"How old are you, Maille?" he asked conversationally, one elbow propped on the table, a hand waving negligently in the air, twirling the plume on his hat.

"Twenty." She replied without thinking, she was too stunned at his behavior. He'd probably ordered a seven-course meal.

"Ahhh, a lovely age. One of discovery. I liked twenty."

"Do I know you from somewhere?" she finally asked.

There was silence until she glanced up and met those dark liquid eyes again, and he pursed his lips expressively as if deciding whether or not to answer her.

"The burning question ..." he murmured now fingering the tips of his pointed mustache and the drooping ends of the beaded goatee. His lips hidden in the thin hair seemed too full for his face. At this close range, Maille found herself captivated by the pores on his ruddy cheeks. His skin wasn't smooth, but darker than hers, as if he'd seen much exposure to the sun. He was exotic looking, that was for sure, hollows and angles and out of symmetry.

"I doubt you know me. You don't frequent my favorite haunts, not likely. And you're younger than me, by more than five years. And although you may have seen my movies, I rather doubt it, they don't seem your type."

"Movies? What is your type?"

He continued to rumble away, so low she had to lean close to hear him, while his eyes now roved unconcernedly over the room. "I suppose I should get this over with ..." He ended his muttering, half of which she had been unable to make sense of, and was too polite to say so.

"Get what over with?"

"Identity. Recognition. End of anonymity." He now fixed her with a baleful glare from his closest eye, and Maille felt a bubble of laughter float to the surface. He seemed so funny, so disgruntled at having to tell her his name. Hadn't she gone out with him? Hadn't she changed into the dress he'd asked her to? The least he could do was tell her his name.

"Is it that big a deal? You're making it worse with all the suspense. I probably wouldn't have cared, but you've made it such an issue." She took a sip of her water as if she really didn't care what his name was one way or the other even though they both knew that she was desperately trying to place him, and without a name, she couldn't be sure where she knew him from, and yes, it did bother her.

"Then don't care." He whispered in her ear. "I'm safe, I'm not interested in you that way." He cleared his throat to emphasize his point, and then leaned forward on folded arms, twirling the lace on her short sleeve. He bent his head toward her chin and his eyes stayed glued to her sleeve. "You heard my name at the gate, let that suffice."

Maille narrowed her eyes, feeling the measure of his words wash over her as he reiterated that she was safe. With a gay guy? Safe? Well, yes, in that way, she supposed, she really was fairly safe and the feeling of boy/girl tension she'd been experiencing all evening left her with calming relief.

"You see." He then dropped her sleeve and leaned forward once again, as if shielding her from prying eyes, which in fact she was about to find out was exactly what he was doing. "The dark haired rainbow vacuum salesman and his office type date, not his wife, whom he left home with the kiddies, watched you walk in with unmarked appreciation."

"I'm dressed in blue satin period costume with a pirate on my arm!" she nodded in exasperation. "Anyway, don't label people you don't know."

"You lecture me on labeling, when you had a distinct homophobic reaction to my coming out to you? I am affronted."

He inclined his head to a place just to their right at a table in the center of the room where a couple with a baby was holding bands while they snacked on their appetizers. "His eyes stray to your lovely form every so often."

Maille glanced at the guy in question and sure enough, he met her eyes and raised one eyebrow.

She quickly turned her face away and bent back to Mr. Stevak's. "Maybe he's looking at you."

Her pirate glanced back under his armpit, and perused the young man in question. "Cute." He whispered at her, "But taken, eh?"

"Not if he's looking, maybe he's just babysitting, maybe she's his sister." Maille pressed the issue dexterously, having a bit of fun now that she understood the game. He gave one more under the arm glance and then shook his head and sipped his water dismissively.

"What, not your type?" she grinned and he glanced at her lips before turning back to his water.

"When will my food be here? I'm famished, aren't you? I heard your stomach rumbling, yes?"

Mortified, Maille tried to remember if she'd heard any rumbling and figured she hadn't and he was just saying that. She pushed her long hair out of her face where it tended to slide now that it was free to do so.

Immediately, he took the offending wisps and coiled them expertly behind her ears securing them with a pin, she hadn't realized he'd placed in her hair. "Don't touch."

She reached up. "My hair? Don't touch my hair?" He acted like it was his hair, not hers.

"A work of art." He sat back so the seven-course meal he'd ordered could be placed on the table.

Maille retrieved a fork and taking a cue from her companion's suddenly ravished manners, began to take a bite off each available plate. She couldn't keep track of his hands as they flew over the food, cutting a bite here and there, reaching across her, grabbing a napkin, or a swill of water. And she was stunned the first time he held the fork for her to try a bite of his food.

"Um, delicious, try it, try it, try it!" he urged, and Maille felt obligated to open her mouth for him to place the small bite of steaming Mexican food on her tongue. His cupped hand under the fork then dabbed at her chin with the napkin. Then he was off to another culinary delight, exclaiming ravenously over the different dishes.

This continued throughout the meal until Mr. Stevak took her napkin from her lap and folded it on the table. Then quite as suddenly asked the waitress for the check. When it came, he examined it carefully, and then looked to her.

He showed her the bill--over two hundred dollars--and then smiled at her gently, that unpredictable sparkle in his eye.

"You did bring money, didn't you?"

******