"Never?" Leta repeated. She could hardly believe what she
heard.
“Never,” the man said.
“How did that happen?” she pushed. By this point in the conversation, she had lost all her inhibitions and nearly all of her sense of decorum. Her curiosity was piqued, and the gentleman seemed engaging enough. Besides, she was just making conversation after a late lunch.
She had spent the morning Christmas shopping with her daughter Vivian. Instead of dining together, Vivian had lunch and afternoon plans with her husband Ed, leaving Leta on her own in downtown Toledo. She had two options, either she could grab a quick lunch at the Woolworth’s counter or she could have a couple of drinks at Lucky’s saloon. She had arranged for her brother Aaron to pick her up in his automobile and still had nearly two hours until their pre-arranged time. It was a chilly December day and Leta was hungry, so she chose the soup, toast and endless coffee at the Woolworth’s. As it was a rather late lunch, the activity at the counter was quickly diminishing. There were two spaces available, one between a corpulent man and a woman with two fidgeting small children, and the other at the end. Leta chose the seat at the end of the counter, not because she minded the children or sitting beside a larger gentleman, but because from there she could oversee the rest of the counter. If she had gone to Lucky’s, she would have placed herself more in the middle of the customers for greater social opportunities. Perhaps, she thought as she sat down, she wasn’t very interested in conversation.
There were two seats after the counter turned, and one was occupied by a fellow who was deeply immersed in his newspaper. Leta did not see his face, but from the back, she presumed he was near her age—42, for his hair was definitely thinning. The waitress had recently brought him a piece of apple pie, which sat untouched for the moment. If he noticed that she sat down beside him, he never indicated; he shifted slightly on his stool and sighed, but Leta suspected this was more a reaction to something he had just read than her presence. She ordered her soup and toast and asked for coffee.
When her coffee arrived a few minutes later, she took off her gloves and laid them on her purse, which she had placed on the counter between herself and the man. Again, he failed to register her presence, merely turned the page and continued reading. A moment later, one hand carefully released the paper and wandered around the counter until it found a water glass. He took a sip.
Leta quickly grew tired of watching the diminishing number of people at the counter and the two waitresses bustling behind it to serve them. By the time her soup arrived, she was wishing she had chosen Lucky’s. At least there the clientele was sociable.
The soup was extremely hot, so she needed to wait a few minutes before eating. The man sitting next to her had finished one section of the newspaper and unknowingly placed it on her purse. She looked at him. He was still engrossed in his reading, but he had started on his pie—one bite, maybe two if he took small ones.
“May I?” she inquired.
“Hm?” the man said, uncertain if she was speaking to him.
“May I look at your newspaper?” she repeated. “If you’re finished.
He turned aside one half of what he was reading, just enough to look at her. She got a quick look at his blue eyes beneath heavy, graying eyebrows and eyeglasses.
“Help yourself,” he said.
“Thank you.” She reached for the newspaper, and looked at him again, but he had already turned back to his own reading. Leta felt a little disappointment. After all, the man could have at least given her more than a cursory glance. She carefully folded the newspaper, so she could eat her soup, look around, and read at the same time.
“You’re welcome,” the man said a few moments later.
To be continued.
“Never,” the man said.
“How did that happen?” she pushed. By this point in the conversation, she had lost all her inhibitions and nearly all of her sense of decorum. Her curiosity was piqued, and the gentleman seemed engaging enough. Besides, she was just making conversation after a late lunch.
She had spent the morning Christmas shopping with her daughter Vivian. Instead of dining together, Vivian had lunch and afternoon plans with her husband Ed, leaving Leta on her own in downtown Toledo. She had two options, either she could grab a quick lunch at the Woolworth’s counter or she could have a couple of drinks at Lucky’s saloon. She had arranged for her brother Aaron to pick her up in his automobile and still had nearly two hours until their pre-arranged time. It was a chilly December day and Leta was hungry, so she chose the soup, toast and endless coffee at the Woolworth’s. As it was a rather late lunch, the activity at the counter was quickly diminishing. There were two spaces available, one between a corpulent man and a woman with two fidgeting small children, and the other at the end. Leta chose the seat at the end of the counter, not because she minded the children or sitting beside a larger gentleman, but because from there she could oversee the rest of the counter. If she had gone to Lucky’s, she would have placed herself more in the middle of the customers for greater social opportunities. Perhaps, she thought as she sat down, she wasn’t very interested in conversation.
There were two seats after the counter turned, and one was occupied by a fellow who was deeply immersed in his newspaper. Leta did not see his face, but from the back, she presumed he was near her age—42, for his hair was definitely thinning. The waitress had recently brought him a piece of apple pie, which sat untouched for the moment. If he noticed that she sat down beside him, he never indicated; he shifted slightly on his stool and sighed, but Leta suspected this was more a reaction to something he had just read than her presence. She ordered her soup and toast and asked for coffee.
When her coffee arrived a few minutes later, she took off her gloves and laid them on her purse, which she had placed on the counter between herself and the man. Again, he failed to register her presence, merely turned the page and continued reading. A moment later, one hand carefully released the paper and wandered around the counter until it found a water glass. He took a sip.
Leta quickly grew tired of watching the diminishing number of people at the counter and the two waitresses bustling behind it to serve them. By the time her soup arrived, she was wishing she had chosen Lucky’s. At least there the clientele was sociable.
The soup was extremely hot, so she needed to wait a few minutes before eating. The man sitting next to her had finished one section of the newspaper and unknowingly placed it on her purse. She looked at him. He was still engrossed in his reading, but he had started on his pie—one bite, maybe two if he took small ones.
“May I?” she inquired.
“Hm?” the man said, uncertain if she was speaking to him.
“May I look at your newspaper?” she repeated. “If you’re finished.
He turned aside one half of what he was reading, just enough to look at her. She got a quick look at his blue eyes beneath heavy, graying eyebrows and eyeglasses.
“Help yourself,” he said.
“Thank you.” She reached for the newspaper, and looked at him again, but he had already turned back to his own reading. Leta felt a little disappointment. After all, the man could have at least given her more than a cursory glance. She carefully folded the newspaper, so she could eat her soup, look around, and read at the same time.
“You’re welcome,” the man said a few moments later.
To be continued.
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