Relations

He summoned the bartender. “I think I’ll have another.”
“Very interesting conference, Mr. Ellis.”
“Call me Frank.” He set his empty glass down and reached for the fresh one. “And you are, Miss-”
“I’ll tell you. Now don’t laugh.” She cast her eyes downward for a moment. But only for a moment. “Delilah. Delilah Carpenter.”
“It suits you,” Frank said before he took a swallow from his drink.
“Stop teasing me.” She laughed, touching his arm. To Frank, it was like tinkling bells.
“The epitome of a Southern name for a Southern belle. Makes me think of Spanish moss and sweet tea.”
She stood there and looked up into his face. “You look at things a lot deeper than most, Frank.”
He shrugged and put his empty glass back on the bar. His head was swimming a little. He hadn’t eaten much all day.
She noticed. “How about dinner?”
“I was just about to suggest that.” He staggered a little. “Hotel restaurants are notorious for having lousy food but I don’t think that I should drive-in my condition.” He chuckled.
“I could drive,” Delilah said as she reached for his arm.
With clumsiness, they weaved their way through the crowd and toward the bar exit.
“Nope, ‘cause I don’t think I’d make it.” He slipped his arm around her shoulder. “Let’s just go to one of the hotel’s restaurants.”
Once there, they waited ten minutes to be seated and another fifteen minutes to be waited upon.
“I’m starting to lose my appetite,” Frank loudly proclaimed. Everyone within earshot turned to look. As if on cue, a waiter appeared.
They gave him their orders and he disappeared. “I’m glad you liked the conference, Delilah.”
“Call me Dee.”
He waved his hand, shaking his head. “Oh no, don’t do that. Don’t shorten it. I like it just the way it is. Full of Southern charm.” He took a drink of water.
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Are you from here, Delilah? Atlanta, I mean.”
“No. I do live in Georgia but I’m from Savannah, Georgia. And I know that you aren’t, judging by your accent.”
He smiled. “My accent?”
She loved his laid-back demeanor. The fact that he was African-American hardly factored into it although she had to admit to herself, it intrigued her. “Sure, you have one. I can’t place it although I know that it’s somewhere in the Northeast.”
“You know that because I had it posted on the easel in the front of the ballroom.” He nodded his head, as if for emphasis.
“True but most folks have some type of dialect or accent, which is usually only noticed by those that aren’t from the same area.”
“True that.” He continued to gaze at her through his water glass. “But yours is very attractive. In fact, you’re very attractive.” He set down his glass, knocking it over in the process.
“And you’re a little drunk, aren’t you?” Although quite flattered by his compliments, she was not sure if they were fueled somewhat by the alcohol.
Later their food arrived and Frank took a few bites of his steak while she tied into her meal with gusto. “Gotta love a woman that’s not afraid to eat.”
She swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “Should I be?”
“Not at all. I like it.”
“Seems like you like a lot of things, Mr. Ellis.”
“It’s Frank, remember?” He took a bite of salad and then put down his fork. “I know this much-I know I like you.”
“That’s nice. I like you, too.” She looked up from her plate at him. “You aren’t eating.”
“I’ve had enough but don’t you stop. Take your time.” He reached for her hand.
His hand was warm but firm. It felt comforting but stirred her, too. “You need to eat more than what-”
Her response was interrupted with the loud clanging of dishes and silverware as his head hit the table.