Excerpt: The Trans-Neptunians

“Your table’s not quite ready yet,” said the woman in white collared shirt and long black tie tucked into her pants. “Would you care to have a seat over there or perhaps you’d like to wait at the bar?”

“We’ll wait at the bar,” said Dillon, and he and Charlene proceeded in that direction as the hostess gestured the way with one hand while placing the other gently on Dillon‘s lower - very low - back. Charlene glanced back just in time to notice her hand coming off of him.

The bar table formed a near complete rectangle with a series of wine-bearing open faced cabinets suspended above on all sides and wine glasses hanging reversed from racks beneath. A lengthy wine menu lay folded on the bar top where they took seats.

“They sure have a lot of wines here,” said Dillon.

“They sure have a lot of women my age here,” said Charlene. The distasteful words, cougar bar, suddenly occurred to her. “Why’d you choose this place?”

“I figured it might be nice but not too expensive. Navin said it was good. He said the rotini is good. Oh, and because you like wine. That‘s why.”

“Is that so? I seem to recall you didn’t much like my rotini when I made it.”

“I don’t like any Rotini, baby, but where they make good rotini, they probably make good other stuff.”

“Make good other stuff? And here I thought English was your first language.”

“Sorry. Make good other stuffs.”

“That’s better.” She picked up the wine menu as the bartender, a tall young man, moved over to them.

Dillon ordered a beer.

“I’ll have a glass of water for now,” said Charlene, eyes set on the menu, “While I decide what wine I want. Thanks.” The bartender departed. “Did that girl touch your ass?”

“What?”

“Did that girl… the hostess… touch…”

Dillon laughed loudly and abruptly. “Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No. Do you want me to be?”

“Yeah, she touched my ass.” He leaned toward her and whispered,” she slipped her hand right down my gitch and fingered my crack!”

“Yeah, okay.”

“She’s probably sniffing her finger right now.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“She touched my back.”

“I think I’ll get this Shiraz, here. It’s Australian.”

“Is that okay?”

“Of course. Nobody knows Shirazes like Australians.”

“No, I mean - is it okay that she touched my ass - I mean - back?”

“Perfectly.”

“Is it okay if she slipped me her phone number?” He nudged her gently with his elbow.

“Slipped it where? Between your cheeks?”

Dillon’s reply died in his throat as the bartended arrived dispensing water and beer.

“Did you see the way he looked at me?” said Dillon, upon the bartender’s departure.

Charlene shook her head in apparent disgust. “Come on.”

“He wants me. No shit.”

“Yeah, okay. Is there anyone in this bar who doesn’t want to get into your pants?”

“Hmm…” He looked around carefully. “No. Just you.”

“Well - luckily it’s your birthday so I don’t have much choice.” Her hand slipped below the bar table. “At the very least a blow job is in order.”

“Unless you’re planning on performing here and now, I’d cut that out if I were you.”

“Wow. Someone down there’s quick to respond.”

“I'm warning you. Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Well, we’d better wait ‘til we’ve eaten before we go getting ourselves kicked out. There’s no time to make another reservation.”

“You know - instead of a BJ -”

She pulled her hand away from his lap. “No way. I told you - you’re never getting in there.”

“You’re so mean to me.”

“Hah! Right.”

“All I ask is that you give it a try. I promise to be real gentle!” They locked eyes. She shook her head in wonderment.

“We’ll see.”

“Really!” His mouth lay partly open, as if drool were about to spill out.

“I said /we’ll see.”/

“Folks, we have a table ready for you now,” said the woman in white and black; suddenly appearing behind them. Charlene stood and shouldered her purse. Dillon remained frozen in place and gave her a tortured stare. He glanced downward. Charlene suppressed all but the scantest utterance of a laugh.

“Do you serve your pasta el dente?” asked Charlene.

“We certainly can, if you’d like,” said the host.

Charlene turned to Dillon and patted his shoulder. “That’s where the noodle is not entirely soft, but a little bit firm,”

He silently mouthed the words, /‘fuck you.’/

“Later honey. Come on, let’s go to the table.”

“You go ahead,” he said. “I’ll be along in a minute. I forgot my medication in the car.” To the hostess, he said, “Is it okay if I re-enter through the back door?” he turned his eyes pointedly at Charlene.

“No. We only use the front entrance here.”

“I understand,” he said. “That seems to be the usual policy.”