Katherine had arrived in Cheyenne by propeller-driven commuter plane.  She had wanted to spend the time alone.  Her escape into the compressed convenience bar dead set in the middle of the airport terminal seemed to have worked until the perky waitress slid into the booth seat next to her.   Across the room, plenty of bar stools stood vacant-except for one.

"Look, I'm doing this for that guy over there," the waitress volunteered and gestured.  Katherine brandished a confused look until the girl touched her arm.  A lack of make-up made the waitress pale.  The girl's other hand fiddled with a string of bleached blonde hair.  "Guy?"   Katherine resisted, but felt compelled to say something.  "Yeah, over there.  Nice jacket, huh?"  the waitress remonstrated.

Katherine sensed the girl had been tipped nicely for the message delivery.  Katherine looked.  It was true:  his jacket was cashmere, expensive and had the look of success.  His hair, graying at the temples was longish and tousled.  It seemed designed to assure he was approachable.  He had a whiskey, neat, in front of him.  "Why'd he send you?  Katherine cringed at her decision to pursue the topic.  "I'm a waitress honey, men expect all kind of things from me."  A smile crossed Katherine's lips.  "No.  I mean what does he want?"  The waitress giggled.  "He said he likes the way you move."  "He said that?"   Katherine rolled her eyes.  "Yep."  "So what do you think?"   Katherine rued the fact she was diving in.  "Me?  Hey, I just take the orders.  I don't get paid enough to think.  They think I do, but I don't really.  And besides, I didn't see your walk."  The waitress stood and flashed a smile at the man, then winked.  She turned back and leaned over Katherine's table.  "But since you asked, I'd steal a drink from him, then run like hell."  So a few minutes later Katherine and Lionel settled into the single couch in the lounge.

"It is really nice to meet someone so cosmopolitan in a place like this."  He retreated into a companionable tone that reminded Katherine of a swarmy life insurance agent.

She hadn't told him where she was from, but it didn't seem to matter.  He continued.  "I'm on holiday from Europe."  Katherine noticed the word contrasted sharply with a mid-western flatness in his speech.  "Are you American?"  Her voice probed like klieg lights in the night.  "Yes."  He answered.  "Why?"   "Oh, no reason."  She circled now.

"I'm only here on a lay-over," he grew expansive.  "My company, the one I own, is in discussions on a rather larger merger."

"Really?  How nice for you."

The waitress arrived to their empty glasses and Lionel ordered another whisky.  Lionel reacted.  "For the lady?"

Katherine covered her glass and nodded.  She had had enough for the moment.

"Yes, it will be wonderful, God willing.  Should give me some real freedom.  A chance to travel."  He paused then took on a solemn tone.  "May I ask you a question?"

"Why not?"   She chirped.

He brightened.  "When the deal goes through, would you consider having dinner with me at a beautiful restaurant in Paris."

A smile flittered behind Katherine's eyes.

"Well that depends."

"Yes?"   She felt his well-worn sense of accomplishment radiating.

"Where would it be.  I mean where would you take me?"

"Oh.  The Magot.  I'm quite a regular there."

"The Magot?  Do you mean Le Deux Magot?"

He was nonplussed.  "Yes that's it.  Do you know it?"

Le Deux Magot, Le Deux Magot?  Let me see.  Is the food good?"

"The very best."  His face lit up.

She edged closer to him and softened her voice.  "Oh, tell me what you had the last time you were there?"

He didn't hesitate.  boeuf Burgione, rare, with morel mushrooms.  I'll have you know I had truffles, specially ordered.

"Oh my god!"  Unable to resist, she let her shoulder rub his.  "Is it all right if I have another wine."

"Of course."  Lionel signaled to the waitress.  Katherine lifted her empty glass and tapped the top with her finger, then lip synched, "I'll have another."

The waitress brought her another glass of chardonnay.

Katherine continued.  "You must go there often."

"Yes, the last time, just three weeks ago as a matter of fact.  So what do you think, dinner in Paris?"

Katherine lifted her wine and pondered the question as though factoring an algebraic equation.

"Well Lionel, I think it would be nice.  Very nice, in fact" She pulled the glass to her lips and sipped, then swirled the wine about her mouth as though searching for just that slight hint of hibiscus.  "The only problem is that Le Deux Magot closed a year ago yesterday You see, I moved from Duluth, so I could waitress there.  I loved it for about six weeks but then it ended just as quickly as it began.  It's taken me all this time to recover financially.  Can you just imagine that?   I always wished they had told me beforehand, I could have avoided a lot of headaches."

She took a deep breath.  "By the way, did I mention I once dated this guy who kept sending me plastic saints in the mail for months after we broke up.  It only stopped after I called the police.  Last I heard, his therapist had given up on him Lionel peered at his watch, then said he had to make a call, but promised to be right back.  He picked up his whiskey.  She knew when he did, he wouldn't return.

So awaiting her connector flight, Katherine sat carefully on the sofa-feet close together on the floor, as if she were riding the subway.  She ordered another wine.

As she finished her wine, she smiled and thought how strange it all was; not as if he had died, but rather as if she had killed him.

Author Bio

Fred Fitchett lives in New Jersey where he writes fiction, screenplays, and poetry in addition to occasional book reviews.  He is currently working on a Masters degree in English at Rutgers University with an emphasis on creative writing.  He participates in a number of poetry and fiction workshops including the Two Rivers Writer's Group.  His has a volume of poetry, Fragments: A Lover's Discourse.  His most recent screenplay, Underground, is expected to be completed shortly.