Hunters And Gatherers
“But the syrupy low pinkish light, designed to conceal and excuse, telegraphed to the whole restaurant that Martha’s attempt to be stylish had failed. As she and Gretta followed the pencil-thin hostess to their table, Martha’s downtown black, her men’s tuxedo jacket, her tights and lace-up ankle boots made her look like a circus hobo foundering in a sea of Armani. Every woman in the room had hair the color of mink or honey, except for Martha, with her nail-scissored shreds of garish skinned-knee... orange.
“I’m Enzio,” said their waiter, a strikingly handsome person of somewhat indeterminate racial origin and gender. He (that much was fairly certain) addressed himself to Gretta and smiled into her eyes, as if they were deeply in love. Would he notice Martha if she were dressed, like Gretta, in perfect fawn-colored cashmere that kept slipping off one plump shoulder?
Martha was wearing the wrong clothes. And what was even worse was that she was wasting her lunch with her friend, worrying about what she was wearing.MoreLess
“I’m Enzio,” said their waiter, a strikingly handsome person of somewhat indeterminate racial origin and gender. He (that much was fairly certain) addressed himself to Gretta and smiled into her eyes, as if they were deeply in love. Would he notice Martha if she were dressed, like Gretta, in perfect fawn-colored cashmere that kept slipping off one plump shoulder?
Martha was wearing the wrong clothes. And what was even worse was that she was wasting her lunch with her friend, worrying about what she was wearing.MoreLess
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