by Waldorfia Tomosky
Friday Night (Continued)
“The hotel specializes in Portuguese food” my escort said. “It is a result of the Portuguese people that make up a lot of the old families that settled on Cape Cod and in Rhode Island. Their food is delicious. May I order some for you?”
I responded positively without hesitation. I do love variety.
“Açorda de marisco” is my favorite he said, “Bread soup with seafood. It sounds like a strange mixture; however, it is delicious without being spicy or overbearing. We can follow that up with ‘bife a portuguesa’, a thin steak topped with egg. Is that too weird for you? It ends up being a light meal, just enough to fill.”
I then voiced my previous thought, “I do love variety. All right, I am in” I said enthusiastically.
He smiled kindly at me. It almost spoke out loud, “Thanks for being a good sport.”
After a few minutes of silence while we both looked out the window, both apparently lost in our own thoughts, he spoke. “The light breeze on the water almost makes it sparkle, don’t you think?”
In the back of my mind I had registered the same thought but in the front of my mind was the thought “This is too good to be true. An interview with a handsome man in a beautiful setting. When is this bubble going to burst?”
After a few seconds of all too obvious silence I was able to get myself back in the real world. “My thoughts exactly” I responded. I hoped it was more convincing to him than it was to me.
“I like your writing” he said. “I wasn’t too sure until I read that anthology that you put together for Barnes and Noble. There are authors who can write novels and those that can only write short stories. Not many people can put together an anthology that has a consistent theme while demanding the reader’s attention from beginning to end.”
“But it is an anthology” I apologized. “The articles were authored by others. I only introduced them and drew a conclusion for the readers.”
“Don’t sell yourself short” he said. “It was your work that tied the whole thing together. You put the ‘glue’ in between each article and then set the whole anthology within those bookends; ‘Introduction’ and ‘Conclusion.’ Your work was brilliant.”
I must have turned eight shades of red; I never have been good at accepting praise. “I really can’t accept all those compliments” I said as I tried to deflect the praise.
“Let me be the judge of that” said my escort. He ended that critique with a big yet soft smile.
We continued the discussion about my writing.