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“From you I wanted more than I ever asked.” He stared at her, eyes unflinching for almost the count of thirty, letting those words sink in.
She reached for a cigarette, held it for a moment, posed with it. “Really.”
“Really.”
She lit her own, blew smoke over one shoulder, away. “I’m trying to follow that—that thinking. What did you want from me? I feel we’ve been . . . entangled for years.”
He watched the smoke drift, reached for her pack.
“Have one,” she said.
“I gave it up, remember? Or didn’t you notice?” He fingered the cellophane, then put it back.
“Oh, c’mon, Phil. What’s this about?”
“You don’t give enough,” he said.
“I just wanted to give you a cigarette,” she said. “Ha ha.”
“Funny.” He lowered his head.
She expected him to raise it again immediately. “What are you looking at? Your empty plate? Do you want another apple tart?”
He looked up, anger in his eyes. “See? Don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re making fun, as usual.”
She stubbed out her cigarette, pushed away the ashtray. “Okay, equal ground.” She leaned forward toward him. “No, I don’t see what I am doing. What am I doing? I’m in a restaurant with you, as far as I can see, and trying – I mean trying—to have a conversation. Then we’ll go back to your place and have a drink and screw and you’ll take me home. What’s different? What am I doing?”
“You’re not paying attention to my needs,” he said. He signaled to a waiter, who walked right past them. “Damn him.”
“Looks like he isn’t either. Shall I whistle?”
“You think you’re cute, right? Clever?” He didn’t wait for a response. The waiter, headed the opposite way, was flagged. “A martini, here,” he said, and raised his eyebrows to her.
“Yes. Okay.” The waiter left. “Clever,” she repeated. “I don’t see what I did that was clever. Clever. Possibly. I have more wit than you, I think.”
“That’s the rudest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Ah, I like the comparative form. So, all along I’ve been rude? Why have you put up with me then?”
“I don’t know. Do I give you what you ask for?” He looked hopeful, waiting for an answer. She didn’t; she was thinking. “You’re thinking too long.” The drinks were set before them.
“What have I asked for?”
He looked puzzled. “Well, maybe what you have expected.”
“Okay. What have I expected?”
“Nothing! That’s the whole problem.”
“What? That I haven’t asked? Oh, this is good! So cold, so bitter.” She sipped.
“And I haven’t either. Asked. But I want more from you.”
“Love,” she said. “I’m just guessing here.”
He said nothing, sipped at the drink. “You’re making fun,” he said.
“No, no, no! Why would I do that? Why wouldn ‘t we talk about love? Or–whatever?” She laughed. “I mean, it is Valentine’s Day.”