Page 40 of Winter Solstice
“You can order a drink,” Allegra says. “I don’t mind.”
“That’s okay,” Bart says. “I look forward to spending an evening sober with you.”
“You’re very sweet,” Allegra says. “Thank you.” She locks eyes with Bart, which is intoxicating enough. Bart thinks about nine-year-old Ruby Taylor kicking Charles Buford Duke right above the ankle bone with her Mary Jane, or whatever shoe little girls down south wore, and stealing his heart forever. Centaur showed Bart the spot on his right leg that Ruby had kicked.
I get it now,Bart thinks.I get it!He takes Allegra’s hand across the table. There’s music in the restaurant—Eric Clapton singing “Wonderful Tonight”—and Bart feels like pulling Allegra up to dance. He’s alive, they’re alive; it’s their first real date and they’re going to need to tell their children about it someday, so why not make it a story? Bart stands up.
“Dance with me,” he says.
She doesn’t say:Here? Now?
She doesn’t say:But no one else is dancing. Everyone else is eating dinner, Bart. This is a restaurant, not a nightclub. Everyone will look at us.
Instead she says, “Okay.” She rises and moves into his arms. She fits right under his chin even in her heels. Bart is suddenly very glad that Mitzi taught him to dance when he was young, despite his mighty protestations. Someone must have also taught Allegra, because she is graceful on her feet, fluid and poised.
The song ends. The other diners clap. Allegra curtsies. Bart feels that, wherever he is, Centaur approves.
Everything is fine. Everything is better than fine—until the chicken.
Bart blames himself initially. He wasn’t paying attention when Allegra ordered her dinner; he was too busy deciding between the steak-frites and the Nantucket bay scallop special. They agreed to split the mussels as an appetizer, which were delicious in a coconut curry broth over jasmine rice. Bart insisted on taking the mussels out of the shells for Allegra. He was a real man, meaning he would do the lowliest of chores for his beloved. He would plump the pillow for her every night, he would bring her coffee in bed every morning. He would clean the gutters of their imaginary house; he would stop by the store for eggs or butter or tampons without complaining.
During the mussels they talked about their past relationships. Bart wanted to get it all out in the open now, on their first date, instead of later, a month or six weeks later, when his attachment to Allegra, and therefore his jealousy, would be greater.
“You’ve had boyfriends other than Hunter Bloch, I assume?” Bart said.
“One boyfriend in high school,” Allegra said. “Brick Llewellyn. He was my year. Do you remember him?”
“No,” Bart said. He didn’t add that high school hadn’t really been his thing. He’d skipped a lot and done no activities. After school he and his best friend, Michael Bello, had smoked dope, wrecked cars, stolen beer, and thrown parties. If this Brick Llewellyn wasn’t an established derelict, Bart didn’t know him.
“He was a good guy. Still is. He’s very smart, goes to Dartmouth. He hates me. I cheated on him with this jerk named Ian Coburn.”
“I know Ian,” Bart said. “And you’re right. He’s a jerk. He drove that red Camaro.”
Allegra had a mussel suspended over the bowl. “I learned my lesson with Brick. I hate myself for what I did to him. I won’t ever cheat again.”
Bart nodded. He hadn’t been a saint either, although in his case, he’d never committed seriously enough to anyone to have his extracurricular activities count as cheating. “I had a sort-of girlfriend named Savannah Steppen. She was more like a friend with benefits. That was really it, Savannah and the nameless, faceless conquests I made as a young Marine.”
“I remember Savannah,” Allegra said. “She was beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful,” Bart said.
They grinned at each other, holding hands across the table.
And then the chicken arrived.
Allegra says, “Oh, this looks good.”
Bart stands up. His fault: he wasn’t listening. If he had been listening, he would have steered her toward the lamb or the gnocchi.
“I have to step outside,” he says.
Allegra looks more surprised than affronted, although certainly she is both. It’s unspeakably rude: their food has just arrived, it’s hotnow,appetizingnow,and if Bart leaves, then Allegra can’t politely start.
“Is it… do you…?” Allegra says. She must not know what to think. Maybe Bart has to make a phone call, maybe he smokes and can’t hold off his craving for nicotine one more second. Maybe he found the story of Allegra cheating on Brick Llewellyn off-putting.
“I don’t feel well,” Bart says. “I need air.” He strides for the door and steps out into the cool night.
He hears Centaur screaming,WHAT ARE YOU DOING? IT WAS GOING SO WELL!
