“Oh, the sentence is atrociously written, despite being slang, but that’s not what I’m referencing.”
“Then what are you referencing?” Stella asks.
Keiko stretches her napkin across her breasts, covering her chest from any possible food droplets, and says, “I presume you are on the hunt for male companionship tonight, correct?”
“Obviously, that’s my one and only goal,” I answer.
She slowly nods. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but the sash you’re wearing serves more as a repellent than a welcome sign for your promiscuous ways.”
We all glance at my sash again, and, damn it, she’s right.
“I think she might have a point,” Stella whispers.
“Unfortunately, the sash does scream ‘begone, men, begone,’” Greer says.
Slowly, I slip the sash off my body and lay it across the table. “Perhaps we use it as a centerpiece for now.”
“An intelligent decision,” Keiko says with a smug look just as our waiter approaches our table.
Daniel.
Dainty set of shoulders, crisply shaven face, and shaggy hair.
Not too shabby for someone who looks fresh from his mother’s womb.
Skip.
“Good evening, ladies. Are we celebrating anything tonight?” Huh, deep voice, though. That’s nice.
“Why, yes,” Keiko says, and I brace myself for what she’s about to say. “Our comrade recently departed a binding contract of love from a profligate man, also known as grotesque, according to her brother. Her goal tonight is to achieve promiscuous behaviors whilst maintaining dignity. Not sure how they go hand in hand, but here we are. She did query the hostess if our waiter was single, the hostess disclosed that you are, but just from one overall intake of your threadbare masculine stature, I would say you rate as a five out of ten for Cora, given your feeble arms and lanky disposition. Unfortunate luck, because of how loose with her legs our friend is tonight.”
I. AM. DYING.
“Now,” Keiko continues, “I see that you have pomegranate juice. Any chance you’d be able to fuse an ounce of that with sixteen ounces of Sprite?”
Oh dear God . . .
“This steak is amazing,” I say, barely having to cut into it.
“I’m definitely going to recreate this salad when I get home,” Greer says.
Stella licks her spoon. “Why do all the good foods have an accompanying sauce, but I never know how to make them?”
Belchhhh.
Keiko lets out a monstrous belch that almost shakes the table as she leans back in her chair and pats her stomach. Chocolate sauce rims her lips as she slowly starts to dab at her mouth. “I dare say, what a feast.”
Yeah, a feast indeed.
I’ve never in my life seen someone take down as much food as Keiko just did.
Have you ever seen The Santa Clause, you know, when Scott Calvin is in his work meeting, wearing a sweatsuit, because it’s the only thing that will fit him? And you hear the Jeopardy music play as he finishes off the feast of a lifetime?
Picture that but with Keiko instead.
“I never understood the concept of one dessert,” Keiko says, bringing her water to her lips. “Or one entrée, for that matter.”
“Usually people can’t take down the amount of food you just consumed, so that’s why they stick to one,” Stella says.
“Amateurs,” Keiko mutters as she sinks into her chair. I have a feeling our friend isn’t going to last tonight, not with that glazed-donut look on her face. Food coma is going to hit her, and hit her hard.
“Are you okay, Keiko?” I ask.
She nods. “Just need to shut my eyes for a moment. Please, proceed with your agenda.”
Greer, Stella, and I all exchange concerned looks while Keiko settles comfortably into the booth. Which one of them is going to take Keiko back to the room, is the question. I sure as hell know it’s not going to be me.
Greer leans toward me and whispers, “Uh, I think she’s going to need a forklift to get her back to the room.”
Keiko releases another belch, this one bringing a smile to her face. Dear God, what has happened to her? This is not the Keiko I know. She’s normally horrified by such behavior, not the one participating in it.
“Yeah, I can’t foresee her going to Thunder From Down Under with us.” Whispering, I add, “I’m afraid she’s going to belch all over them. And if anything, that’s going to lessen my chances at scoring one of the hunky men.”
“Uh, yeah, you can say that,” Stella says, joining in. “I say we—hey.” Her face twists in confusion as she stares off at something behind me.