"What do you do for a living, Mr. McIntire," Calvado asked when their martinis arrived.
"This and that and some other boring stuff."
"What kind of this and that?" Calvado sipped her drink and instantly wished she had eaten before coming. One sip and she was light-headed. Better slow down: still, the martini tasted good.
"It's all boring. It all has to do with buying crap cheap and selling it at hugely inflated prices. Boring, boring, boring."
"You know," Calvado said. "A lot of people are defined by their work. They are what their jobs are. And, I've noticed, that when someone doesn't want to talk about their jobs they are really refusing to talk about themselves." She smiled at McIntire.
"I, for one, am not defined by my job. My job provides me with the money to be who I am. It does not define me."
"And who are you, Mr. McIntire?"
"Call me Mack. All my friends call me Mack. What do your friends call you?"
"I have no friends. I'm a medical school student."
"Speaking of jobs defining you, does your job define you?"
"I have no job."
"Did. Did your job define you?"
"What job would that be, Mr. McIntire?"
"It's Mack. Your bikini-clad, pouting lip, clothed as if a hooker modeling job."
Calvado laughed. "No one has ever put it quite that way before, Mr. McIntire. 'clothed as if a hooker.' I like that." She raised her martini. They clicked glasses. Mack finished his off, but Calvado had some left. "Are you going to order another?"
"Nope. I said one drink and I have finished," he mock-glared at her, "my one drink."
"Ooooh, a man of his word." Calvado gulped down her drink. "I haven't met a man of his word in ages."
"Well, as the sage of our times as put it, 'to live outside the law, you must be honest.'"
"And do you live outside the law, Mr. McIntire?"
"Mack. Call me Mack. My father is Mr. McIntire and he's been gone 20 years."
"Mine ran away when he found out my mother was pregnant with me."
"Mine died."
"Sorry."
"Well, I'll forgive you," Mack said, "If you tell me what your friends call you. I can't go on calling you Ms Calvado all night."
"Why not?"
"Well, first, Ms Calvado, we're not going to be together all night. And second, I've told you my name, you have to tell me yours. It's part of the Canterbury rules."
Calvado laughed and signaled the waiter. "Canterbury rules?"
"Okay, okay. Some other rules. The rules of order, or something."
"Speaking of orders, what would you like? I no longer hold you to your word," Calvado said. "You may order one more drink." She held up her index finger with its long, polished fingernail. "Just one."
"Perhaps," Mack said to the waiter hovering near them, trying to get a glimpse down Calvado's t-shirt, "perhaps we will order a bottle of wine. A cabernet, I think. Don't you?" he turned to Calvado.
"That is one very large drink, Mr. McIntire."
"Mack. Okay?"
Calvado nodded. When Mack turned to the waiter, she put her hands on her boobs and shook them. The waiter coughed himself into a fit and excused himself, coughing all the way to the kitchen.
When Mack looked at Calvado with a "what the hell?" look on his face, she only shrugged her "haven't got a clue" look. Then smiled.
"My friends, those that I have. The two that I have," she said, "call me Calvado."
"That's exceedingly unimaginative."
"And Mack and McIntire are exceedingly imaginative?"
"No, but I'm a boring businessman. You, you're a fabulous fashion model slash med student."
"Was. Was a model."
___________________________
