Haute Cuisine

Expect nothing from a hand. Inspiration from Bill and Iggy. Duh, and of course, BG.

“You motherfuckin’ sonufabitch!” Slap! Her hand drew back for another shot, but quicker than a hiccup, I grabbed her wrist.

“I know the goodlordJesusChrist talked about turnin’ the other cheek, but I don’t think he meant just so’s you could slap it, too.”

"Lemmegoyoumutherfuckinsonufabitch!"

Guess she’s got me pegged, huh? How you gonna talk your way outta this one, son?

My evening was quickly going downhill. The plan had been laid in place for weeks; a romantic dinner with real cloth napkins, one of those places where you sit down before you even order your food, and they bring it to you right there at the table, you don’t have to carry a tray or nothin’. Se we got there, I picked her up at the mobile home park right at quarter of seven like I promised, and I didn’t even honk the horn while I waited for her to drag her happy ass out the front door to go eat. I even rolled down the window to smoke as we cruised on to the restaurant.

We got there right on time, and the ol’ boy in the funny coat took my keys and looked a little confused when I told him “Now the clutch sticks a little bit, so just pump it once or twicet ‘fore you go jammin’ ‘er down in gear.” I hate it when folks can’t understand plain English. So we let the little fruity guy up front fart around for a few minutes pretending to have lost my reservation, when I figured out what he really wanted. So I crossed his palm with my good buddy, Abe Lincoln, and he found our table right damn quick enough.

Just like I had told that little poofy fella on the phone, they put us right there at their best and most private table, right besides the kitchen, so our food’d be sure to be good n’ hot when they brung it out to us.

“Here you go, honey.”

“What’s this, Earl?”

“It’s a flower, Lucille.”

“Well I know it’s a flower, Earl, but you ain’t never give me no flower before. What’s wrong? Is somebody dead? Did they cancel your parole? Did Earl Jr. get busted again?”

“No honey, nothin’s wrong. Ain’t nobody dead, Earl Jr. know enough not to get caught no more, and I finished up with my parole three weeks ago. This is our night, just you and me, to celebrate a new beginning.”

“A new beginning? What the hell are you talking about? Did you git fired? Are we moving? What you mean, a new beginning?”

“Now Lucille, ain’t nothin’ wrong, honey. I just thought we could have a nice dinner and I could tell you some shit I been thinkin’ about ever since my last meetin’ with that parole officer.” This was about to get good, I had her just about right where I wanted her.

“Well, go on then.”

“Alright. I wrote it down so’s I wouldn’t leave nothin’ out.” I took the paper outta my pocket.

“That’s a damn Kenny Rogers’ Chicken bag! What the hell are you doing pulling a Kenny Rogers’ bag outta your pocket in the middle of this fancy-ass restaurant?!?”

“Shut up, woman, and lemme read this to ya. It’s important, and if I don’t get it all out at once, I won’t never say this shit.”

“Alright, I’m listening.”

I commenced to reading. “Lucille, you know I ain’t never been what anybody could say was a good provider. I mean, I done okay there for a little while, but then the feds got wind and I got busted and sent upstate, and since I got back I ain’t been able to do nothing’ but be a grease monkey down at old man Regin’s garage. But even though I ain’t never been able to be rich, nor buy you nice things like I want to, you still stuck by me, through my first three years in the pen, through both parole hearings, and all through my hard times since I got out. And I do sure appreciate it.”

“You oughta.”

“You gone let me finish?”

“Go on.”

“Now I know I done some things I shouldn’t a done, like calling your mama a fat old busybody cuntrag.”

“GASP” It was that damn ol’ fruity waiter again.

“Just get me a PBR and her a sloe gin fizz and leave us alone for another coupla minutes.”

“Yes, um, sir.”

“Alright, where was I? Oh yeah, cuntrag. Okay. And I never shoulda sold your TV for a bag a weed, but I said I was sorry and I even got you a new one, color this time. And I just wanted this night to be perfect, and I just wanted to say, that even though I know it was wrong of me to bang your cousin Sheryl under the grease rack that night a month ago, butt it showed me…”

“WHAT?!?”

“huh?”

“Youdidwhatwithwhowhereandwhenmotherfucker?”

“Well, I was kinda hoping that you’d let me finish…”

“You just did! You motherfuckin’ sonufabitch!” Slap! Her hand drew back for another shot, but quicker than a hiccup, I grabbed her wrist.

“I know the goodlordJesusChrist talked about turnin’ the other cheek, but I don’t think he meant just so’s you could slap it, too.”

Guess she’s got me pegged, huh? How you gonna talk your way outta this one, son?

“Now Lucille, just let me finish…” but like she said, I was finished. I was talking’ to nothing’ but her empty chair while she ran out the front of that restaurant like a hound dog done stepped in a fire ant hill.

“but it showed me that you’re the only woman I’ve ever really loved, and I brung you here tonight to ask you to be my wife.” I finished, talking to the empty chair. I took the box from Will’s Jewelry outta my pocket, opened it up, looked at that big rock I just put the down payment on yesterday, closed it, set it down on that table in that poofy-ass little restaurant, and walked out. Alone.

“Then I come in here to drink a little whiskey, play some cards, and forget about all the bad shit that done happened to me today and that I done in my life. Then you, you sorry little Swayze-lookin’ midget. You had to go and draw a full fuckin’ house against me playin’ deuce-fuckin-seven and get me so riled up I hadda put a bullet right between your eyes.”

Now how the hell am I gonna explain that one to Lucille? And she thought banging her sister under the grease rack was bad, now I had to go and shoot myself a poker-playing midget. Heh. He never expected that from that hand.