Thursday, May 05, 2005

Old Devil Moon

I took Cecilia out again tonight. We agreed to meet at this Cajun restaurant in the East Village at nine. I promised not to be late this time.

I went home to get ready, but I couldn't find Thom Yorke anywhere. The only sign he had visited my apartment that day was the trail of Runts that ran from the couch to the fire escape. "Why aren't you here when I need you," I muttered.

I had trouble deciding what to wear and how to style my hair, and I ended up being twenty minutes late to the restaurant. Cecilia was smoking a cigarette out in front with an irritated look on her face.

"Do you always test your dates this way?" she quipped.

"Uh, yeah. I mean, no. I'm sorry."

We were seated at a booth along the wall. I tried making small talk, about work, but she looked bored. When our waiter came to take our order, I was relieved.

"Great, lets get some food," Cecilia said, with a similar look of relief. "What are your specials?"

Our waiter paused before replying: "Veggie Jambalaaaaaaaaaaya!"

My whole body tightened up in panic. Thom Yorke stood in front of our table. He was wearing torn acid wash jeans, a faded Dukes of Hazzard t-shirt, and aviator sunglasses. He had on a wig of long black dreadlocks. He looked like a hillbilly Rod Zombie.

I felt dizzy. How would I explain this to Cecilia? I had completely lied to her about being stalked by Thom Yorke.

Luckily, she seemed not to notice. "Mmmm, that sounds good," she said, "I'll have the jambalaya."

"Siiiiir?"

"Uh, give me the blackened fish."

"Big fiiiiiiish eat the liiiiiiitle one?" Thom asked.

"Uh, sure, the big one, the catfish special."

After Thom had disappeared into the kitchen, Cecilia burst into laughter. My face burnt with embarrassment. I was sure she had caught me in my lie.

"Wow," she said, "our waiter is crazy, huh?"

"What?"

"Our waiter. What's with that strange Creole falsetto? I love it, so much local color."

A busboy brought out our meal and we ate quietly. I kept scanning the back of the restaurant, looking anxiously for the dreadlocked Thom Yorke.

Cecilia sensed my nervousness. "Are you feeling alright, Paul? You seem distracted."

"Uh, its nothing."

Behind me, I heard an accordion break into an up tempo zydeco tune. I sighed. The last thing I needed tonight was a fucking accordion.

"Wow, Paul, look!" Cecilia exclaimed. "Our waiter is up on stage."

I spun around in my chair. Thom Yorke sat up on a little elevated platform, a cherry red accordion flapping back and forth between his hands. He began to sing.

"We having a dance on the ol' baaaaaaaaayoooooouuuu!"

People started clapping their hands. I turned to face Cecilia. She smiled and grabbed my hand.

"Lets dance!"

1 Comments:

Blogger Popoyt said...

Silly Boy

10:27 AM  

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