Homophoniacs

The amber candlelight flickered, and the shadowed daggers nicked their faces as they sipped wine in the Cafe Americana. Amy and Grant viewed themselves as close seconds to Hugh Grant and Renee Zellwinger. Their strong egos, and too much alcohol, enhanced the illusion. Three emptied vino bottles proved the validity of their case most nights.

"I want to alter my dress again," Amy said "I have lost two more pounds."

"Altar?" Grant questioned, "We talked about this with the wedding planner."

"No, we didn't talk about it!" she said and sipped from the crystal glass. "Pour me some more wine please."

"Whine is what you do best," he muttered and refilled her glass from the decanter, "I will call the wedding venue tomorrow."

"Thank you," she said, as her cell phone chirped. Her eyes narrowed and focused, on the banner of light that flashed on the screen.

"My son isn't coming to the wedding," he said.

Amy surrendered to her curiosity and picked up the phone to read her message.

"The weatherman said the sun will shine for our wedding," she said and lowered her head to read the message.

"You're okay with this?" he asked.

Her eyes flitted up.

"Yes," she said and returned to reading the text.

"I thought it would bother you," he said.

"The weather will be fine, quit worrying." she said.

Their attractive young server, Lacey, arrived with their dinner. An iron skillet steak, for him, and a roasted beet salad, for her. Steam from the beets and vapors from the sizzled beef curled into the air. The salad, shredded greens adorned with red and yellow beets, brightened the table.

Grant, ogled the vivacious young woman like he had ordered her for dessert, met her eyes, and smiled.

"Thank you, Lacey," he said.

Lacey glanced at Amy who remained intent and distracted on her cell phone. Lacey met Grant’s eyes, smiled, and touched his arm.

“You’re very welcome,” she said.

Amy's face, illuminated by the phone, looked up and pursed her lips in disgust at the sight of his steak.

"I don't understand how you can eat steak. Meat stinks and is unhealthy,” she said, returned her attention to her phone, tapped out a message on the keyboard, and hit send.

He said, "I don't want to talk business tonight, your father will receive his stake in the business when's its time."

Grant checked that Amy was still occupied and leered at the young server's curvaceous figure as she walked away.

Dang, he thought, and rammed his knife into the tender meat on his plate and compared their entrée’s.

"I don't understand how you eat beets; they taste like dirt to me," he said.

Amy laid the phone down and stared, disinterested, at her salad.

"I'm beat too. Let's do to-go boxes and call it a night," she said.

Grant requested the check and paid the bill. Ten minutes later they left the cafe and stepped into the dark of night to their separate cars.

"I enjoyed tonight, Grant," Amy said and kissed his cheek. "Remember, the rehearsal, is tomorrow at eight o’clock sharp."

"I ate enough, thanks," he said and pecked her on the cheek. "Our wedding will be spectacular."

Amy climbed into her white Beemer, closed the door, and dialed a number on her cellphone.

"Hi Jimmy, sorry I couldn’t answer earlier. I wonder, can you talk now?" she said.

Grant still stood by his truck and waved to their young server as she walked across the parking lot to her car. She recognized him, smiled and waved back, with a hopeful look on her face. Grant was tempted to engage her but got into his black Ford truck.

"I can't wander, not now, I'm getting married in two days."

Amy led the way onto the highway and Grant followed. The steak dinner weighed like lead in his stomach.