Page 41 of Don't Bet On It
“Ice cream,” she replied, not missing a beat.
I opened my mouth to argue, but she had a point. “Well … wait.” I shook my head. “There’s cheesecake ice cream.” I cast her a triumphant look. “Ha!”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not real cheese.”
“Um, the word cheese is right in the name.”
Agitation had her nose wrinkling, which only served to make her more adorable. Damn her. I didn’t want her to be adorable. “Chili is better on fries.”
I happened to adore chili on fries—it really was a good combination—but agitating Tallulah was more important than ceding that point. I would go without chili on my fries for the rest of my life if it meant winning this argument.
“Sorry. Cheese and fries are like ham and scalloped potatoes. You can’t have one without the other.”
“Oh, really, Grandma?” she shot back. “Scalloped potatoes?”
“You can’t tell me that you don’t like scalloped potatoes. That’s un-American.”
She wasn’t buying it. “If you say so.” She took off with her drinks and didn’t come back for thirty minutes.
“Do you know what cheese isn’t good on?” she asked.
I glanced over my shoulder at her, surprised she’d managed to sneak up on me. Her perfume, which had an underlying base of cloves, usually warned me that she was incoming. Apparently, she’d forgotten to put on her perfume today. I hated to admit I missed it. “There’s nothing that cheese isn’t good on,” I replied.
Thankfully, Arthur had taken a break to stretch his legs and hit the bathroom, so the table was empty and he wouldn’t be subjected to the most inane conversation ever. I didn’t expect him back for at least another ten minutes.
“It’s gross on soup,” she replied.
“I take it you’ve never had a good French onion soup.” I looked at her through pitying eyes. “That’s too bad. The French onion soup at the bistro on the promenade is perfect.” I offered up a chef’s kiss to prove it.
“Is that why you’re currently lacking in the love department?” she asked. “It’s all the French onion soup you eat, isn’t it? Dude, let go of the cheese and embrace a woman. It will do you some good.”
The comment, which was no worse than the other comments we’d lobbed at one another over the course of the past month, grated for some reason. “Like you should talk. When was the last time you even had sex?” The question was out before I could reflect on the intelligence associated with uttering it.
That question right there could slide over into sexual harassment territory. Not only was I notthatperson, but it also wasn’t fair to Tallulah. She should not have to put up with that. I’d seen her swallow her tongue more than once with the entitled guests when it came to similar sentiments. I would not be the source of further strife in that department.
Before I could apologize, however, Tallulah burst out laughing.
“I bet I’ve had sex more recently than you,” she challenged.
“Really? Because I read in your diary you were worried about the cobwebs developing down there.”
She turned haughty. “You’ll never find out.”
“Good. I’m afraid of spiders.”
And off she went again.
I spent my afternoon with Arthur, who was a good tipper but quiet. Even though I was loath to admit it, I missed having somebody to talk to. Arthur preferred absolute silence.
On the other side of the lounge, Tallulah had made friends with two older women. They were betting on horse races. I wasn’t an expert, but from their whooping and hollering, I had to imagine they were winning.
“How do they feel about cheese on fries?” I asked Tallulah as she passed behind me to get more drinks. This shift was half over, but it felt as if it was dragging. She was the only one paying me any attention, and I felt suddenly desperate to keep the banter going.
Why was that?
I was bored, I told myself. Arthur was so quiet that I would take any form of conversation. It had nothing to do with who I was bantering with. I didn’t even like Tallulah. In fact, I hated her.
Except I didn’t hate her. Not even a little. I found her refreshing and not because of the underlying sexual tension in the way we communicated. No, it was because of her outlook on life.
