Prompt Parlor Sample
Old Friends
The restaurant had an old-world feel with burgundy walls, white tablecloths, brass candlestick holders with rivulets of dripping wax, the smell of old wood, and something floral that Marlin couldn’t place. Someone had attempted to modernize the atmosphere with square porcelain dishes and handblown glasses. Marlin made the reservation for 7:30, but arrived fifteen minutes prior to the meeting time. Arriving early was once uncharacteristic, but several self-help books had tempered the old habit. Claire had known Marlin as the one sitting in the back of the class or drinking the foam from the expiring keg. Knowing she would be the first to arrive, Marlin had requested a corner table, one that allowed her to observe every angle of the room. To calm her nerves, she ordered a Kir Royale. Half of it was gone when the heavy, velvet curtain at the entrance parted and Claire stepped through. Twenty years collapsed in an instant. Clair had the same posture, and as she had always done, scanned the room as if doing a headcount. Marlin raised two fingers from the stem of her glass and offered a small wave. The flute teetered between her stabilizing fingers. She watched Claire navigate through the tight tables, her slim hips sashaying and grazing the backs of seated diners. Hard to imagine the woman had birthed three children.
Claire had changed, but to an unrecognizable degree. Her hair was shorter and highlighted in the way Marlin equated to the well-heeled New York tourists who shopped in the store where she worked on Place Vendôme. Claire wore a midnight-blue wrap dress and low heels, an outfit that said effortless but Marlin imagined Claire’s hotel room strewn with clothing. Marlin placed her glass on the table, rose, and the two women embraced one another. Matured, they kiss-kissed in a way that neither of them knew to do years ago, and now both performed without thinking. They exchanged a perfunctory “you look marvelous” in unison.
Without detection during their hellos, someone had placed a bread basket on the table. Carbs were still a thing in France, but they were both New Yorkers at heart, and neither of them touched it.
Claire hung her coat on the hook behind Marlin’s head, and the two women settled into the chairs. The candle flickered as a waiter passed the table. Marlin had rehearsed her story — the apartment on the Rue du Cherche-Midi which she would not reveal was rented, the shop where she would not reveal she was an employee — all to make it sound as if she had chosen this life rather than ended up in it. Claire revealed her story, and Marlin wondered if Claire had practiced while staring at her reflection as well. Claire talked about her children who attended prestigious private schools to her house renovation that had taken two years longer than it should have; all delivered with the ease of someone who had told it many times. Marlin threw back the last few sips of the Kir Royale and they ordered wine. They smiled at one another with closed lips. But underneath the table, Margot pressed her foot against the floor to keep her leg from shaking…