The Mare

Ginger

How adorable was that? Wondering what she saw, I turned to look: jowly guys with big arms spread out on the table, women in flowered dresses, a certain expression of…“Um, maybe,” I said. “Those might actually be Republicans.” I nodded at another party across from us. “But those are likely Democrats.”

“Why?” she asked. “They don’t look different.”

I tried to think of how to explain. A tray of red cocktails went past. Our waiter appeared. Velvet looked at the menu and frowned. “How about the steak?” I said. “It’s good here.” A roar of enjoyment swept the room; there were drinks, red drinks riding a sudden, bitter wave. What was I thinking bringing her here? “I’m going to have the calamari. Do you know what that is?” She shook her head. Her tight-curled hair fell over her lush cheek. “Octopus. You can tell people you know somebody who eats octopus.”

“Darling! Oh my God!”

Two guys wearing flowered shirts strutted into the room. Velvet gaped. One of the “Democrat” women stood up, clutched her heart, and screamed, “Oh, it’s been so long!” A flowered guy clutched his heart, “fainting” against the door and crying, “Darling, I want to smooch you!”

And Velvet cracked up. I mean, she really did burst into laughter. Flowered Guy Two looked over, ready to bitch slap, then saw he was apparently being laughed at by a black teenager. The other guy looked; the whole table looked. I giggled behind my hand. Velvet slapped the table and laughed. The Republicans smiled benignly. It was too ridiculous and Flowered Guy One knew it. “Ladies,” he said as he magnificently swept past, “have a wonderful night.”

I said, “Thank you.” And ordered a Cosmopolitan.