Breakfast at Garfunkle’s

(restaurant - Heathrow)

 

 

Scene 1

blond body-perfect She

wears corporate black

casually draped label scarf

her highlight-streaked

tresses - hair to flick

and display interest

mobile-phone laugh

every second pause

pouted poised use of

office eyes and mouth

gaze-long sincerity

that familiar dance

with steps well known

moist lips tongue-wetted

backwards and forwards

as she speaks intensely

leaning on elbows

she slides amphibiously

table-hovering forward

(She’s good at this)

focus – focus - focus

 

Scene 2

His suit speaks volumes

pure wool power black coat draped

hair distinctively mottled silver

cut just right on the neck

wears no-frame glasses

giving an unmistakable

air of knowledge His

quiet voice and intensity

reveals someone very

comfortable reaching goals

 

He orders

She contributes

 

Soliloquy

 

this girl will get what She wants

but what does she want

don’t think it is Him

for the long term

uninformed He

is Step One

around the middle

of the ladder I’d say

(croissant comes

coffee poured

‘My – that’s a big one!’

I almost burst out laughing

at the obviousness of it all…

 

Scene 3

Moment of judgement

He reaches over

jacket pocket

pulls out the ubiquitous

square box

covered with simple

but stylish green paper

(politically good colour)

matching green card

attached

 

fingers fly-feel

size and shape not

immediately accepted

face re-clothed

‘Oh’ blush, blush,

‘…you shouldn’t have…’

decide hungry

hands grasp

rip the paper

‘Hmmmmmmm’

frown wins again

betrays

She sees white

cardboard cover (still)

jeweller’s box – gauche!

 

She furiously manipulates

hands examining

giving time fractions

disapproving/approving

milking the moment

using all weapons

deep questioning look

tentative smile

opens the offering

breath explains

softly gasps

with cued drama

held high like

an Academy Award

the diamonds sparkle

in the early morning

itinerant restaurant

electrical down-lights

 

Scene 4

‘Hmmmmm, this is what

they are wearing nowadays…’

She puts it on – ‘it fits’

leave it there a beat

let him drink the vision

perfect arm held

by His perfect jewels

pat twice (enough)

show eyes a caress

take it off - put it back

in the box on the table

dismissed

 

‘Cut!’ called

lurking waitress

interrupts this act of

Cleaning Agent (Soapy) play…

 

Scene 5

She insists

on paying for the meal

making her point

pushing her notes

into bored staff hands

(seen the show before)

scrabbling for change

 

they are alone again

She continues to flirt

now with a brilliant edge

knows She’s got Him

but can She still use Him

He obviously

didn’t give her what

She expected… this time

but She leans over

to give Him a quick

‘Thank You’ non-sexy kiss

desperate He recognizes

makes a gluttonous meal

 

She leans back

mentally puts her hands

behind her head

He continues to

hold fast her hand

trying rubbing

closed fingers

possessed by His hand

 

She slides her glance

down and away-side

reaches back

to put her arm

 

through coat sleeve

body to follow

time to go

another meal

something tastier

 

He didn’t want this

moment to happen.

He is now no longer

strong corporate giant

but vine plucking

lover wants more

suddenly realizes

whatever was expected

wasn’t delivered

He stuffed up – failed

She walks out of his life

He will re-grow his hard shell

and make a mental note

not to bend again

 

Music Up

‘Hello Darkness…'

...the lyrics  of 'The Sounds of Silence'

by Simon & Garfunkle sing softly in my head...

 

Epilogue

 

at the next table

our waiter regrets

‘No pancakes today

– no facilities.’

croissants instead?

scones? ‘ No, sorry,

even toast couldn’t

– the renovations…

no coffee machine either

no donut machine…’

 

Oh tragedy!

 

I look at black and white

photos of war planes

50’s & 60’s stuff on the
shelves

the ‘Unattended Luggage…’ sign

all testament to the vacuum of
itinerants.

 

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003