Dinner With Mr. Cole: Part IV

Dormitan loved French fries. Whether they were soggy and oily, dry a crunchy, long and thin, fat and thick it didn’t really matter. If it was fried and it was a potato then Dormitan would eat it. No questions asked. And D.C., it appeared, shared this same proclivity.
With his head almost buried in his plate, D.C. shoveled what seemed to Dormitan to be handful upon handful of French fries into his mouth (he had gotten three orders of them), chomping down greedily, seemingly oblivious to Dormitan’s presence. Dormitan glanced down at his own plate of fries but just couldn’t seem to muster the required mojo to tear into them which really was a shame because anyone who likes chips knows that they don’t keep well once cold and so having them packed was certainly out of the question.
The two of them were sitted at a window table just adjacent to the pizza counter at the Nando’s along Kampala Road.
After following D.C. out of Ninja (D.C. had been not so kindly escorted out as well as just unkindly asked never ever to return) Dormitan had managed to flag D.C.’s attention and had informed him quite matter-of-factly with more than a hint of frustration that he was in fact the writer that D.C. was supposed to sit down to have dinner with.
Shrugging off the rough hands of the bouncer, smoothing down his black on white striped button down shirt on which Dormitan could just make out a few drops of drying blood down its front, D.C. looked Dormitan up and down. Down and up.
“A little over dressed don’t you think?”
D.C. had a sneer on his face. This, as they say, was Dormitan’s moment of truth. What he said next would determine just how D.C. would look at him and treat him for there on out.
“Maybe. But a man with a face that looks like yours does right now really isn’t in a position to talk, is he now?”
D.C. was struck dumb for a moment. He wasn’t used to people talking to him like that. He was used to people telling him how great he was, how much they loved his work, the women all giggly and flirty, the men all macho indifference in an attempt to mask just how star struck they are. This though, this was something new. Or at the very least something that didn’t happen very often. D.C. was intrigued.
“Where can we get fries?” he had asked pointedly. “I could really do with some fries.”
And that’s how they had wound up at Nando’s. By way of a 24 hour clinic, at Dormitan’s insistence of course. D.C. had been very happy to simply wash his face in some public bathroom somewhere and be done with it (at least until he had gotten some fries in him) but Dormitan had not let up.
D.C. was driving a 2012 black on black on Land Rover Defender II which just happened to be the car of Dormitan’s wet dreams and had Dormitan almost to the point of hyperventilating although like many a man he tried his damnest to maintain an airs of macho indifference in order to hide just how excited he was, just barely able to stop himself from squeaking out a frantic plea to get behind the wheel.
The thing that Dormitan didn’t know though was that if he had actually had the gall to ask, there was no way that Bryce would have refused him. In fact, he wouldn’t have thought twice. In fact, he probably have even given him the car, now that would have buttered Dormitan’s bread. But he didn’t know that, there was no way for him to and so they had driven to Nando’s in more or less silence. Not because they had nothing to say one another, no, there was plenty, but because they were both prone to periods of internal dialogue and thought while in transit. Something about the movement of body facilitated the movement of thought.
Dormitan’s eyes flicked from his plate to the man who sat across from him. Not at all what he had expected. But then again, he hadn’t really known what to expect. No, wait, that was a lie. What Dormitan had expected was an evening of deep talk and deep thought on deep topics deep into the night. Not this. With Dormitan’s idol paying more attention to the food in front of him than to Dormitan.
“Can I ask you something?”
D.C. paused mid shovel. Looked up at Dormitan. His mouth still full of food, D.C. made a hand gesture to indicate that Dormitan should go ahead.
Dormitan took a moment to pull at his soda through his already chewed to bits straw having to really suck at it to get any liquid through it and then,
“What did you do to deserve having that done to your face? If you don’t mind me asking.”
D.C. swallowed. Sucked some Walker (black) from a bottle he had strong armed in.
“And if I mind?”
“Then you don’t have to answer.”
D.C. took another suck then placed the bottle between his legs on the patch of chair adjacent to his crotch, fondling the head of it (the bottle not his crotch) as he would his crotch if he was in private.
“Pass me the ketchup.”
Dormitan did as he was asked, handing D.C. the ketchup holder which was really a mustard holder but was being used to hold the ketchup because the ketchup holder was being used to hold the chili.
Having cleared his second plate of chips D.C. pushed it aside and reached for his third, drenching it in ketchup that looked like it was only one part ketchup and three parts water.
“I had sex with that man’s wife.” D.C. said spearing a few fries and stuffing them into his mouth.
“Quite an interesting story actually.” D.C. continued, bits of mashed potato flying from his mouth. After swallowing D.C. then handed Dormitan the bottle of Walker and imploring/ commanding him to take a generous pull, proceeded to tell Dormitan exactly what had led to him having his ass handed to him earlier that night.