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John looked at her hands, noticed her fingers were moving, making small nervous, twitchy motions. She was staring at her shoes, her face frozen. Now, Lora said sweetly. Marie stood beside the bench and lowered herself slowly until her bottom was on the seat. John saw her mouth tighten and he felt a rush through his crotch as he remembered scenes like this from a hundred different DandS movies. Marie twisted, bringing her legs underneath the table with a single turn, then set her hands palm down on the table in front of her. John looked at his wifes face. Her skin, always flawless and smooth, was even more beautiful than he remembered. She was focused, as if she was concentrating intently on something. The makeup around her eyes made them stand out even more than usual, her lashes were done to look longer than ever, and her lips were a bright red without being cartoonish. What stood out the most, though, was the way she held her head. Inclined slightly forward, her eyes focused on the. She had scraped together the funds to have her hair done professionally, yet not one strand would stay where they had arranged it. It looked mousy no matter what she did. The decision what to wear had been long, painful. She could not afford anything new. She had settled for comfort. Her favorite jeans, a FSU sweat shirt. She had considered a padded bra, but decided that truth will out. The outfit was chosen to test him: Would he accept her as is, or would he expect frills? John sat, waiting, though why he wasted his time, he knew not. He was certain she would not appear. Nonetheless, his copy of ‘Catcher’ sat in full view on the corner of the table. Even if she did come, why would she want him? He had noting to offer her. He had no money, no car, a shitty job no social graces. He was awkward with women not very well endowed ‘down there’. Even after about half a can of hair spray, his cowlick flared skyward, bobbing with each movement like a rooster’s coxcomb. ‘God, what will I say.
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