Table For Two

Katherine Alexandria Bates was very much enjoying her date.

That wasn’t by any means unusual, but on all her past dates, she had decided that there would be no second date by the time the bill came, when the boy across from her asked to split the check. She would— and she would also note that they were clearly below the class she thought she belonged to. When they’d call her again, she’d feign prior engagements until their calls ceased.

But on this date, she was already two bills in and hadn’t been asked to split either. Vincent Chesire had a wallet packed thickly with crisp, fresh bills and plastic cards that could purchase a whole town on credit. He’d taken her first to a theatre production in the afternoon, where characters onstage fought over such silly trivial things as pride and honour, and then he’d taken her to a ostentatious department store, and let her have her run of the place. After finding a bright pink dress with silvery garnets, she tossed the comparatively ruddy dress she’d been wearing into a bin outside the store.

Now, they were making their way to a third location, what she assumed was a restaurant. It was about six PM, and the pleasant hum of electric streetlights flickered to life as they passed. The streets were full, but not crowded, and the mood among the people on the street was jovial, lighthearted. This was the city Katherine loved. She’d grown up on the outskirts with her family, who were poor.

As she walked alongside Vincent, the streets around her changed. The windows grew brighter, illuminated more purely by shaped neon and lifeless light. The shadows these windows cast on the people were harsher, their faces darker. Some’s eyes were invisible to Katherine, cloaked thickly by the darkness.

The area was richer, and the buildings grew taller and cleaner, making the people appear impish by comparison. But the place felt nonetheless safe, and the people harmless, and the glow of restaurants was too inviting to ignore.

They stopped then, at the front of one such restaurant. Walking inside, Katherine noticed the unfamiliar cleanliness. The floor was white, groutless tile, and the walls bore thick plates of stainless steel, polished to a shine. Vincent walked up to the maître d'.

“Table for two, please,” he asked, an electric current of excitement running beneath his words.

The maître d' bowed curtly and left the lobby. He pushed through a set of rubbery doors which swung open, and was gone awhile.

“Vincent, how lovely this place is! It’s so clean and sterile, nothing like the rest of the city!”

“My dear, nothing here is like the rest of the city. This is where the wealthy spend their time— we eat different foods, watch different entertainments, and make different use of our bodies— of course we need a different area for it all to stay pure. I’ve only been here a short while. I’m glad I’ve brought you along, you’ll fit right in.” The excitement remained in his voice, as though he’d waited for this moment a long, long time. Katherine studied him now, in the bright and emotionless light.

He was clean-shaven, without a speck of stubble breaching his skin. His eyes were bright like the tubes of light which lit them, and the skin lying below them was plump and alive– not sallow or drained like the people she’d known. His lips glistened, ripe and round, and he wetted them as he looked around the room with wonder. He was young, and rich, and these must always make one full of ambition.

The maître d' returned, and ushered the two of them to an adjacent room. The room seemed odd– it was much more like a doctor’s office than a restaurant room. There was a table, stainless steel like most of the furniture, and the lights burned with a bright and electric malevolence over the table. A cabinet was by the end of a counter across the room, and was filled with jars of differently colored liquids and powders. Katherine wondered to herself why a restaurant would display its ingredients like so. It must have been a wealthy thing, she supposed, and hoped Vincent would explain when they got the chance.

They sat themselves down, and the maître d' brought out two menus, both of which he handed to Vincent. Vincent took a pen from his coat, and selected something off one menu, then began writing quickly within the other. He paused, and asked, “Katherine, what is your last name?”

“Bates?” She answered, confused. What sort of restaurant cared to know that?

The maître d' put the menus on the counter besides the odd cabinet, and returned to the table. He had a heavy moustache, and wrinkled eyes that sank back into his head, as though they were peering out from within his head.

“Monsieur, Mademoiselle,” He started, “You have elected to lose your left index finger, yes?” When Vincent nodded, he smiled. “Excellent, starting small is wise, monsieur. We will begin.”

He strapped a pair of thick rubber gloves on, and asked the two to set their arms on the table and relax. When they obliged, though Katherine did so reluctantly, the table suddenly snapped out, and clasps constricted their arms to the table by their wrists.

“A precaution, mademoiselle.” Said the maître d', seeing her fear. Katherine was perspiring now, and she locked eyes with Vincent.

“What are they doing?” She asked, breathless.

“As long as you’re with me, you’re rich too, Katherine. We have no need for our bodies, no? This is how you can demonstrate real wealth– no pink dresses or diamonds. We make our wealth with our minds, the poor chase it with their bodies— what better act of wealth than to waste?”

Katherine began to scream, which muffled the sound of the maître d's hammer landing on her left index finger precisely, crushing the fragile, birdlike bones within and splaying it out at an odd angle. When the maître d' picked up one of the steak knives from the table setting, Katherine fainted.

Katherine’s second date with Vincent went much better, as this time she was able to remove her entire left hand. She had never used it much anyways, and she still had her right in any case. Vincent removed his right leg below the knee, intending to supplant it with a crude and crippling peg leg. It was wonderful, and when they left, the stares they got from the other wealthy people on the street were of jealousy, at least from those who had eyes. They didn’t wander to the poorer district anymore… there was no need.