I take Heather to Le Central for lunch. Le Central is a sweet little French restaurant just south of downtown, serving delicacies in an ivy-encrusted back room bathed in sunshine. Heather is sexy, open, daring. The hostess seats us, and Heather takes in the room: its gorgeous deep daylight, the abundant greenery. She grins, and excuses herself to go to the bathroom, but I stop her.
I hand her a small package. “You’ll know what to do with it,” I tell her, giving her a wicked half-smile.
She heads off. Inside the package she will find a vial of silicone-based lubricant and an insertable vibrating egg. I order a cup of coffee.
She returns, grinning, and sits across the table from me. Maybe she’s a little more aware of the diners at nearby tables, the hum of conversation. I reach into my pocket, where the remote control is waiting. I press the button once, and a second or two later Heather emits a sound of delight.
The waitress arrives. Heather doesn’t know her way around French food, so I order for the two of us. She shoots me a conspiratorial look, enjoying the covert eroticism of a vibrator secretly buzzing inside her while the waitress enumerates today’s specials. I press the button again, turning up the power, and Heather gurgles. The waitress looks at her for a moment, and then I continue the order.
The waitress leaves, returning with my coffee. It’s a bitter Columbian coffee. I like it black. I take a sip and swirl it around my mouth, savoring the warmth, the bitter, the flow of it. It’s delicious. I hit the button again, turning up the power.
I point out the decor to Heather, who seems distracted. She doesn’t seem to take in the details of the room, which is sad, because the room is so pretty. It has l’esprit de terroir — that spirit of place that can imbue a memory with so much meaning. No one recalls the details of a dinner at Taco Bell, but here, in the shining back room of Le Central, there’s space to let your mind reach out and touch every corner of the windowed room.
I’m planning to order us some creme brulee for dessert, and I don’t want Heather to go numb before then, so I decide to turn off the vibrator. And here is where things start to go wrong.
