Draw Me A Picture (7 page)

Offering Michelle his arm, William led her towards a small, white staircase.

“Oh, how pleasant this looks...” Michelle breathed. The short staircase before them was lit with lanterns that had candles inside; they led up to a wide, red door with the name 'Marie’s' emblazoned upon it in large, scrolling, gold lettering.

“It is,” William agreed, smiling at her awed reaction. “This is my favorite spot for a quiet dinner.” Michelle nodded; she was grateful just to be out with him; a fast-food place would have been alright but this was a nice surprise.

The restaurant looked small but immaculately clean. There were no tables; semi-circle booths hugged the dark, fabric-covered walls ending with a long bar at the far end of the room. The room boasted deep shades of rich red, black damask upholstery and soft, glowing candles; dark-clad waiters drifted through the cozy space like black swans on a midnight lake. A myriad of pleasant scents drifted in the warm air, above all the sublime scent of fresh-baked bread. The maitre d’ nodded at William and without a word escorted them to a nearby booth.

“I guess you do come here often,” Michelle said, removing her coat; she scooted into the booth, trying to do so daintily. William slipped in next to her, secretly pleased that the small booth gave him a legitimate excuse to sit as close to Michelle as possible.

“Yes, well… working as much as I do, dinners at home are not conducive to deadlines. This place is close and quiet.”

“One needs some quiet,” Michelle agreed. “Even in New York.” William smiled.

“Especially here,” he said.

Laying his coat beside him on the seat, William turned to his date; she was glowing again in her pink dress. He especially liked her long hair; it looked touchable and soft. She wore simple jewelry and just a little makeup; she appeared to be just herself, nothing more or less. His scrutiny was not lost on Michelle; she pretended to occupy herself with folding her coat and laying it next to her on the booth seat.

They ended up ordering clam chowder and fresh rolls. While they waited for the food, William amused Michelle with stories of his childhood in London.

“... Yes, I was a little ripper,” he said, smiling. “The fire department came out and everything. We were only having our own little Bonfire Night… didn’t mean for the whole field to go ablaze.” Michelle giggled softly at her companion’s admission of youthful--albeit unintentional--arson.

“I bet your mother has a bunch of stories to tell about you,” she said. William narrowed his eyes at her.

“Don’t even joke about that; she’d go on all day,” he stated. “I don’t suppose you did anything bad as a child, eh?”

“Well, I never set anything on fire, but I did play a few pranks...” Michelle confessed, absently re-folding the table napkin.

 Interested, William set his elbows on the table ad leaned forward a little.

“Do tell,” he murmured; his eyes held a strange gleam.

“Uh... alright.” William’s expression made Michelle a little uneasy but she plunged into her story regardless, hoping to amuse him. “There were a few but the best one was getting back at a group of preppy girls, after they had their jock boyfriends toss me and my friend Leah into the school dumpster a few times.” William’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Now, why would they do a thing like that?” he inquired. “Come on... what did you do to get them mad?”

“It was more like what we didn’t do,” Michelle told him, giving a half-smile. “Leah and I pulled some of the best grades and were two of the few ‘girl geeks’, I guess. The ‘leader’ of the preppy girls was, ah… a girl of ill repute, so to speak. Too much time at parties and not enough actual studying.”

“I see,” William said. “She didn’t like you and your friend?”

“Not quite,” Michelle said, titling her head a little. “We were not in her set, so I doubt she’d ever have noticed us, until she wanted us to sell her some term papers.”

“I gather you said ‘no’,” William said, grinning.

“Correct,” Michelle returned, with a smile. “Apparently the problem was that since we wouldn’t sell her the papers, no one else would, either.”

“So, the little witches had their jock boyfriends put pressure on you, eh?” William asked. Nodding, Michelle laughed inwardly at William’s pronunciation of ‘witches’; his ‘w’ sounded almost non-existent.

“Exactly,” she answered, putting her hands in her lap.

“What did you do about it?” William asked; he enjoyed seeing Michelle more enlivened; it was visible proof that the young woman was growing more comfortable around him. Honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d so enjoyed someone’s company.

“Well, we waited until after P.E.--when ‘the witches’ were showering--” Michelle was saying. “... and no, it’s nothing perverted, William.” She paused, looking narrowly at her companion. Wiping the knowing grin off his face, William feigned innocence.

“Why would you assume...”

“Well, you are male…” Michelle said, plaintively. William snorted and motioned for her to continue. “Anyway, Leah and I each grabbed a CO2 fire extinguisher and spent a glorious half minute freezing all their clothing solid.”

At this, William’s eyebrows shot up, a smile creeping over his face.

“Why, you little minx,” he said, admiringly. Michelle shrugged.

“They deserved it,” she said. “They never should have messed with kids who received A’s in Chemistry.” William chuckled, nodding his head.

“Sounds like fun,” he said, catching Michelle’s eye.

“It was,” she said, sighing a little. “You could hear the screams all the way to the quad.”

Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, William watched his date smile at the table; she appeared lost in youthful memories.

“I think that is one of the best pranks I have ever heard of,” he stated. All of the sudden, his stomach rumbled; William’s face reddened a little; to her credit Michelle pretended she hadn’t heard. “Service is a little slow,” William joked, rubbing the back of his neck. Michelle gave him a smile.

“I bet the food is worth the wait,” she said, gently. Something in Michelle’s voice put William at ease. Sinking back comfortably against the booth, he looked at her.

“It is,” said he. “Like so many things.” Michelle bit her lip and looked away; William's gaze was so intense she felt warmed through, like being slowly dipped in melted chocolate. Michelle fiddled with the tablecloth and steered her mind away from that whole realm.

William watched her for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Michelle,” said he. A wave of nervousness welled up in his companion at these words. Michelle forced herself to look up at William despite her trepidation; she’d long realized it was best to face questions with bravery, even if one did not feel it. “That portrait you drew of me... had you been watching me long?” William continued. Michelle swallowed, forcing herself to keep eye contact with her companion.

“Not really watching, per say...” she managed, feeling a blush creep up her neck. “You just walked by at the same, exact time. I really only saw you for a few seconds each day… walking in the one direction, but never back.” Smiling at the young woman’s uncertain tone, William switched his gaze to the vase on the table.

“I see. Well, I go to lunch and then I walk around the block back to work. Exercise, you know,” he explained, looking over at Michelle again. “You drew that picture of me just from that?”

Michelle looked at him with mild surprise.

“Oh, no…” she said, firmly. “There was this one little boy. He ran into you one day.” Her smile returned as she watched William’s eyebrows draw together in puzzlement.

“I remember...” he said, brightening. “The little urchin was running from his mum; he slammed right
into my leg.” He shook his head, grinning. “He reminded me of myself, when things were simpler.” Looking at Michelle, William saw her regarding him with a soft look in her eyes.
 

“You smiled at him,” she said. “I had never seen you smile before but when you looked down at the boy there was… a glow that spread over your face, and the warmth of it radiated in that dismal crowd. I couldn’t rest until I’d put your expression on paper.” Michelle’s eyes brightened as she spoke.

William forgot his grumbling stomach and leaned towards her a little. This girl fascinated him; she had such a passion for art and it showed through her eyes and carefully chosen words. He felt he could watch her for hours. He was tempted to launch into a discussion on Monet just to hear her sweet voice and watch her lovely mouth form words.

Realizing he was staring, William straightened up, shaking his head a little. What spell was he under? He’d known this young woman only a few hours, and he’d spent all that time vastly enjoying himself. For the first time in years, William was looking forward to eating with company, something he normally avoided. He liked solitude and had for years; there was never any pressure to be this or that or act properly, but, after being with Michelle eating alone simply no longer appealed. Suddenly, William could see Michelle sitting with him for every meal he’d ever have. The idea of her constant company filled his soul with a warm comfort.

“William?” Michelle’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. She looked amused at his daydreaming. “Are you tired?” she asked, tilting her head a little to one side. William grinned down at her, perusing her face with pleasure; she’d spoken his first name and naturally so. This was progress.

“Not a bit,” he said, warmly. “I was merely thinking how long it had been since I’d had such pleasant company.” He spoke with such sincerity that Michelle immediately dismissed her doubts of boring him to death. “I’ve never brought a date here,” William continued.

At his words, Michelle looked a bit taken aback.

“This is a date?” she wondered aloud; after a moment she allowed a smile to return to her face. “A date,” she said, nodding to herself. She looked up at William; he appeared amused. “Do you always ask out ragged street artists that you barely know?” Michelle asked, crossing her arms defensively. Chuckling, William lowered his eyelids a little.  

“Only the pretty ones that run away,” he said in a low voice. He got what he was after; Michelle blushed again.

At that moment, a dark-clad waiter appeared bearing two pewter soup-plates. A large, wicker cornucopia of rolls was set down on the table as well and the server swept off, leaving the two hungry guests to themselves. William and Michelle exchanged a look of mutual relief... food. William was genuinely famished, having skipped lunch that day. He watched Michelle from the corner of his eye as she expertly flicked out her napkin and laid it across her lap.

“You’ve done that before,” he observed, grinning boyishly at his guest.

“Yes,” Michelle replied, returning his smile. “I was a server at four-star restaurant while I was at college. I’m resisting polishing the silver.” William chuckled as Michelle critically eyed her fork; how fun it would be to tell the owner his silver did not measure up to the standards of an unemployed Manhattan street-artist.

They dipped into their dinner with relish; the savory, thick soup was creamy and delicious, the fresh, buttery rolls the perfect accompaniment. William and Michelle spent several pleasant minutes eating in the warm atmosphere. The clink of glasses and the soft murmurs of quiet conversation sounded now and again but nothing disturbed the peace.

Michelle enjoyed every morsel; it reminded her grandmother’s clam chowder. As she ate, Michelle thought of her kindly 'Gramma Betty'; the lady had died several years earlier. She had owned a ‘cottage’ on the Chesapeake Bay, which was in reality a sprawling domicile by the water. Though well off, the woman has always done her own cooking; each Christmas, Michelle and her family flew out to see her. They’d make the special clam chowder together as well as dozens of different cookies. Later they’d sit out on the snowy veranda, watching the stormy, gray water, well bundled up with hot cocoa in hand. Deluged with fond memories, Michelle smiled down at her bowl, lovingly dipping a piece of bread into the soup.

Enjoying his own food, William snuck a few glances at Michelle; she did not eat as though starving but with such enjoyment he couldn’t help but smile. Rarely would women eat well on a date, in his experience; they usually ordered a few lettuce leaves or something and nibbled away daintily, pretending they did not feel anything as archaic as Hunger. Sitting by Michelle, William felt at home, like he was in his own living room; he was momentarily tempted to remove his shoes and slouch back into the seat.

Beside him, Michelle took another roll and sighed contentedly.

“Excellent,” she said, when William looked over. “It’s just like my grandmother’s chowder.” William felt interested to know more but Michelle didn’t elaborate. Wiping his mouth with the napkin, he sat back. It was good; such was the reason he came here; the food tasted home-made and fresh.

“One of my grandmothers used to make lemon curd on toast for breakfast,” he said, laying his napkin on the table. “She'd eat in her conservatory; it was the best breakfast, with the flowers inside and the rain outside running the glass.” Michelle leaned forward a little, drawn to William’s happy expression.

“That sounds lovely,” said she. “Thank you for the soup. I have not enjoyed an evening so much in... well, a long time.”

William heard the sincerity in Michelle’s voice and looked at her. His eyes dropped to her hand as it rested on the table; it looked lonely. He gently covered it with his own.

“Same here, Michelle,” he murmured. Michelle felt the air leave her lungs, momentarily; the moment felt similar to the one  in the cab, before the driver has so rudely tossed them around. She didn’t think William would try to kiss her again, and in public, too. They barely knew each other.

“Dessert?” William asked; his voice walked firmly through Michelle's thoughts.

“Um... dinner was perfect,” she said, stammering a little. “Nothing more is needed.” The corners of William’s eyes crinkled as he grinned.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused, aloud. “I’ve never known a woman to turn down...” He glanced down at the gilt-edged dessert card. “... Dark Chocolate Mousse Cake?”