3.10 Red Death (Thursday, Dec. 9, 1999)
“Can I start you out with some drinks?” She dropped coasters on the table in front of us.
“Please!” I said. “I’ll take a glass of pinot grigio.”
She turned to Tyler.
“Red Death, please.”
“We don’t serve those,” she said, then pointed toward the wall where it met the table. “Our specialty drink menu’s over there. Want me to come back in a few minutes?”
“No,” Tyler fidgeted with the coaster. “I’ll have the same thing.”
After a couple glasses of wine, we had both finally loosened up enough to at least resemble the people we were in e-mail. Tyler alluded to my photo gallery on the web site again, and I teased him about being a computer geek.
He looked at his watch—a little too obviously, I thought, but I got the hint. He had to get home to his wife.
I gripped my bag and slid out of the booth. “I’ll go pay at the bar.”
“No, no. You’re not paying,” Tyler shot back. “That’s what I’m here for.” He pulled a credit card out of his wallet and waived it at the server’s station. When she came over with the check, Tyler hesitated, then pulled cash out of his wallet to place with the bill.
Lori
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