Three Fat Ladies with Purses (Part 3)

“I’m so glad to finally meet you. You are more beautiful than I had imagined you to be”

This was what Pat wanted to say. Instead, he said – “Ahem. Grrr. Ahem” or something to that effect.

“This place is quite boring. Don’t you think?”, Patricia looked intently at Pat when saying these words. The words and the stare were singularly potent enough to unnerve Pat. The combination, was lethal.

“I agree. I am actually quite poor at the choice of places. If I ever date you again, the chances of which seem very remote, I’d rather have you choose the place. For me, your company is all that matters”

This was Pat wanted to say. Instead, he said – “Errr…the soup is good”

“You don’t speak much. Do you? Anyway, men shouldn’t speak much”, Patricia decided to give the soup a try.

“Yes. Yes. If you want, I will keep my lips pursed all my life”

This was what Pat wanted to say. And he said it as well. But his volume was so low that Patricia didn’t hear the stupidity rolling off his tongue.

“And when they speak, they should sound powerful. As if they command the world”, Patricia said, while taking a whiff off her soup.

As Pat was digesting these words, his cellphone rang. He did not want to answer it, but he had to. It was his boss.

“Pat, where the hell is the document I had asked you to send this morning”, barked a shrill voice from the other end.

Pat glanced at Patricia. She was busy with her soup. He whispered,” I will send it out in an hour.” The phone got disconnected. Pat raised hi voice,” or maybe tomorrow. Listen, I am busy with someone, I mean something, important right now. I will do that later. Now, don’t disturb me”, He kept pressing the ‘disconnect’ button, fearing another call while he was dictating his emphatic monologue.

Patricia was still gazing at her soup. Apparently, she had not noticed. “Damn it”, Pat mumbled.

Patricia laughed a quite little laugh to herself.

Three Fat Ladies With Purses (Part 2)

Before Pat could comprehend the sudden and strange gesture, Professor Darlington had already made himself comfortable on the opposite seat, placed a glittering silver box on the table, taken a cigar out of it, lit it, pursed it between his lips, pocketed the box and even made a perfectly circular ring of smoke.

Perhaps, it was the ring that blew Pat’s top.

“Who the hell are you?” he cursed.

“My name is Christopher Darlington; Professor Christopher Darlington”, the sing-song voice was so flawlessly rehearsed that Pat had a déjà vu.

“Professor what?”, Pat cried, as if he hadn’t caught the name, though it was hard to believe given the Professor’s enunciated diction.

“Professor Christopher Darlington”, the rhythm reverberated. Pat would have had another déjà vu if it wasn’t for the Professor doffing his hat synchronously with the enunciation of his name.

Pat looked at him. He looked at Pat.

Pat raised his eyebrows. He smiled.

Pat sniggered. He smiled.

Pat winced. He smiled and blew out another ring of smoke from his cigar.

Pat smiled. He began to speak,” You must be wondering why I am an unwelcome guest at your table. Well, don’t”.

Pat kept his ears focused in anticipation of a few more words. Apparently, none were forthcoming.

A waiter arrived; a different one. Perhaps, it would have hurt the self-esteem of the previous waiter to see the man he was trying to throw out, enjoying the costliest wine in town. He poured the shining liquid into two glasses and promptly left.

By now, Pat had started feeling indebted to the man, strange as he may have been. Not only had he jumped in to rescue him from an uncomfortable situation but had also bought him expensive wine. Questioning the motives of such a generous man would be blasphemy. Mum’s the word, he thought.

“So, how is Patricia?”, the professor enquired as he put out his cigar against the ash tray.

Pat was surprised. Pat was shocked. Pat was afraid. This man could be Patricia’s father, or elder brother. But then he remembered – Patricia’s last name wasn’t Darlington. Was he an uncle? Was he an omnipotent man who had known everything all along and was now here to take his case? Or was he the devil?

“I believe she left before I could come here”, the professor continued. Apparently, Pat’s consternation had escaped his glance.

“Did Patricia invite you here?”, Pat murmured.

“Not really”, the Professor seemed quite matter-of-fact now. But then, he smiled and said,” Drink the wine, my boy”

Pat was transfixed into a limbo. Quite awkwardly, he found the circumstances of the situation resembling those of his first date with Patricia. In both cases, he didn’t know the next step, but kept taking it as if an invisible hand was leading him. He gulped the wine glass empty in one shot.

“What are you thinking, Pat?”, the Professor asked.

Wine had the strange power of disabling Pat’s lying faculties. He knew Patricia had exploited it several times. Did this man know about it too?

“Nothing, just about my first date with Patricia”, he uttered, and then realized he had uttered it.

The Professor placed his hat on the table and leaned back on the chair, wine glass in his hand, and spoke colloquially - “Tell me about it”

Three Fat Ladies With Purses (Part 1)

“Would you like anything else, sir?”, the waiter’s honey-soaked voice broke his reverie. He turned around and found his eyes meeting the disdain-filled ones of the man in the white pantsuit. He replayed the words in his mind; the tone was more sarcastic than considerate.

The waiter spoke again, “Anything else, sir?”. The derision was unmistakable. He might as well have said,” Pay the bill, get up and get moving. She ain’t coming back and I have customers waiting – other customers whose better halves don’t have to go through the ignominy that was inflicted upon the lady who was sitting opposite to you. So, make yourself scarce, will you?”

“Can you give me a moment please”, Pat found the strength to say something intelligible.

“Most certainly, gentleman”, the waiter curled his lips and proceeded to the next table.

Pat sunk his head into his palms, trying to figure out something that he had not been able to figure out for some years. He was not expecting such an abrupt end – either to his plans of a perfect evening or to his relationship with Patricia.

He lifted his head and found the head waiter making his way to his table. They really wanted him out of this place, quick. As the burly moustached man inched closer, Pat found his self-respect screaming for redemption. There was a pause before the head waiter spoke.

“Sir, Would you like anything else or should we get the bill?”, he hissed.

“Yes, most certainly. 1976, Bordeaux. Quick”

Pat could not believe his ears. Who was this man who had lunged from behind the head-waiter and cackled an order for the most expensive wine in the restaurant? The head waiter promptly departed.

“My name is Christopher Darlington; Professor Christopher Darlington. Mind if I take a seat?”, the strange man bellowed.

The Sixth Day (Part 6)

Day 6

“Your smile is glittering as brightly as the glass door of the coffee shop”, he uttered, shifting his glance from the doorman cleaning the entrance door to her.

“Was that a compliment?”, she asked, bemused.

“Did it sound like one?”, he replied.

There was a momentary silence.

And then, both of them burst into laughter, on a joke that only the two of them could understand. But then, did it need to be understood by someone else?

His phone rang again. He saw the display, and stood up, excusing himself from her presence and started to walk towards the door.

“What?”, he scathed into the speaker, visibly miffed.

“Nothing sir, just wanted to apologize to you. We could not accommodate your recommendation of the out of turn promotion your friend.”, the voice from other side spoke.

“What? Are you insane…”, the voice interrupted before he could express his bewilderment, “Sorry sir, but we had to promote an employee whose performance had been too exceptional this year that it could not have been ignored. And we had only one vacancy.”

“Do you know my friend’s name?”, he queried, gradually coming to terms with the turn of events, his voice tinted with pride.

“No, sir.”, the voice replied.

The Sixth Day (Part 5)

Day 4

“Why are you disconnecting my phone?”

“I can’t talk right now.”

“Go to hell”

Day 5

“Don’t be angry. She must have a genuine reason”, he repeated to himself, as his indifferent eyes scanned through another cursory turn of the newspaper pages. As he ran out of pages to turn, he scanned the room – searching for some other means to calm his thoughts with. It is amazing how the littlest of things can trigger off a volcano when your anger is close to reaching its escape velocity. This time, it was the familiar ring of his phone. He swore as he searched for the source of the sound, unable to locate the contraption buried deep beneath the piles of strewn about clothes. He finally found it. The ringing had stopped. He was about to shatter the instrument to pieces, as it rang again.

It was her call.

“You know what? I got promoted.”

“What? When? How?”

“I just got off the phone with my boss, he told me I’m getting a raise from next month, and my own office. Can you believe it – my own office?”

It took him some time to digest the information. As the words assimilated themselves into his brain, his anger seemed to evaporate away in wisps of fume. He forgot why he was angry.

“That is brilliant. I am so happy for you.”, he shrieked into the phone, his voice louder than hers.

“Thanks. I could not have done this without you.”, she replied.

“Without us”, he corrected.