At the table beside theirs, another waitress seated a very pregnant woman and her tall, slim husband. The woman huffed as she sat down, and gave Adam and Erica a smile.
‘About ready to burst,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ Erica said. For a moment she looked girlish, unselfconscious. ‘I’m happy for you!’
‘Thanks,’ the woman said. Adam noted that her husband’s legs barely fitted under the small table. He looked pale and tired.
If I’m ever to be a dad, Adam thought, I’ll be so old by the time it happens.
Before he had too long to spend with this thought, the beers arrived. They said cheers, and Adam drank gratefully. He looked at Erica and felt a glow spread in him.
‘So,’ she said. ‘Decided on food?’
‘I haven’t looked yet.’
‘I’m gonna have the catfish, it’s my favourite here.’
‘Are you a regular?’
‘Not really, but I’ve been a few times.’
‘Aha,’ he said. ‘This is where you take all the boys.’
‘Actually no,’ she said. Her own smile was almost reluctant now, he thought, as though she knew she was letting herself be charmed and thought it a little silly of her. Some guy with an English accent she couldn’t help liking, no matter how dumb that was.
Adam looked at the menu. ‘Where is the catfish?’ he asked.
She pointed. ‘It’s really hot. Definitely an acquired taste.’
There were three little images of chillies beside the dish, apparently the most awarded to any meal on the menu. Adam’s theory on hot food in America was that it was never truly hot, because everyone was too scared of getting sued to risk injurious levels of spice.
‘I’ll try it too,’ he said.
Erica frowned. ‘I sort of feel like that came off as a challenge or something, that I said I was gonna get it,’ she said. ‘Honestly, it’s really spicy.’
‘I’m pretty sure I can handle it,’ Adam said. ‘I’ve been hardened by years of east London curry.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I spent some time in Cambodia, and they use a lot of spice there too. I’d say I learned to handle it then, but I think it’s probably genetic, to be honest.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Oh, you know. An American girl from a safe little town goes to see somewhere a little more interesting.’ She waved a hand. ‘All that.’
Yes, he thought. He could picture all that.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Sounds as though we can both handle the catfish.’
Now she smiled properly, angling her face up at him. He felt a sudden joy at having this woman opposite him. She was big and lithe and as frighteningly beautiful as a wild animal.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ She swigged her beer and watched him.
When she wasn’t talking about herself, he noticed, she was much more confident. He wanted to ask how old she was. There were laughter lines around her eyes, and there was something about her that spoke of hard work. The handbag she’d placed on the seat beside her was Prada, though, and the heels had looked expensive.
‘So, now we can start asking each other questions, right?’ she said. ‘Is that how it works?’
‘Since neither of us seems to have had much practice recently, I think we can make up the rules.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘But let’s ask each other some questions.’ She leaned on her elbows, moving closer to him. Her scent reached him again, and her hair shone under the dim lighting. ‘We can start with the usual stuff. What do you do?’
‘I work in music.’
‘That’s exciting,’ she said. ‘Doing what? Producing?’
‘No, working for a record company.’
‘You find the artists, put out their albums?’
‘We do that,’ Adam said. ‘I do some of that.’
‘You like it?’ she asked.
‘I’m actually not so sure any more,’ Adam said.
‘Oh no. A crisis of faith, huh?’ she said, smiling. ‘Let me guess, the entertainment guy wants to do something more meaningful? All that?’
‘Nothing so admirable, I’m afraid. I think I’d basically like to be retired.’
She laughed. ‘Right. And what would you do then, play golf?’
‘No chance,’ he said. ‘Actually, I’d probably wander around looking for birds. Read a lot. Stop for drinks. And lots of hiking.’
‘Doesn’t sound bad,’ she said, and took a swig of her beer. ‘I like hiking too.’
‘Something in common then,’ Adam said. ‘And you? What do you do?’
‘I’m a doctor.’ Again the reluctance passed over her features, and she watched to gauge his reaction.
‘That makes a lot of sense,’ he said, nodding.
‘It does? Why’s that?’
‘Well, you seem very smart. And also, I have the impression you’re someone who’s worked hard.’
She widened her eyes and mouth, briefly, showing white teeth. ‘I’m not sure how to take that,’ she said. ‘Do I look worn out?’
‘No,’ Adam replied. ‘Like I said, you look really beautiful.’
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Adam took a long pull on his beer.
‘I’ve just realized that I’m quite uncomfortable with privileged LA types,’ he said. ‘I mean the ones that don’t really seem to have worked for what they have. That sort of financial class system here. And I think I did work hard.’
‘You don’t now?’
‘Maybe I do. Anyway, what I mean is that it was intended as a compliment.’
Robust, he thought, remembering what he’d said to Sofia on their first date.
‘Anyway,’ he said, smiling at her.
‘Enough on work,’ Erica said. ‘Tell me about your last hike.’
‘Ah. You would ask me that.’
She leaned forward again, intrigued. Her beer was almost empty, he saw, and sipped his to catch up.
‘Is it a good story?’ she said.
‘It’s embarrassing. There’s this mountain called Strawberry Peak. Do you know it?’
‘Of course. It’s the fun peak.’
‘Right. You know the mountaineers’ route?’
‘Yes. That’s the fun part.’
‘Well, I sort of chickened out of it,’ he said.
‘What, at the scramble before the summit?’
‘No. At the scramble on the way to the scramble before the summit.’
‘Oh no,’ she said, giggling. ‘At that little hump near the water tank?’
Adam saw himself, standing astride a very narrow, spine-like path, a thousand-foot drop either side of him, clouds blowing over a giant granite mass ahead as he approached a yet more sharply rising ridge – like a shark’s fin made of rock. He almost shuddered just thinking about it.
‘Yes,’ he said.
Erica drained her beer and looked up, nodding at an unseen server behind him.
‘Well hey,’ she said, holding up two fingers for more beers. ‘If we make it to a second date, maybe I can show you how to do it.’
The fear of the mountain path and the excitement at the second date talk were hard for Adam to distinguish from each other.
They ordered shared starters, fishcakes and satay. As they were eating them, the restaurant’s owner – a very fat, smiling woman in glasses – approached the pregnant lady beside them.
‘Oh my God,’ she said, touching the woman’s belly. ‘Honey, you look like you gonna burst!’
‘I know,’ the woman said, rubbing her tummy.
‘When you due?’
‘Five days ago,’ the woman said.
‘I got something for you, darling,’ the owner said seriously. ‘You gotta try my special soup. You wanna go into labour? My soup gonna fix like THAT—’ She clicked her fingers.
The pregnant lady and her partner looked at each other. ‘Is it spicy?’ she asked.
‘No, no, darling. Not spicy. Just herbs, veget
able and coconut milk. It’s delicious.’
‘You know what?’ the woman said. ‘Screw it. That’s what I’ll have.’
‘Good choice,’ the owner said, grinning widely and squeezing off between the tables.
A younger, skinnier waitress replaced her, and asked Adam and Erica for their orders.
‘The catfish, please,’ Erica said.
The waitress frowned. ‘You sure? Very spicy.’
‘I’ve had it before, thanks.’ Erica smiled at her professionally.
‘And you?’ the waitress asked Adam.
‘The same please,’ he said.
The waitress frowned again. ‘You had before too?’
‘No, but I’m used to spice,’ he said.
‘Maybe you try something different?’ she said. ‘No refund you don’t like it.’
Adam looked her in the eye. ‘The catfish, please.’
The waitress frowned, and darted away.
Erica grinned. ‘Cheers,’ she said, and held up a fresh beer, which sweated promisingly in the low yellow light.
When the mains arrived, Adam had almost forgotten what he’d ordered. He was too busy enjoying finding out about Erica. That she was from Charleston, South Carolina; that she’d studied at UCLA, and that she lived in Atwater Village, a bohemian suburb not far from Silver Lake. She didn’t want to live on the west side, she said. Nice to visit, but too sterile. The east had more going on.
Her ancestors were Danish, her parents alive, together, retired and involving themselves in local politics back in her hometown. She loved reading fiction, especially short stories. Plenty in common, Adam thought happily – despite her being a cyclist.
On her return, the waitress placed two oval-shaped plates of steaming fish before them.
‘Catfish,’ she said, and glanced at Adam.
‘Thanks,’ Adam said. ‘It looks delicious.’
They removed their chopsticks from their paper sleeves and rubbed them together, grinning at each other.
‘Bon appétit,’ Erica said.
Adam began eating, focusing on his chopstick abilities, which were inconsistent at best. The fish was delicious, he thought. After a few seconds, all he could feel was a pleasant heat, a smoky flavour from the chargrilled flesh.
The couple beside them had also received their food. The woman’s soup had been proudly delivered by the owner – a big bowl of creamy white liquid, studded with vegetables and speckled with mild-looking green herbs. The proprietor had stood above the table momentarily, after placing it down, hands clasped in happiness as she’d told the woman to enjoy it.
‘Yum,’ Adam said, tucking into his fish. ‘The food here is great.’
‘Sure is,’ Erica said. ‘So I guess we should talk a little more about you. Though it’s kinda refreshing that we didn’t already.’
‘If we have to,’ Adam said, raising a large chunk of food to his mouth.
‘Where are you from, originally?’ Erica asked. ‘Where in England, I mean?’
Adam chewed the mouthful of catfish, and prepared to swallow so that he could speak. It was only as he tried to that he realized there was a problem. Something strange was happening in his throat. It seemed abruptly to be constricted.
A cough rose up, and he raised his napkin to his mouth and stifled it.
‘Adam?’ Erica said.
He held up a hand as if to excuse himself.
‘You OK?’ Erica asked.
Adam tried to say yes, but all that came out was a croak. He stifled another cough and sucked in air. It was only when he had a lungful that he realized there was another problem. His mouth felt like it was slowly setting on fire.
Shit, he thought. Shit shit shit. The catfish was still in his mouth. He dearly wanted to cough. He covered his mouth with the napkin once more and did so, and a little more air seemed to flow in his throat. When he tried to swallow the food again, though, he still couldn’t. It was as if the napalm-like fish had scorched away the muscles in his throat.
His mouth now was in agony. He looked down at the table, realized his eyes were filling with liquid. A single tear ran down his right cheek.
Finding his water glass through the blur, he picked it up and poured some of the icy liquid into his mouth, along with the food. After half a second’s relief, the burning sensation roared back to life with renewed anger. It was as though he’d poured petrol on the flames.
‘Adam?’ Erica sounded worried. Adam looked at her, but his eyes were too full of tears to see her face properly.
‘Your face…’ she said. ‘You’ve gone totally pale.’ She paused. ‘Except for some weird splotches, actually. I think we need to get you something to…’
Adam opened his mouth wide, like a suffocating fish. He realized, too late, that he’d forgotten the napkin, and that he was thus displaying a mouthful of half-chewed, soggy food to Erica. He sucked in as much air as he could, and then closed it again.
‘Hey,’ Erica was shouting, evidently to a member of staff. ‘Could we please have a glass of milk?’
For a brief, elastic moment, things seemed better. Adam blinked away the tears, clearing his vision and taking in the beautiful, concerned woman who was peering at him across the table. He wondered if perhaps it was now safe to swallow the food.
Then, taking him utterly by surprise, a vast, propulsive cough surged upward from his chest. Incapable of containing it, he jerked forward, doing his best to keep the pulped fish in his mouth as the cough blasted out.
He blinked away more tears, and saw that he had failed. A small, dark, oily mark blossomed on the pristine red of Erica’s top, as near as dammit to the pinnacle of her left breast.
‘Oh,’ he croaked, reaching a hand across the table to wipe it away. Thinking better of this, he froze.
For a moment, there was silence. Erica lowered her eyes to her top and raised a single slim finger, using its manicured, painted nail to surgically remove the fleck of fish.
‘OK,’ she said, screwing the finger into her napkin. ‘Next time you bring a date here, maybe you can try the pregnancy soup.’
* * *
‘Well,’ Erica said, in a small, dim bar a little way down Hollywood Boulevard. ‘That was quite a meal.’
She was laughing at him, which seemed to be the best he could hope for.
The barman approached them, and took a second look at Adam. ‘He OK?’ he asked.
‘He’s fine. He ate something a little too hot for him.’
The barman frowned. ‘He’s not gonna, like, throw up, right?’
‘No,’ Erica said. ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor.’
‘OK,’ the barman said. ‘What’ll it be?’
‘A margarita,’ Erica said.
‘Two please,’ Adam said through his ruined mouth.
‘Regular, or jalapeño?’ the barman asked.
‘Jalapeño for me,’ Erica said. ‘Regular for him. With extra salt on the rim.’ She looked at Adam. ‘Heal up that mouth of yours.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Adam said.
‘If I didn’t laugh,’ she said, looking down at the stain on her top, ‘I’d cry.’
‘Do you think it’ll come out?’
‘I hope it will. You can cover my dry-cleaning bill either way. Now, where were we?’
They talked for another hour, drinking second margaritas more slowly than the first, tucked up together at the bar as Adam answered her questions. There was so much to explain by the time you were approaching forty, he thought. It was completely exhausting. Also, in his case, much of his history didn’t seem very promising.
After the second drink, Erica looked at her watch.
‘You have to go?’ he asked her.
‘I do, sadly.’
‘Can I walk you to your car?’ Adam asked.
‘We can walk a little way before I call an Uber,’ she said.
Adam paid the bill and they set off down Hollywood Boulevard, strolling close to one another.
‘What were you really do
ing in Cambodia?’ he asked her.
‘I worked in a hospital there for a year.’
‘That must have been quite an experience.’
‘It was wonderful, largely.’
‘I love the way you speak,’ he told her. ‘For an American.’
‘Words, or accent?’
‘Both,’ he said.
‘Ha. You can take the girl out of the South.’
‘So,’ Adam asked her. ‘Did I qualify for the second date?’
‘Ah yes, the hiking date to Strawberry Peak?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘How could I say no?’
Adam took her hand and they sauntered, a warm glow spreading in him from the margaritas, the rescued date and, he thought, probably the radioactive catfish burning a hole in his stomach lining.
After a moment, Erica took her hand back and tapped at her phone to order the car.
A shuffling black bum with a beanie hat and short grey beard approached them.
‘Hey, man,’ he said to Adam. ‘Spare a little change?’
‘Sorry,’ Adam said.
‘Are you a racist, man?’ the bum asked as they passed him.
Adam laughed, outraged. ‘What?’ he said.
The bum, who’d paused behind them, glanced down at Erica’s behind.
‘Man,’ he said. ‘You with a white chick, but she got booty like a black chick, so you can’t be all bad.’
Erica looked up at Adam, mouth wide with shock.
A Prius pulled up a little way ahead. ‘Erica?’ someone called from inside.
Erica watched the bum wander off.
‘Thanks a lot, buddy,’ she called after him. ‘You really know how to make a girl’s night.’ Her face had stiffened with anger.
‘Ignore him,’ Adam said. ‘He’s just pissed off.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘But that’s not really a good reason for making comments about my ass.’
She looked at Adam, her blue eyes blazing. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘It’s fine.’ He couldn’t help smiling at her.
‘It’s not funny,’ she said.
‘That’s not why I’m smiling.’
‘Erica?’ the voice in the car said again.
She sighed, the tension going out of her shoulders, and kissed Adam quickly on the cheek. ‘I guess this is me,’ she said.
‘When can I see you?’ Adam called after her.
The Edge Page 11