Thursday evening.
I had ordered a hot chocolate, sitting at the bar in a restaurant by Leiceter Square. I was waiting for a friend to go shopping and, as a habit of many London dwellers who constantly have to wait( for trains, buses, or the underground), was reading. After a few moments of absorption in the Irish play that had been my tube read of the week, I suddenly felt a thirst for my drink, which seemed to take forever to make. Out of boredom, I began to stare into the air. My eyes fell on the wine glass in front of me, which was shining in the light. Not having to move my head I noticed that the bartender was pouring red wine in an elegantly skilled manner. That glassful of red wine gave out a romantic air. I loved the way a glass of red wine looks in the yellowish dim light—the kind that one often sees in restaurants, producing an atmosphere of seductiveness because it obscures not only our expressions, intentions, gestures, and poses, but also our reasons. Resulting in wonderful deception the effects of such yellow lights are best at making every little ugly thing in the restaurant look beautiful.
As I leant forward against the bar, supporting my face in my hand, I noticed the bartender's glance at me from the corner of my eyes. He must have thought I was looking at him. Hm…interesting.
"Whatever…", said the voice in my head. In the meantime, much as I felt embarrassed deep down, I tried to assure myself that, so long as I keep away from eye contact I'd be able to assume oblivion and pretend to be cool. Or so I thought… I was terribly surprised by his putting aside the cocktail mixing, and making my hot chocolate first. When I took pains in endeavouring to figure out what cocktail it could possibly be that requires hot milk, he handed me my drink! So I had to look up and said thank you. "Damn", I thought, putting on my face a polite smile. Then I stirred the hot chocolate gently, and then put the tea spoon in my mouth to taste the foam. While enjoying the hot chocolate, the taste evoked some anecdote my friend had told me.
Imagine this scenario: A young French Canadian girl goes to New York City on her own, and meets this Irish man in a café.
"What is erotic?", asked he.
Slowly, as he watched her drink from the straw, she said, " this straw, the sliver, … and this..." (When he felt her finger sliding the back of his palm, softly, gently.)
I would have thought it was a fantastic way of flirting, but my friend refused to tell me if he was attracted to her. Even so, this incident amused me a great deal, and tiresome waiting seemed more endurable.
Grinning away to myself as I listlessly looked up, I saw the empty wine glass again and was immediately seized by the anticipation of its glamour. This time it was a glassful of white wine poured in. I could see the kitchen reflected on the glass. Parts of the interior of this restaurant, such as shelves and wine bottles on racks, were caught in a deformed shape, upside down on the glass. It looked cute, the house so complete and clearly transparent. But the ‘illusion’ did not last; soon the image was obscured because of the ice cold white wine creating a fog on the outside of glass… “Somehow it was more sexy this way, though.”, I said to myself silently, as if there were two voices in my head, discussing. Then I went on reading the Weir absent-mindedly.
It must have been 15 minutes by now, or twenty, since the idea of purchasing a glass of wine entered my head. Funny that I just couldn't seem to decide whether it was the darkness of seductive red or the teasing sexy white that interested me more. So I sat quietly, sipping the warm chocolate drink of mine. But my thoughts travelled afar. I recalled some scenes from the film 'Like Water for Chocolate', and was again highly amused by the reminiscence. The scene when one sister of our heroine's was so immoderately aroused by the rose pigeon made by her that she had to leave the dinner table to take a cold shower, is definitely one of the funniest I have ever seen! It also echoes Peter Greenaway's rather grotesque film about the affinity of us humans' appetite for food and lust for sex in 'The Cook, the Thief, his Wife and her Lover'.
"What a wonderful conclusion!", I thought as I saw my awaited friend walk in, impressed with myself for the entertainment I had just provided for myself while waiting.
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