are you ready to order?

T:

Yes.

S:

Okay, then.

T:

I'll have a small insalata with chianti.

W:

Okay.

S:

Thank you very much.

[The waiter leaves.]

T:

I found an apartment. [Starts unfolding a map of Boston.]

S:

Are you still staying with, what's-their-name, foo and bar?

T:

Yes. It's here. [Points to a place on the map.]

S:

[Looks intently.] Yeah. I know where that is.

T:

You do?

S:

Yeah, sure.

T:

No, you don't.

S:

Sure I do. It's where they keep towing my car off to.

T:

[Looks back at map.] Yeah. I guess it's near there.

S:

Sure it is.

T:

It's right across from a Star market.

S:

[Thinks.] I don't think I know where the Star is.

[T starts refolding the map.]

On the right?

T:

What.

S:

The Star market's on the right, as you drive north?

T:

I have to sign a lease tomorrow. It's not really an apartment, it's a townhouse.

S:

White? On the left as you drive up McGrath?

T:

It's white. McGrath's not anywhere near there.

S:

Not McGrath. McGrath goes east-west. You turn left off McGrath onto that other thing. And the townhouses are on the left?

T:

It's at the intersection of Boulder and Silverline roads.

S:

I guess I don't know where it is, then.

[An awkward silence.]

T:

I don't have a job yet.

S:

I was going to ask about that. No luck?

T:

No one wants to hire me.

S:

The job market will pick up in August. When the summer hires leave.

T:

Great. By then I'll owe my housemates five thousand dollars.

S:

Five thousand dollars?

T:

[Running it off.] First month's rent, last month's rent, security deposit, real estate broker's fee.

S:

How much is rent?

T:

It was on the market for $1750, but we got it down to $1600.

S:

For three people? [T nods.] That's not bad. [It is.]

[The food arrives. S digs in at once.]

I knew there was a reason I always order the same thing.

T:

Because you're boring?

S:

Because it tastes great.

[An awkward silence. T and S eat.]

So how much do you have to put up front?

T:

Sixty-four hundred dollars.

S:

Wait. First month's rent, last month's rent...

T:

Security deposit and broker's fee. Sixteen hundred times four.

S:

Security deposit's another month's rent?

T:

And broker's fee's just about another month's rent.

S:

[Whistles.]

[A long silence. They eat without speaking.]

S:

You look nice.

T:

What?

S:

You look nice.

T:

Thank you.

I like your shirt. The color.

S:

Thank you.

[Silence.]

[Pointing at the next table.] Do you think all four of those kids are theirs?

T:

Yes.

S:

The little girl has bright red hair.

T:

So?

S:

Must be the mailman's.

[A long silence. S pokes at his food. T glances frequently at her watch, and out the window. S studies her face as she looks out the window. She catches his looking.]

T:

What.

S:

[Beat.] You're beautiful.

T:

Right.

[Another long silence, punctuated with food-prodding and watch-glancing.]

T:

I need to go soon.

S:

I...

T:

What.

S:

[Very quietly.] I wanted to say I'm sorry.

T:

[Her face changes.] Me, too.

[She quickly looks down, trying to control herself. Her chin quivers; she fights it.]

[S slides his napkin to her across the table. She doesn't see it. She takes a deep breath, looks up; looks down.]

S:

Here. [His hand still on the napkin beside her.]

T:

Thanks. [She takes it. Their hands do not touch.]

[T shakes silently, but pulls herself together. Wipes her eyes with the napkin. S watches, his eyes sad. T looks up. Wipes her mouth.]

T:

[Brightly.] How's the thesis coming?

S:

All right. My advisor wants a first draft on July 8. It's not going to be easy.

T:

How's it coming?

S:

I've got about 40 pages of it. It's coming. But there are still some proofs to write up, and it's hard to keep writing and not coding.

[Another silence. S poking his food and looking at T.]

T:

What.

S:

[Very quietly.] You know I'm not good at talking at times like this.

T:

What do you want to say.

S:

[Quiet enough to be inaudible.] Lots of things.

T:

What?

S:

Lots of things. But most of them begin with ``I'm sorry.''

[He takes her hand across the table.]

[T looks down again. S remains holding her hand. After a moment, she moves to wipe her eyes and so doing takes back her hand. S watches her, inscrutable, at she struggles to control herself again. Finally, she looks up.]

T:

I'm sorry. I can't deal with this now. We should talk about this, all this, some other time. I just can't... I've got to go. [Looks at her watch.]

[T gets up and leaves, quickly, S watching after her. As she reaches the alcove by the door she stops, behind a low screen. S wonders if she will come back. But after a moment she finds her sunglasses and exits, putting them on. She turns right and strides rapidly past the glass window of the restaurant, her gaze never wavering from straight ahead. S follows her with his eyes in silence until she disappears from view. The baby at the next table cries.]

[S turns back to his food. Spears an artichoke and chews it, slowly, his mind far away.]

[The waiter returns and fills up T's empty glass.]