Trapper wanted Italian and since he was going to pass one of his favorite Italian restaurants on his way home, he decided to stop in. He never minded eating by himself and had actually, over the past two years, become more comfortable with it and often preferred to do things alone. There was no need to make conversation and after a day like the one he'd had, he lacked the energy to be pleasant and a charming conversationalist. So Trapper looked forward to a nice meal with garlic and red wine and no worry about anything else except possible indigestion. He considered that he may even have tiramisu for dessert if he wasn't too full.
The Maître d' greeted Trapper with a large, welcoming smile and even though Trapper had no reservation, Dominic said that he would be glad to seat him. Trapper asked for someplace quiet.
The Maître d' guided Trapper through the elegant restaurant to the smaller, more private dining room in the back but then she caught his eye; Ariadne was sitting alone at a round table in the corner holding a glass of wine—not drinking but staring into it as if it was a scrying bowl.
Trapper asked him to wait—he saw someone he knew and Dominic placed the menu on the small table that was to be Trapper's.
Trapper glanced to see which table was his and then gave the man five dollars. A grateful Dominic returned to the front.
"And what are you doing here all alone?" Trapper had caught Ariadne by surprise and she looked up, her mouth open.
"Oh….Doctor…MacIntosh, is it?" She looked up at him and by the expression on her face, Trapper knew that she had mangled his name on purpose.
"McIntyre. John McIntyre."
"Oh, of course." She said nothing else but let go of her wine glass and sighed.
"May I join you?"
"Is the head of surgery eating alone?"
"So you do remember me." Trapper smiled, gloating; he knew her game; she wanted him to think that he was so unimportant that she wouldn't remember him from two weeks earlier. "May I sit down?"
She nodded and Trapper sat opposite her.
"Actually," she said, "you may have the table all to yourself. I'm leaving."
"I was hoping you'd stay and have dinner with me. I'll buy."
"You're generous but no, thank you. I was supposed to meet a client but I've waited 15 minutes—that's the longest I'll wait. Obviously he's not showing." She gathered her purse. "Enjoy your dinner, Doctor McIntyre."
Trapper stood when she did. "But how can I with you gone?"
"Don't try to charm me, Doctor—what was it Dr. Stratton called you? Trapper?"
"Yes—a nickname from college after an unfortunate experience" Trapper waited a moment but Ariadne said noting—just watched him evenly. "Okay-I'll quit trying to win you over with my charm, however dubious that may be. I find you attractive, Ariadne—actually beautiful and although I was looking forward to a quiet dinner and then watching a basketball game at home while burping and scratching myself, I'd rather have dinner with you. I promise to behave." Trapper waited. He saw self-deprecating humor wasn't going to charm her either. "You haven't had dinner yet and although I can't convince myself that you would prefer to have dinner with me over that of a 'client', I would appreciate it if you wouldn't play coy; it doesn't become you nor does that cold, distant attitude. You want to emphasize that I'm so unimportant that you couldn't even remember my name but I have the impression that you remember every man you meet."
Ariadne sat back down and so did Trapper. "All right, Trapper. May I call you Trapper?" He nodded. "All right, I'll keep you company."
"Thank you," Trapper said.
The waiter came to the table, handing them menus, and Trapper asked for wine. The waiter nodded and left. "I find it hard to believe that you were stood up. By a client you say?"
She looked at him and Trapper thought that she had the eyes of a killer—cold and calculating. "You haven't asked me what business I'm in so that means that you already know."
"I heard a 'rumor'."
She smiled to herself. "I thought so. Strange, I hadn't pegged you for that type."
He laughed. "I'm not—at least I don't think so. I want something else from you."
"Let me clarify things to you right now," she said with narrowed eyes. "I'm a dominatrix, not a hooker. I supply a service to men who have issues that need working out. I'm not into cruel S&M and my clients don't touch me unless I permit it—and I rarely do. But there's no sex-just my telling them that they're bad, bad boys and smacking them on their fannies and humiliating them howsoever they desire. Sometimes, they have to do a penance such as sitting through a long, boring dinner or party in discomfort—perhaps with a remote control vibrator or a plug in place or with clips pinching at their delicate parts—but that's only when they need it. That's it. I leave when I'm through with my job and walk away—it's just a job and I don't get involved. Their mommy issues are their own." She leaned in slightly. "And do you have mommy issues, Doctor? Do you want your ass spanked?"
"No—although I might like it from you—I don't really know. But the only mommy issue I have is if I forget to call her on her birthday and fail to send flowers. But you seem to be the one with issues, Ariadne. And tell me, what is your real name?"
The waiter returned and after the ritual of Trapper approving the wine, the waiter poured Trapper a glass; Ariadne still had practically a full glass. He asked if they needed more time to order and Trapper looked at Ariadne. She told him she liked the eggplant parmigiana—it was always good-so Trapper told the waiter her order and his.
Other than that, Ariadne remained silent, watching Trapper the whole time until after the waiter left. "What does it matter what my name is?" she quietly asked.
"I'd just like to know."
"Is this like Rumplestiltskin? If you know my name it gives you some sort of power over me?"
He chuckled. "No, but I feel foolish calling you by your…alias? Besides, how can we get to know each other better if I don't even know your actual name, what your friends call you?"
"I don't feel foolish calling you Trapper, although, by all reason I should—it's rather a silly name, isn't it? I suppose that I should ask you about its origin but I don't really care enough. Why should it bother you whether I prefer to be called Ariadne or something else? Besides, I don't know that I want to be better friends with you. You're assuming quite a bit. I hope that you don't expect me to slip off my shoe and massage your balls with my foot or crawl under the table and give you head just because you bought me dinner."
Trapper laughed loudly and she looked around to see a few people glimpse their way. "No, I don't expect that but if you should decide you'd like to, well, I'm game." He grinned.
She seemed annoyed with his attitude. "Most men are game. So exactly what do you want?"
He was about to answer when a man came to their table and stood there, the Maître d' behind him. The man was well-dressed and dignified; about fifty. "Ariadne?" he asked her. "Are you Ariadne? I'm supposed to meet someone here—and Ariadne. I apologize for being late but it couldn't be helped- and I reserved a table in my name for the two of us. Wainwright?" The man looked at Trapper and then back at Ariadne. "The Maître d' just showed me this table as the one I reserved but said that since it was taken, that I could have another. But I need to know, are you Ariadne?"
Trapper stood up and faced the man. They were both tall, Trapper being slightly taller.
"I'm afraid that you've made a mistake. This lady is with me and we're having dinner. I'm sorry that you missed your assignation."
The man glanced at her but Ariadne said nothing—only dropped her eyes. Trapper continued to face off against the man. "Fine," the man finally said with an air of defeat. "I'll call…Ariadne later and find out what happened." He looked back and forth from Trapper and Ariadne. "Enjoy your meal," he said and left, the nervous Maitre d' behind him.
Trapper waited until Wainwright was completely gone and then sat back down. Ariadne looked at him; she considered Trapper wasn't a man to be crossed.
"I can stand up for myself," she said quietly. "I would have told him that he was late and that I don't wait for anyone."
"Now how would that have made me look if I hadn't jumped to your defense?"
"What makes you think that I prefer eating with you and not him? After all, he's business-you're not. He may even be better company."
Trapper smiled; she had him there and he wasn't quite sure what to say, so he said what came first into his mind—the truth. "I don't give a damn what you prefer. I want to have dinner with you and I wasn't going to surrender you up so easily. And if you want to be paid for your time, fine, I'll pay you but if I do, I want more than just the pleasure of your company—I want the pleasure of your body as well."
"I told you, I'm not a hooker, not a whore despite what you might think and if that's what you want, I'm sure you can pick one up off the street."
The waiter brought their salads and bread and asked if there was anything else they wanted at the moment. Trapper answered no, they were fine. The waiter left.
"Oh, did I speak for you again?" he asked with a tinge of sarcasm. "Just a bad habit, I suppose." He raised his wine glass. "To you, Ariadne—or whoever the hell you are—to your beauty and your charming company."