Visitors Monica Macansantos (bio) His eyes lingered on Dina's mouth as she bit into her filet mignon, but she chose to ignore him because it was the only way she could finish her meal. He chose a different restaurant each time, but his request remained the same: he'd take her to a fancy restaurant and foot the bill, and then sit back as he watched her eat. Today, he had taken her to a steakhouse at Houston's Galleria, and as tourists outside took selfies against a background of shimmering water cascading down a high twisting wall, their maître d' led them to a table near the window, plucking a plastic "Reserved" sign from its crisp tablecloth before handing them their menus. After they took their seats, Duc raised an index finger, his signal that he was in charge. "One filet mignon, and a glass of Australian malbec, for her," he said, lifting his palm towards her, as though to cradle an invisible offering. "I'll have a glass of malbec too." When their waiter left, she glanced at the window, her eyes drawn to the golden curtain of water outside that streamed downwards, towards an invisible underground pool. When she glanced at him, he was also looking out the window, too absorbed to notice her gaze. Maybe he was watching the girl in a frilled Quinceañera dress who pulled her ruffled skirt over her knees as she strode to the watery wall, as a young man, maybe her older brother, held a camera to his chest, waiting for her to find the right spot. The girl's face glistened with sweat as she followed her brother's directions, raising her chubby arm in the air and lifting her face toward it, like a queen, or maybe a startled fairy. What was Duc thinking as he watched this girl strike pose after pose before turning to the camera, baring her teeth hesitantly as she smiled? Dina knew he wasn't one for small talk, and yet her thoughts circled around the silence that fell between them, straining against it before finally falling away. Her steak was served, and their wine glasses were filled. He watched her as she loosened the knot of her napkin roll, revealing a fork and knife she held in her left hand as she draped her napkin over her skirt. She had dressed nicely for this occasion, pairing a gold ballerina tank top with a ruffled chiffon skirt, its pattern of faded roses spreading on her lap like a faint yet exuberant bouquet. It was a gift from a former john who took [End Page 136] her to outlet malls after she'd serve him breakfast in bed, naked. She had forgotten to bring a sweater with her, not expecting to feel this cold; they hadn't seen each other in almost a year, and she had forgotten how cold it usually was at these posh restaurants. As she rubbed her arms, he smiled and asked, "Are you cold?" She nodded like a child, and he eased his blazer from his shoulders, lifting it by the collar as he rose. Draping it over her shoulders, he said, "I don't want you to be uncomfortable." As he returned to his seat, she fingered its collar, noting its softness as she inhaled the deep, woody scent of his cologne. "You don't like my jacket?" he asked, as he brought his wine glass to his lips. "Thank you," she hurriedly said, taking her fork and knife and holding them in her hands, like a conductor pausing to collect herself before her performance began. _____ They met at her old job in a midtown bar that attracted an assortment of yuppies, college students, and lone drinkers who'd sit right in front of her and watch her breasts jiggle as she mixed drinks behind the bar. Duc ordered scotch on the rocks, and his gentle, appraising eyes made her think of Tony Leung from In the Mood for Love, except his hair wasn't slicked back but fell in graying curls over his forehead. Crow's feet formed at the corners of his eyes...
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