He looked at his watch, again. Dex was now ten minutes late. Once again he turned to scan the restaurant's tables that were behind him in case Dex had somehow missed him on arrival and sat himself elsewhere. Again, there was no sign of him. Why would there be? Dave was strategically seated at a table that gave him a view of most of the restaurant, including the entrance, and was by a window so he could observe sidewalk traffic coming and going. The restaurant was fairly busy, with a hubbub and clink of dining patrons and hustling waiters, but no Dex.
Dave's eyes returned to the small table before him, its crisp white linens contrasting with the neatly arranged silverware, one glass of ice water, fresh flowers, a candle (unlit), and Dave's hands. A triangle of noonday sunshine decorated part of the table, narrowing to an angle on Dave's end, touching one finger. He shifted his hand into the shade. Unsure of how to hold his hands before him within the open whiteness of the empty place setting, he drummed a couple of fingers and then quickly stopped (it annoyed him), then touched his fingers together thoughtfully for only an instant (that annoyed him too) before letting his hands fall limply to his lap like lovers plunging off a cliff, forsaken.
He was positive he had told Dex to meet at noon. "At NOON," me mumbled, repeating that part of the telephone conversation they had the evening before, where he had purposely emphasized the word "NOON" several times at the conclusion of their arrangements, based on past disappointments. "Yes, yes, at noon, for sure," he recollected Dex's chuckling reply. Noon. For sure. And yet, here it was, again, past noon. No Dex.
It occurred to him then that perhaps he should also have emphasized the location. Surely he had specified Cora's, but he had not made a point of repeating it with emphasis the way he had pushed the meeting time. After all, Dex had been late on numerous occasions and had not shown up on several ("Yeah, I couldn't make it," was the extent of the explanation those times), but had only gotten the location wrong once of the many times they had met. Surely he had said Cora's at least twice in their conversation last night. Surely. No, the location wasn't the problem, this was just Dex being Dex, he ruminated glumly.
Did Dex even own a watch? Absolutely, he changed designs regularly and each time would proudly show it off to Dave when they met: "Check out the new watch! It's purple!" or some such observation. Watches were about style for Dex, not function, Dave growled to himself. About the colors or logos or wristband features or Mickey's arms or fun chimes, always analog, never digital. Did he even know how to set the time on these watches, much less read what the big hand and little hand said, much less attune some accuracy from said reading, or even be importuned of the importance of it to other people? Never, he grumbled, not in The Land Of Dex.
He was snapped out of his reverie by a clear pitcher appearing in his face attached to a waiter who, with some cynical sympathy (Dave was sure), offered, "More water, sir?" Dave saw the glass was in his hand (had he sipped it?) and put it on the table while sputtering (there was water in his mouth!) "Please." He instantly regretted this terse reply, accompanied as it was with a bang of glass meeting table, a tinkle of shaken cutlery, the cold wet shock of remaining water splashing on his hand, and finally the immediate silence that always briefly follows such cacophony.
The waiter curtly filled the glass and seemed to run from Dave's table. Dave's eyes followed the waiter and then scanned the room again, turning again, looking to the entrance, outside, scanning the room, no Dex. His eyes settled back on his own table. No Dex. 12:14pm. Absolutely. He had checked his watch against the news radio announcer's time that very morning. Fourteen minutes late. How long should he wait? Should he order lunch? An appetizer? He didn't even want an appetizer, wasn't even that hungry for lunch, and now Dex was going to cause him to spend an extra twelve dollars for food he didn't want!
Dex wasn't there, but Dave glared at the spot where Dex would be. "Why are you always late?" he shouted silently with his glare, "Why can't you be on time for once? Do you even know what time it is? Are you aware that other people try to plan their time in advance? Do you even know what you'll be doing two hours from now, let alone any other level of planning? How do you even manage to survive with your level of organization? How do you feed yourself? How can you work? Why do I even waste my time with you!" This last silent glaring statement was with exasperation, thrown out as to a henpecked spouse or a teenager beyond curfew, without expecting a reply from the empty chair across the table.
Why did he bother with Dex? Could they be any more opposite in style, priorities, capabilities? What was it about knowing someone well in college that somehow sentenced you to a lifetime of arranging "getting together" and "catching up?" It was as though his crime for youthful fraternity was punished by permanently becoming a parole officer to former friends.
Still, they had had some good times together, and even these days he actually enjoyed Dex's company when they eventually met. Dex wasn't always late; several times he must have arrived equivalently early, for Dave had appeared exactly at the appointed time to discover a drink and half-eaten appetizer in front of his friend who was boisterously engaged in conversation with two of the nearby tables. When Dex invariably did arrive late, he would never give excuses or explanations, he would just act as though he was delighted to see Dave and had arrived at the exactly right time for that. The one time Dave had called him on his lateness Dex had not apologized but had demonstrated such a sincere concern for Dave's stress level that the conversation had slid away into other topics. It hadn't been until the next day that Dave had realized his rant had gone unanswered and he had railed about it again, but futilely since Dex was gone again for another month or so.
Dave tried to rehearse his opening lines to Dex that would relieve his frustration and somehow atone for past dissatisfactions. "Late again!" he would bark, with a penetrating glare, "why do I waste my time with you?!" And Dex would explain the source of today's lateness, explain that such things seemed to happen to him a lot, realize that it was himself and not circumstance to blame, resolve to acquire a useful digital watch and live by it, and Dave would nod sagely and bask in the appreciation that his friend would show for this valuable lesson.
"Humph," Dave grumped out loud, loud enough to interrupt himself, then glancing around to see if anyone had heard, then expanding his scan to complete the room again. No Dex. Dex would not come to any such understanding. Dex would laugh it off, even throw it back in his face, blame Dave for being stressed, for being a nitpicker, for not appreciating that Dex had come at all, had graced Dave with his presence yet again, so that Dave might see the error of his own ways and finally learn to relax and enjoy life for once, maybe even throw away his digital watch like that guy at the start of "Easy Rider."
"Humph." Not likely. He refocused his glare with additional energy and frustration, not on the empty chair but on the table's flowers closer to him, seeing not fresh hydrangea but a clutch of dead and withered trees, tinder dry, ready to explode into flames from the heat of the desert sun beating down upon them.
"DAVE!" roared a thunderbolt, the sound actually jerking Dave backwards in his chair as he snapped his mind back into the restaurant. Dex was plowing past a nearby table towards him and clapped his right hand into Dave's, whose hands had flown up off his lap to catch his balance and keep from toppling backwards on his chair. "Man, it's good to see you!" shouted Dex as he reeled Dave and his hand in and threw his other arm around Dave in a back-pounding bear hug. "It's been too long this time! Too long! Man, this is great! And you look terrific?" Dex's boisterous greeting had rose even higher at the last, seeming to demand an explanation for looking as he did.
Dave stuttered briefly, his planned attack in mental shards on the floor, but recovered with "Well, you know, um," followed by the graceful yet assertive "So where’ve you been?" which was immediately volleyed by a toss of Dex's head and roll of the eyes and a somewhat relieved retort of "Gad, you're right Dave, I don't know how I let things waste my time and get in the way of the more important things in life, like this, Man, like you! Thank God we're here; I don't know what I'd do without this. So what have you been doing with yourself?"
Waste my time. Dex had stolen Dave's phrase and had shot it at him, leaving a big empty hole in his chest like the hole that appears on an amateur gunfighter, who is surprised at the speed and agility of the master shooter while marveling at the clean opening and his own impending demise. With his dying breath he croaked out an answer, "Getting ready to order a drink?"
With a smile and another head toss, this time showing the gratitude of a catcher receiving a particularly excellent pitch, Dex sang "That's what I like to hear! Man, I need something festive, a big colorful rum punch or something, with one of those awesome little umbrellas, something that says the party has begun!"
Still alive, still having some spirit in him, Dave leaned forward and began, "Little umbrellas? There was a time for me when I was excited by them, even collected them off of my parent's drinks at parties, saved them and played with them until the paper disintegrated in my hands. Then I reached a point in life where I had enough money to buy a bag at the party store, and I'd give them to all my friends at school the next day. Now I can afford bushels of them and they appear to me as just so much cheap crap lining the walls of hokey gift shops along with other gaudy detritus. They should rename those stores to 'Get This Crap Out Of My House.' And now you show up and trump me once higher by acting all happy to see the umbrellas again. What the heck is with that?"
For a moment Dex looked at him without saying anything, but Dave could see that Dex's eyes were animated and wide with delight, soaking up Dave's soliloquy. Then Dex seemed to be thrown back in his chair with hoots of laughter pluming out of his open mouth. "Gad, you're amazing! How do you come up with that stuff?! You must have been sitting here all morning, practicing and waiting for the right moment to hit me with it! Really, did you?" Dex laughed some more.
"Naw," Dave admitted, finally defeated, "I just thought of it now. Just now when you sat down in front of me."
"Yeah," Dex chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes, "we have that effect on each other. That's why I enjoy these lunches so much. Wouldn't miss one for the world!"
"Not for the world," Dave smirked.