Grace Unchained

8: Sex In A Restaurant

Daniel removed their appetizer plates and crumbed the table. Grace looked out the window, finishing her drink as she watched the last of the sunlight blink out of the deep courtyard beyond their window. Marcus, too, seemed momentarily distracted, his own drink forgotten in front of him.

"I'm sorry," said a cultured voice. "We don't allow your kind in here." Grace whipped her head around in surprise, but Marcus only smiled lazily, his eyes still unfocused on the window.

"Straight men?" said Marcus, raising an eyebrow. The tall man who had approached them scoffed.

"Exonians," said the man, whose identity Grace had now guessed. He had auburn hair cropped short, thinning just a bit at his temples, though he was obviously no older than Marcus. A narrow face and a patrician nose spoke of breeding in an almost hyperbolic way—Grace had seen a lot of similar looking young men at Princeton's eating clubs. He wore a slim fitting dark suit, with an immaculate white shirt and a soft, voluptuous burgundy tie.

"We can't all have gone to Andover," said Marcus. He looked at Grace. "I guess we'll have to be leaving."

"Oh, the lady is more than welcome to stay."

Marcus looked at Grace sardonically. "Grace Cavanaugh, this is—"

"Prentice, I presume," finished Grace, offering him her hand.

"Prentice Sprayf," said Prentice, taking her hand politely and releasing it.

"That's an interesting last name," said Grace. "I'm not sure I've ever heard it before."

"Sprayf like strife," quipped Prentice, "spelled exactly the opposite of what you'd expect." He looked back at Marcus.

"I see someone has finally managed to coax you out of your country abode," he said. Then, turning back to Grace, "We've been open almost a year. I've been inviting him for at least twice that long."

"It's hardly the country," grumbled Marcus. "It's an hour north of the city. With traffic."

"Which might as well be Siberia," said Prentice. "We're considered quite outré already, you know, just for keeping out of New York."

"New York smells like piss," said Marcus. Grace giggled.

"With notes of hot dog and body odor," agreed Prentice. "Which bottle of wine can I get you?"

"The one you're least willing to part with."

"He's a charmer, isn't he?" Prentice said to Grace. "Normally, Lowell, I'd have already invited myself to dine with you, but as you've brought such lovely company, I believe I'll be the gentleman and leave you two to your dinner."

"Yes, do let us eat our entrees in peace, Sprayf," said Marcus. "Perhaps you can dazzle us with your inbred wit over a digestif."

"Very well, old man," said Prentice. Grace still wasn't quite sure how ironically they intended the lockjawed, Ivy League jargon they were both spewing, but it was certainly entertaining to watch. In the way a clown on a unicycle was, anyway.

Prentice took her hand again, bid them both enjoy their meal, and slipped away, gesturing elegantly at Daniel as he left. Prentice spoke, and Daniel listened, then nodded and disappeared into the kitchen again. Prentice appeared to head out to the lobby, but for all she knew he might have melted into the walls.