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.] _________________________________________________________________ cananian@alumni.princeton.edu