"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world..."
"Tony, what happened?" Jeanne asked, as he stood to pull her chair out from the table. She touched his cheekbone with a doctor's deft hand. "How did you get that bruise?"
Tony returned to his seat. "Took a nosedive down my apartment stairs. I think it makes me look dangerous."
"Or clumsy," she laughed. "Did you ice it?"
"You're supposed to put ice on a bruise?" Tony asked. "I didn't know. I don't bruise easily. Yesterday was an unlucky day."
"How so?" she asked, unfolding her napkin and draping it across her lap.
"I didn't see you yesterday," he said to Jeanne. To the waiter, he said, "Two champagne cocktails, please."
"You're right. That is unlucky. What else?"
"I had some trouble with my afternoon class," he said. "We were discussing cinematic action as a structural framework for morality, and one of the students started arguing with me."
"Tim?" Jeanne asked.
Tony laughed repentantly. "I've complained about him before?"
"He should drop the class if he doesn't respect you."
"He's a good student. He'll be a good director, someday," he said. "But he's always undermining my authority. I have so little to begin with."
Jeanne laughed, and her eyes sparkled like she'd been filmed with gauze filters and catch lights.
Tony picked up his cocktail. He twisted the glass between his fingers, agitating the amber liquid. In the background, a Sinatra cover about love and glory played on a tinny sound system.
Jeanne caught him staring. "What?" she asked, blushing.
The line was obvious, but he said it anyway.
"Here's looking at you, kid."
