Angel of the Night, pt. 7

Bernard continued holding Maxine's hand as he forced all the oil down into the thirsty pores of her crusty skin. She flexed her fingers and popped her knuckles, admiring their smooth sheen, then stroked Bernard's cheek in appreciation. He did not notice the oily smudge on his jowls as he beamed at her in satisfaction.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Rolf snarled sarcastically as he dropped onto the table two crockery plates heaped high with sticky pasta and shiny orange sauce.

"Nay! To the contrary," Bernard fluttered one pudgy hand at Rolf while claiming a fork with his other. "No need to be obsequious. We are indeed a gathering of equals, embarking on this culinary odyssey."

Maxine picked off the sliver of garlic toast from the top of the mound and nibbled it, sending particles of powdered cheese and garlic salt sifting down to the plastic checkered table cloth. Bernard twirled his pasta like an expert Italian while Rolf picked at his soggy greens moodily, casting dark glances at Bernard and hungry ones at Maxine.

"I'm not getting any younger!"Maxine thought impatiently. Two men with her, and both of them suddenly quiescent and boring.