Barley sat at a strident sky-blue table at a restaurant, in a time, at a place, and so on. He sat there for ten minutes, listening to the concern about imminent weather. The two glasses of ice water the server brought to him were gathering their puddles. He could hear the ice cracking and melting in the glasses. He saw his reflection swallowed in the limpid water. He was waiting for some one. It wasn't an inconvenience. He was happy to finally reach this point. He thought he would finally get some real communication under way. He wanted his partner to take his time. He had a moment of relish, basking in the experience novel and significant unto him alone.
He examined his property. He rifled through his satchel filled with note books and pens. Wonderful, he thought, I can write something down and and actually build upon it. He was making a stab at some real live reportage. At least it tickled him to think so and money wasn't even an issue. He looked through the door of the restaurant out into the misty, sopping cold trying to descry his partner, the one who was supposed to have arrived at seven thirty. Davis wasn't tardy, but Barley was anxious to meet him. He glanced at his phone. Time: 7:35 pm. The hour was on the wane, but it still didn't bother him as much as he thought it would.
He thought he would call the man's wife to be certain of his arrival for this antedate they'd taken some time to set up. As he put the phone to his ear in walked Davis reassuringly, nullifying the phone call, wiping his shoes off at the door. "Am I late," Davis asked courteously with an undertone of neutrality. He looked tired but poised. " Fashionably - and, nooo, it's no big deal- have a seat," Barley looked him up and down. Davis also had a satchel filled with notebooks and pens. Thus far the only certainty was they both had notebooks and pens. How wonderful, thought Barley.
"How're you" asked Barley cheerily.
"Oh, fine fine - yourself," the languid Davis threw his trappings into the booth and plopped down. "Ahhhhh."
The puddles of condensation were getting bigger around the two glasses. Davis reached over for some napkins. Barley mimicked him. They both wiped their respective areas. At first they didn't say anything. A bespectacled Davis took another napkin to wipe his lenses, tossed the crumbled paper to the side, and placed both hands on the table with his fingers flayed out. "Mhmmm," he said. Barley grunted back, "Mhmmmmm." Davis grabbed a menu. Barley sipped his water and looked over at another booth at the far end of the restaurant. He remembered a comedian friend who was in town to take his folks to the movies. Coffee, he called him. Coffee was formed from the first four letters of his name Kaufman. "What're you looking at," a slightly bemused Davis asked. "Ohhhh, I was just wondering if a friend was still here. He was sitting over there."
"Coffee."
"Yes, coffee. Waitress!"
"No, no, his name."
"Who?"
"Andy Kaufman."
"Oh, really, I'm his cousin."
"I mean Dustin Kaufman. I call him Coffee."
"Could o' fooled me," Davis grinned, "really, though, Andy Kaufman's my cousin."
"A proud cousinage, I hope."
"Ummm, yeeahhh, right."
The ebony server approached the table. Both men perused their menus. The prices were good and simple.
"You both ready to order?"
"Mhmmmm," went the programmed Davis, "I'll have the tunasalad sandwich on white bread, a banana split, medium, annnnnnd'' -
the server pardoned his prolonged correlative conjunction with, "and you want fries with that?"
"Yes! Thank you." He bouncily and merrily closed the menu and tucked it back in with its friends salt, pepper, sugar, sweetner, and napkin dispenser. It was Barley's turn to order. "I'll have the BLT" -
"It goes really great toasted" interjected Davis. Barley looked up at the server feeling a sudden wave of surliness suffuse his body, " I thought it comes toasted."
"Yes, yes it does," she relaxed him.
"I'll take that and some coffee," he flicked the menu away.
"Wheat or white?"
"Wheat, a good wholesome bread."
"I'll take coffee as well," said Davis staring with Barley at the ebony server sauntering back to the gettin' place.
The first segue was complete. Barley and Davis commensed to unzip their satchels, fetching their instrumentation. Davis opened his pad and took a pencil. His movements were concurrently lax and gentle. He proceeded to draw a knob and marked around the circumference low, medium, high. His caricature had a switch betwixt the knotches cleverly drawn in. "Okay, so I have a grandiose knob," his humility was quite conciliatory and bade Barley with nothing but a pat on the head and a handful of peanuts. Barley readied his pen, wondering which one to circle, depending on how the conversation would develop.
"I have a nerdy streak. Some times it makes me incomprehensible to the other person."
"Ohhhh, me too. No problem, " Barley was attempting to give back what he received and motioned to Davis a continuance. Davis propounded a topic convoluted with mathematical vines. Barley circled medium on the grandiose scale. However, Davis delved into some esoteric-whereto Barley didn't have the acumen for. He corrected himself and circled low on the grandiose scale. Davis suspired with a slight undertone of exasperation, but pushed forward resolutely changing the lanes of the discourse.
Davis was considerably older than Barley. The younger man was beginning to speak plaintively and humbly, conveying to Davis that the entire situation was new to him and refreshing. They went a little into what Barley did for his so called living. "I'm with the kitchen people."
"Eh? As a cook or a beggar," his joke did not amuse Barley.
"Beggar," the tone upon that word was flat, quick, and precise. The older man's countenance darkened over. He pursed his lips and furrowed a quizzical brow.
"Uh-um...hmmm. Who are these kitchen people, Barley?"
"I don't know. But we have to give a shit, right."
Fifteen minutes or thereabouts elapsed ere Davis saw the server debouch with their victuals in tow. He motioned her to speed up with two fingers, "miss, come come." They went back and forth and the server happily scurried to the table.
"Ma'am, what do you do?" The server was beginning to feel human.
"I go to school, work full time, and I have two children." She was proud to say this.
"Hmm, I see. Does any body care what's going on in this restaurant?"
"Nooo," she said. Her pride doubled with a quick intelligible rejoinder. Barley grimaced.
"Seeee, Barley." He diverted his attention back to the server as he was not yet finished convincing Barley.
"So nobody cares. Who does?"
"The GM," she was smiling.
"Any body else?"
"Nope."
"See, Barley!"
Barley surrendered. The last segue was complete.
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