The corner the motel had set aside for the 'Continental Breakfast' was more than crowded when he entered. It appeared that an entire volleyball team from a small women's college was there; chattering in 'teenager'. They were crowded around the waffle maker, the toaster, the microwave and the donuts. He looked around and saw but one empty seat and that at a table occupied by a woman of his own age, which was to say indeterminate, but certainly not young. He did his best imitation of 'broken field running' weaving among the moving nubile mass to her table.
"I'm sorry. There are no other seats. May I share your table?"
She looked up from her paperback novel and said "Of course. Please." She moved her handbag to her feet, hooking her foot through the strap. "It's a bit crowded this morning. I've been waiting to toast an English muffin, but they seem never to be done."
"I'll see if I can manage. Would you like coffee?" He set his bag down and lay his folded Jacket across the back of the chair.
"Thank you, yes. At least they're not hogging the coffee pot."
"It would probably be different if it were a cappuccino machine."
She chuckled at the thought. Her eyes sparkled in a jade green color as she smiled at him. He blushed at having been caught looking at her. "I'll, uh, be right back, cream or sugar?"
"Cream, please." She smiled again and turned her gaze back to her book. She read for a moment, and then raised her head to watch his progress in the battle for breakfast. He reached between a pair of chatting blondes and seized two muffins and hovered at the toaster until a pair of pop-tarts surfaced. Then, without looking or asking, he seized all four slots and dropped the slices. While the muffins were toasting, he grabbed two plates and the requisite collection of plastic knives and spoons, portions of jam, butter and cream and stuffed all but the plates into a pocket. He stepped to the orphaned coffee carafe and filled two Styrofoam cups, capped them and picked up the two plates, gliding back to the toaster just as the four slices popped to freedom. He pulled them from the toaster, stacked them on the plates and, holding his prizes above the bobbing and chattering heads, made his way back to the table.
"That was quite a display of, I'm not sure what. But, thank you. I was despairing of ever eating." She peeled back the cover of a tiny bucket of 'wannabe cream' and poured it into her coffee.
"Never show fear. They can smell it." He separated the plates and set two halves of a muffin on each and then dug out the trove buried in his pocket. "Let's see, jam, butter, spoon, knife and napkin. Yes, breakfast is served." He paused and reached into his other pocket. "Ah, yes." He held out two tiny buckets. "Cream." He spread the plastic wealth and took his seat, opening and creaming his own coffee.
"Thank you, kind sir. I'm Micki. Whom may I thank for saving me from starvation; not that I'll ever be accused of starving?" She leaned back in an obvious display of her well endowed and full figure.
"Jack will do. The real name is nearly as impossible to say as to spell." The two set to preparing and consuming their scant pickings. The wave of giggling youth eventually broke upon the shore and, duffels in hand, the mass of young athletes fled to a large bus, leaving the pair alone in the room.
"Remarkable. It's almost as if it's the quiet after a storm. It appears we have our pick of the remains. May I offer you a waffle?"
"No, thanks. If there is a banana, that would be good. Did the locusts leave anything?"
"I'm certain that anything healthy remains. Let me see what's there." Jack stood up, stuffed the last of his jam-smeared muffin in his mouth and surveyed the battleground. He found a bunch of bananas behind the empty fruit bowl. "Success, I discovered these hiding." He presented the fruit to her as if on a silver tray. He refilled his coffee and resumed his seat. "What are you reading?"
"'Shelters of Stone' by Jean Auel. I've read it before, but her new book is due out in a month and I wanted to refresh my memory." She peeled the banana and broke it into bite sized pieces rather than biting off a chunk.
"'The Land of Painted Caves', Yes, I know. I'm on the library list for it when it's released. I love that series. The author did a remarkable job of recreating lives and entire cultures from the few bones, chips and cave paintings that survived. The 'Song of the Mother' is a remarkable poetic ode to a proto-religious premise of evolution."
"I never thought about it that way. I just like the character interaction. She's so open in how she deals with everything from morning sickness and the latrines to death and sex. I suppose it helps the story when our two young lovers 'honor the Mother's gift of pleasures' about every 40 pages. I never had that much sex when I was 19."
He looked at Micki, into her eyes, for a brief moment and then, non-plussed, broke eye contact. "I, uh, have to go. Thank you for sharing your table."
"It was my pleasure. Are you here tonight?"
"Yes. I have another day of meetings."
"Perhaps we can discuss the Zelandoni, Ayla and Jondalar over dinner ... if you're interested."
Jack looked at her again. She was smiling an absolutely guile-less smile. "Sure, why not. Can we meet in the lobby at 6:30? I'll see if I can get a recommendation for dinner; Italian, Mexican or Chinese?"
"Chinese, if that's alright with you. I had Mexican last night and Italian is awfully heavy ... like me."
"I like what I see. You're healthy, mature and, obviously, not trapped in some desire to remain young."
She looked sharply at him.
