Meeting Mr Wainscott

13: Ian

   Ian was glad they had actually gotten their food before being interrupted.

The lighting was low, the patrons spoke in hushed voices, and there wasn't a waiter bothering them every five minutes; It calmed his horrid, rushing mind.

And his date, well she was perfect. Friday seemed comfortable, her usual tight-lined mouth fell into a simple smile as she gazed up at him, engrossed in their meagre conversation. She replied back in a languid way, her syllables stretched out, tone soft and low. He felt a warmth inside him knowing she was comfortable, knowing she was safe, He couldn't help but compare her to his ex. A nasty piece of work, constantly badgering him over mundane things. When she found out Mirabella, a – God forbid – girl, was one of his closest friends, she had lost her shit (for lack of a classier word). He had tried telling her she wouldn't ever be interested in him for many reasons, she still decided that Mirabella would be a target for unwarranted rudeness. When he had told her (three weeks in advance mind you and they'd only known each other for four weeks at this point) that he wouldn't be able to come on one of her stupid family vacations she took with her boiling-over-crackpot of a father, haughty mother, and lunatic brother, she had locked him out his penthouse and camped out there for an entire day before he got pissed off and called the police on her. Friday had to be her polar opposite. What Ian thought when he begrudgingly accepted Tatiana's advances was beyond him, she just wouldn't stop.

Hell, not too long ago she had squawked at Friday, calling her a whore. Susan told her Friday's life story, didn't she? Well, dear Susie had told Ian some things too. Like how when Ian had been away on a press tour back when he was a boxer, she'd find 'comfort' in the arms of her college classmates.

Ian then remembered how he slapped her right in front of Friday too, and he suddenly felt light-headed.

He hadn't thought about it at all. Not even in the moment did he think about it. He was strong, it had to have hurt. What man hits a lady?! No matter what they did, oh, Friday must've thought he was some sort of maniac. Maybe the only reason she accepted his advances was because she was scared of him... that had to be it. She must've thought him some brute, a violent psychopath!

Well, you are one, a grating voice that sounded much like his older sister rang in his mind.

"Shut up," he mumbled quietly.

"What was that?" Friday asked, tilting her head to the side.

Ian felt his face flare up in heat and he shook his head. "No, no, nothing, my apologies."

Their waiter sidled up to them, placing down plates without a word before slinking off. Ian tried to stop a scowl from forming as he watched the man walk off. The man, Monsieur Jean something or other, had a grudge against Ian. One the man has held for a long time, considering he's known Ian since Ian's rougher days. Ones where his hair was black, his hands were always bandaged, and he was openly crass and loud. The waiter knew that, relatively, he couldn't touch Ian, but he enjoyed pecking at his sanity once in a while.

It seemed today's 'peck' was almost calling him by his full name. That B almost formed a Belcredi and Ian twitched at the thought of it being spoken out loud for Friday to hear. What she would find if she happened to do a quick search on the internet left him sweating.

They made it through half of their meal before being interrupted. That forty-five minutes seemed like both an eternity and a millisecond had rushed past, just wallowing in each other's presence as though nothing else existed.

Then his phone rang.

Ian glanced down at it, the irritating noise making his brain jolt and go numb. His fingers immediately moved to turn his phone on silent but then the screen lit up, and the word 'Father' displayed boldly. Ian raised an eyebrow, his father.