Toasted Cheese Sandwich

The friends sorted a solution. A fine meal was what they needed. Some fuel to burn would get them back on track for the night, and so they headed out. John selected a glowing restaurant whose decoration hinted of Italian, but whose elegance exceeded the ambitions of the group.

It wasn’t exactly Italian. “Italian fusion” was what the signs on the boulevard advised, the “fusion” apparently being a pseudonym for “arrogance.” The group was pushed on by the smells from the kitchen and the rumblings in their stomachs, and John set out to con a poor hostess into allowing the mismatched group a table.

Lila perused a chalkboard, elegantly declaring the “Specialità Del Giorno.”

“Pane Tostato Con Formaggio” Lila read aloud, as if repeating the words to her remaining companion would decrease the absurdity of the note.

“En anglais, sil vous plait?” inquired Charlie. He was scanning his surroundings nervously, and clearly not interested in a multi-lingual semantic argument.

Neither was Lila. John’s pleadings had aroused the attention of several of the patrons at the front of the grand dining room who scanned the trio as if classifying them in their minds, which they most likely were.

“Toasted cheese sandwich.” Lila replied very simply.

John returned with a satisfied grin. This was his expertise. He could talk a horse from his oats, and had managed to get them a booth for the meal.

The group entered, passing stony glances. Some of the diners merely sniffed with disinterest, but several seemed to more intrigued by the group. It would make for lovely gossip if one of the gentlemen turned out to be some famous artist type, on holiday with his incognito heiress girlfriend.

As they seated themselves at the table, it was hard not to notice the glittering glassware and perfectly pressed linens. They were not in their element. More likely to be tossing peanut shells on a rough pine floor, the group was bound to disappoint the hopeful audience at some point.
But John seemed set on an adventure, and so when the waiter arrived the group listened attentively.

“Welcome, may I assist with a recommendation from our bar?”

“Water, please,” replied Charlie. “Tap water will be fine.” He was clearly not on board for the ride.
A bit ruffled, and sensing that his new assignment would not be particularly profitable, the waiter drove on with a smile.

“Of course, sir. And your guests?”

“We’ll have some wine. The house white will be fine, with two glasses.” At John’s request, full glasses appeared out of almost thin air.

Lila shrugged. John had decided, and as long as he was buying she was on board. It was precisely this tendency for acquiescence that had kept them friends for so long.

She glanced at the menu, but found herself imagining the deli round the corner from her former flat, with it’s greasy film over the windows and syrup stickiness wiped across every tabletop. Mr. Franklin would always greet her with a cup of coffee and a bite of strudel, no matter what day or time she arrived. “The specialty of the house!” he would reply, ignoring that his best seemed to change to whatever she happened to order that day.

Lila was roused from her thoughts by the waiter, still trying to rally Charlie from his sulking.
“Tonight’s menu is particularly fine. I must recommend the ‘Pan-Seared Filet Mignon with Cabernet Sauce.’ The chef prepares the meal only once a year, and the occasion seems to be to your fortune.”

“Excellent,” replied John. His enthusiasm in the over-indulgent selection seemed to further infuriate Charlie, who seemed to only sink further into his intolerance of the entire undertaking.
“I’ll have the soup.”

“The soup. Yes, sir,” said the waiter. He now had accepted his fate. “And you, Miss? What can I get for you?”

“The Toasted Cheese Sandwich.”

Both of her companions were startled by her response. John chuckled.

“Lila, my dear, I’m sure are more familiar with the language than I, but I don’t recall seeing that particular meal on the menu.”

“It was one of the specials. Toasted cheese sandwich,” Lila replied firmly.

The waiter attempted to redirect with polite agreement.

“I believe the young lady is referring to the ‘Pane Tostato Con Formaggio,’ an excellent offering of flavorful mozzarella, combined with a fresh pane baked right here in our ovens, and touched with hints of garlic and oregano,” corrected the waiter, swiftly becoming impatient with his guests.
“Yes, the Toasted Cheese Sandwich.” Lila never could stand being patted on the head like a silly schoolgirl, and she most certainly was not about to sit still for it from a silly young man with a clip-on bow-tie, no matter how ridiculous her own position.

The waiter nodded his understanding, and left.

Charlie sat staring at his tap water for a moment, the sides of the glass beginning to sweat. Lila blushed quietly in her seat. She knew that she could have had more fun by joining in John’s jolly mood, but it was just somehow not what she wanted to feel. Charlie seemed to sense her guilt, and offered an olive branch.

“Nice art, though,” he offered, scanning the quickly across the walls of the dimly lit room. “And I’m sure the steak will be fine, too. Not that you lot will have a bite,” mumbled John. Normally standing almost a foot above Lila, with a humor even larger, the pack-leader was now slumped into the corner of his seat. The resignation in his voice made Lila bush even more.

She knew it was the last chance they would have to just enjoy the warmth of their fraternity before another five years passed, or maybe longer this time. Her old friends and she had battled through many obstacles, but the tediousness of mid-life had taken over. Their meetings were becoming rare, and more premeditated.

Even now, the words didn’t come, and so they sat, sinking into silence for what seemed like hours. Finally, escorting their meals with a renewed effort to impress, the poor waiter returned none too soon.

“Your soup, made from the owner’s private recipe,” he introduced to Charlie, “and I have take the liberty of appropriating some of our fine Rosemary Peasant Bread as an accompaniment.”
Charlie noted the addition, and nodded in an impressed acknowledgement. The waiter almost glowed from the simple appreciation.

“And for you, sir – the Filet.”

The delicious, rich smell now had all of their attentions. The slight hint of jealousness form a neighboring table returned the smugness to John’s expression. “Excellent!” he announced to anyone who might happened to be listening.

“And last, but not least, the ‘Pane Tostato Con Formaggio’” said the waiter, placing the dish in front of Lila. Nodding, he exited the table, bolstered by the enthusiastic responses he had received to his delivery.

The friends, however, sat quiet. It was not the quiet that it had been, but a kinetic pause. A moment of apprehension hit Charlie’s face, followed by a smirk, and then a sparkle hit his eyes that couldn’t be missed. Lila herself was struggling to hold back a smirk. Both waited for any reaction from the third of them, but John sat silently staring at the plate for what seemed like forever. Finally, he spoke out the thought that was on all of their minds.

“It’s a toasted cheese sandwich.”

Seeing two slices of bread, fixed together with melting cheese had an effect that none of the friends could have anticipated.

Charlie couldn’t hold back his chuckling any longer, and once John joined in, the pair began to snort and belly laugh as if nothing else had happened. With the happy eyes of her friends, and not a few glares from surrounding faces looking at her, Lila grinned and shrugged.
“Sometimes all you want is a toasted cheese sandwich.”