You Can Never Spit It All Out

by Moore, Ralph Robert

  Brandon's eyes blinked rapidly. "Excuse me, but I don't believe that's an adequate response. I've eaten here countless times. The help staff always wear jackets." He put an edge in his voice, which was usually enough. "Is Cesar on duty? Get him over here."

  The waiter grinned even wider. "You kidding me? The only jacket they had close to my size? The back seam ripped when I put it on." He winked at Jessica. "I work out with weights a lot. As I guess you can tell." He lifted his right fist, curled it towards his wrist, made a muscle for her. "You like fish?"

  Brandon's neck got red. "Who the hell do you think you are? I don't appreciate this…familiarity of yours. You're a fucking waiter. You're expected to come over here, polite and humble, take our order. And you wear a jacket! I can see sweat stains under your armpits. That's disgusting!"

  "Hey, come on, pal. People sweat. You don't sweat?

  "Miss? You like fish? They got this snapper they pan fry, dusted with just a little bit of flour, then they serve it with a butter sauce with big chunks of crab." The waiter brought the tips of his thumb and index finger to his fat lips, put a kiss on them. "That fish dish is middle of the night, eating out of a container of ice cream over the kitchen sink, good." His grinning face got red, proud at his eloquence. "What do you do for a living?"

  Jessica, flustered, twisted her pearls with her fingers. She drew her head back on her neck, to put more distance between her face and the waiter's face. "Well, okay, I'll start with that."

  "So what do you do for a living?"

  "I…sit on different charity boards."

  "So you don't work?"

  Her fingers kept twisting her pearl necklace. "My father funds my living expenses."

  Brandon was furious. He put both hands down on the white tablecloth. "Don't let this pig tell you what to order! Get out of her face!"

  The waiter kept his big round face above hers. "Is this a first date?" His large eyes looked down into hers, sympathetic.

  Underneath the table, confused by the waiter's face staying in her face, to where his face, directly above her, was all she could see, she involuntarily spread her knees.

  Brandon shot up from the table, so quickly the chair fell over. He stalked across the patterned carpet, past the other white-linen tables, to the front desk.

  The waiter shrugged his bull shoulders, liquid eyes still above her. Twisted his black eyebrows to show his reluctance to say what he was going to say anyway. "Hate to tell you this, but. That one? He can't handle himself. You know what you need? You need a man who can not only handle himself, but handle you. Women get crazy sometimes. They go off the deep end. Forget all that feminist bullshit. You need someone who can rein you in when you get crazy. He ain't the one. You still want the fish? They run out of it pretty quick when it's the special."

  Brandon and Jessica didn't eat at Zingzing that night. Brandon was so upset at the lack of respect the waiter had shown, he insisted they leave.

  He jabbed his finger in the maître d's face, getting out some of the physical aggression he had been afraid to use with the waiter. "I will never, ever eat here again! And none of my family or friends will ever eat at Zingzing's again! My mother knows the mayor!"

  The two of them stood on the wide Manhattan sidewalk outside the green canopy, all dressed up, nowhere to go, Brandon still angry.

  "How could you let that hunchback dictate to you about what to order? Don't you have any self-respect?"

  Jessica raised a right palm. "Whoa, cowboy. He was just a waiter."

  Brandon teared up. "But he didn't know his place!"

  "Whatever."

  "Seriously? 'Whatever'? That's your response?" He raised his right arm, like a Nazi salute, hailing a cab. When it slid its advertisements over to the curb beside him, engine thrumming, he turned around to her. Curled his upper lip away from those even teeth. "You can hail your own cab. Sarah was right. Despite your pedigree, you don't really fit in with our crowd."

  Satisfied he had wounded her, he got into the cab, leaning forward from the back seat to give a destination.

  Jessica stood alone on the wide sidewalk in her little black dress, watching traffic whiz by.

  Fuck.

  She looked around the sidewalk, and behind her. Spotted the waiter coming out of the front entrance, in street clothes.

  He lifted his big face as he recognized her. "Where's Percy?"

  She stood still, right hand reaching down, protecting her purse. "His name's Brandon, actually. He took off. In a cab."

  "That one's a ticking time bomb. Just waiting to go off. Gotta watch out for those guys. So you still hungry?"

  "I'll have a salad back at my place. It's not too far."

  I cannot believe I'm having this conversation.

  He was shorter than her, but much wider. Especially in the shoulders. He shrugged his big arms. "Salad's not a meal. There's a steak place one block over. My treat."

  "That's okay."

  "This place has got great steaks, baked potatoes with sour cream and chives, pretty good salad. Blue cheese dressing. Garlic bread. Plus it's cheap. What do you say?"

  A waiter was trying to pick her up? "I don't think so."

  He gave her a lopsided grin. "Come on. You're not that special. You're a single girl, you want someone else to pay for your meal. I'll pay for it. Let's go." He started walking down the sidewalk.

  She caught up to him. "I don't need a man to pay for my meal. I have a lot of money!"

  "But it feels better eating food someone else is paying for, right? I know your type. We gotta cross the street here."

  She tottered on her high heels across the street, indignant. "I don't know who you normally date, but…"

  His raised his big right hand. "Hush!"

  She shut up. Thinking, The nerve of him! A waiter, telling her what to do?

  They arrived at the entrance to the steak joint, pink and yellow neon above the front door.

  He pushed through, leaving her to follow in his trail.

  Inside, it was dark, aromatic.

  They got in line, each picking up a brown plastic tray, silverware wrapped within a white paper napkin.

  A cafeteria.

  She had never eaten in a cafeteria before, even in girls' school.

  They slid their trays along a tubular steel counter. At the first station, they called out to short, slight men dressed in white how they wanted their steak done. He ordered rare, she ordered medium.

  They slid their trays along the counter, watching their raw steaks get slapped down on a wide grill, gray steam rising.

  As they moved along, dark women wearing white caps put a small round plate holding a baked potato on their tray, already dressed with sour cream and chopped chives, then a white bowl holding their chilled green salad.

  Once they reached the cash register, one of the cooks slid a plate with their steak onto each tray, flattened a slice of yellow Texas toast on the grill, until it got brown marks, put the toast atop their steaks.

  The waiter, pulling his wallet out of a hip pocket, paid for both meals.

  They made their way through the dark interior of the cafeteria, yellow lights hanging down, Jessica holding her heavy brown plastic tray in both hands, balancing the plates, to a free table.

  He rolled his silverware out of his white paper napkin. "Dig in."

  It was actually quite good. She ate nearly all of it.

  "You finished?"

  "I'm through."

  Still chewing, he speared the rest of her steak with his fork, lifted it off her plate onto his, then lifted off the scooped-out oval of her baked potato, the remaining triangle of her Texas toast.

  "You certainly have a healthy appetite."

  He reached out, poked the ribs of a passing busboy. Swallowed. "Bring me a Manhattan. Make it a double." He looked at Jessica, grease on his lower lip. "Whaddaya want?"

  She sat upright in her little black party dress on her wooden chair. "I really have to get going."

  "Double Manha
ttan for her too. Chop-chop." He slapped the busboy's black-trousered ass.

  She wanted to leave. But he kept talking, non-stop, wearing her down with his words, wave after wave of words, washing over her, the words at first interesting, but ultimately boring, but still she stayed rooted in her chair, letting him bury her with his monologue, to where she no longer had the will to interrupt. While he talked, he scooped everything within reach towards him, to consume. Lit one cigarette off the last, drank one double Manhattan after the other, ordered more and more food while his lips kept moving.

  After two hours of him talking constantly, she was exhausted. When he told her he wanted to go back to her place, because his place was a long subway ride away, with a lot of connections, she numbly agreed.

  Jessica sat on the white toilet in her pink bathroom, peeing, narrow door locked, skirt hiked above her bare hips, blue panties down around her ankles, much like it would be someday when she had to take a pregnancy test, and it occurred to her, with a thrill of humiliation, that she had to decide whether or not to put in her diaphragm.

  Would she really let a waiter fuck her? One who mispronounced so many words, and got so many popular sayings wrong? Who showed her so little respect? Who ordered her around?

  Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing her dark hair, she pushed her lips out, in a pout. Not a beautiful face, but not a plain one either. Did her makeup need retouching? She leaned her eyes closer to their reflection, like looking into an aquarium.

  The left side drawer of her vanity. Reaching a hand down, she jerked the drawer open.

  Inside, old lipstick cylinders rolling back and forth, miscellaneous pins and needles, an opened blue and white packet of Kleenex, the beige plastic clamshell container for her diaphragm.

  Should she? Shouldn't she?

  She was twenty-nine.

  She still had great legs. Her breasts still pointed forward.

  She stared down at the beige plastic container.

  Six months ago, she was shopping and as she was coming out of a boutique on Fifth Avenue, lost in her own thoughts, Should she turn around and buy that silk scarf anyway, even though it doesn't match any of her outfits, a kid―a kid!―banged into her outside the glass doors (How rude!), then once he had her off-balance, put his hands around her purse, yanked it off her shoulder so violently she fell, breaking her wrist on the sidewalk. The police never caught him. The experience made her feel like she was no longer invincible.

  The world is crammed with little rough wheels that wear you down.

  She sat on the lowered toilet lid, spread her bare legs, inserted the diaphragm up inside her.

  She wouldn't tell him, obviously. But just in case things went really well, at least she'd have it in place. Even though inserting a diaphragm carried an emotional risk, because it's such a sad thing, pulling out a diaphragm it turns out you didn't, after all, need.

  One last glance at herself in the mirror, her reflection's eyebrows rising, then she sucked in breath, opened the bathroom door.

  Walked out into her living room, hips gently swaying.

  While Jessica was off peeing, Vinnie found another bathroom in the apartment.

  All those Manhattans had him ready to burst.

  He didn't bother closing the door.

  Checked his face in the medicine chest mirror. Had to admit, he was a handsome guy. Made some practice grins.

  As he unzipped, her dog, a German shepherd, followed him in, tongue panting.

  "Hey, boy."

  He pulled out his cock, lowering his other hand so the dog could smell his fingers, so it'd know he's okay. That's what you do with dogs. His father had taught him that.

  As the urine vibrated in his cock, he looked down to aim it so it bubbled in the toilet. Rolled back his head.

  The German shepherd, lifting its front paws off the floor onto his trousers, stuck its orange and black head under the stream of urine, so the urine splashed off its snout.

  Vinnie, still pissing, looked down. "No! Hey, boy! That's not good!"

  The German shepherd, head below his crotch, eyes closed, waved its long face left and right through his stream of urine, ecstatic look on its face.

  "No, boy! Don't be doing that!"

  Jessica, coming out of the bathroom, hair carefully brushed, bra she had worn to the restaurant left in the bathroom's hamper, top buttons of her blouse undone, saw Vinnie lounging on her sofa in the living room, put a slow smile on her face.

  Let out a shriek.

  "What are you doing to my dog?"

  Vinnie pushed the dog off the sofa. Stood up, embarrassed. "Nothing!"

  She ducked her head. "You were masturbating him!"

  His big shoulders shot up. "No, I wasn't!"

  "I saw you! I saw you with your hand around his penis!"

  He dipped his knees. "He already had a hard-on! He jumped up on my lap! I touched it out of curiosity, just to see what it felt like. Then, I admit, a little more to see how he'd respond, and by then, you know. I had committed."

  "How could you abuse my dog that way? That's like molesting a child!"

  "No, it isn't!" Neither said anything for a moment, staring at each other. What would you say in a situation like that? He wrinkled his eyebrows. "I don't know how well you know him, but hey, he was really getting into it. You should of seen the way his tail was wagging."

  She burst into tears. Why had she ever put in the diaphragm? "You're a monster!"

  Vinnie, frantic, took a step forward. "I just wanted him to like me!"

  Jessica put a hand on her forehead, mumbling to herself. Moved the hand to her cheek, to check her temperature. She went down on her haunches. "Come here, boy."

  Her dog looked at her with its black eyes. Trotted a step towards her, sat on the carpet. Turned around and went over to Vinnie.

  "Don't go to him! Come to Mommy."

  But the dog hopped up on Vinnie's lap again. Even worse, fumbled its body around in his lap, paws sliding off the tops of Vinnie's thighs, until it had maneuvered its rear towards Vinnie's guilty-looking face. With a backwards glance of fanged lust, it lifted its furry tail, angling up at Vinnie. Vinnie raised his big hands away from the invitation, as if he were being held up.

  He blinked at Jessica, who at this point was sitting on the carpet, face splotched. "I'm innocent! Look at him!" His face got jovial. "This obviously hasn't been his first experience getting masturbated by a human. Just saying."

  Jessica punched the air in front of her. "If you're suggesting for a moment that I ever, ever took advantage of my own dog–"

  "Might not have been you! It could have been a guest, a plumber, maybe a member of your family." His big, stupid face lit up. "Didn't you say your dad comes over a lot?"

  "My father is happily married to my mother! He visits me because he loves me, and he's concerned how I'm doing on my own, in the big city! He certainly does not come over to masturbate my dog!" She tried raising one eyebrow, feeling the muscles on the sides of her nose move, but she had a sense it didn't look elegant. "If he wanted to masturbate a dog, there are plenty of dogs in Scarsdale."

  Vinnie, infuriating grin still on his face, watching her lifted eyebrow attempt, left hand holding the dog's tall tail so it couldn't keep whipping across his nose, scrunched his face like a little boy. "Can we put this behind us? I'm sorry I masturbated your dog while you were in the bathroom. That was wrong of me. I like you. I was trying to fit myself into your life. If you had a roommate, I would have listened to her talking about world music, and, you know, probably bought a wreath she wove herself from twigs she purchased at Michael's Design. You don't have a roommate, you just have a dog, so I had to work with the material I was given. It's called dating."

  Her lips got ready to start about a half dozen sentences. None of them came out.

  "I'm an animal lover! What's my crime? I paid attention to him? Don't you think he's gonna be happy to see me in the future?"

  A look of disgust on her face.
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  "Hey! What I did, I think, you know, it falls somewhere within the realm of petting."

  Still sitting on the carpet, she held out her right hand. "Come here, boy."

  This time, thankfully, the dog, perhaps realizing it wasn't getting any more caresses from Vinnie, bounded off his lap. Rapidly walked his way over to his mistresses' moving hand.

  Jessica buried her face in his fur, rubbing the top of his head. "Oh, yes, yes, yes! Oh, yes, yes, yes!"

  Reared her head back. Quiet voice. "What's that smell?" Lowered her nose to his snout. "Is it urine?" Looked back up at Vinnie. Her voice got even quieter. "Did you piss in Rambo's face?"

  Vinnie raised his palms. "You are not gonna believe what happened."

  Twenty minutes later, they wound up in Jessica's bedroom. When she told her girlfriends tomorrow, she decided she'd leave out everything that happened earlier. He was a guy she met in the street while hailing a cab, they talked, went back to her place.

  In her bedroom, facing each other, she took off her shoes, her height lowering.

  He took off his shoes, his height lowering.

  That awkward moment when two people decide how they're going to begin, what they're going to do in bed. What's allowed, what isn't.

  He looked so happy that he was about to have sex with her, his face glowed. He jerked up his jaw. "You ready for me?"

  She felt self-conscious. "Well, yeah." Flapped her hands by her hips.

  "Close your eyes."

  She took a nervous step back. "What? Why?"

  "Just close your eyes!" He advanced his big grinning face towards her. Raised an index finger in the narrowed space between them. "Swear to me you will not open your eyes until I tell you to. Swear?"

  She let out a weak snort. "Until you 'tell me to'? Seriously?" (Admittedly, him ordering her what to do did kind of get her a little aroused.)

  "Okay?"

  She shut her eyes, obediently. Wet her lips. "So, what am I, your slave now?"

  "Just keep 'em closed. Remember, you swore."

  Hooded within her self-imposed darkness, her small ears listened for clues.

  She heard whispers in front of her, going backwards, going down. That was definitely him taking off his shirt, his pants. She'd heard those sounds often enough. Did he really have a cock to match that big grin of his?