Political Science 101

Chapter Twenty-Two

"WHAT KIND of wine do you want?" Ana spoke loudly from her kitchen. Mitch sat at her dining room table in her larger-than-normal apartment; a different apartment than the one where he dropped her off on Election Night. Perhaps she'd apparently moved and failed to mention it.

"I don't care," he replied, "as long as it's not red. Red wine gives me killer migraines."

"I have white or blush," she replied.

"Blush is fine," Mitch said, hoping it would be a little more romantic than chardonnay or some other generic white wine. Mitch wasn't much of a wine drinker, but he made this concession since Ana had gone to the trouble of cooking him dinner.

Her apartment carried a very modern décor. Her furniture was a fashionable dark gray and all her end tables, corner tables, and her coffee table appeared to be of the same matching designer set. She had several paintings on the wall, high-quality textured reprints of Edvard Munch's "The Scream," Vincent Van Gogh's "Starry Night," Claude Monet's "San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk," Rabo Karabekian's "The Temptation of St. Anthony," and Peter Paul Rubens' "Consequences of War." Her drapes and window treatments were thick, layered, and lavish; her dining room table was fashionable oak, and even her dinnerware had a classy sheen to it.

Mitch found this all very impressive, but peculiar. However, he respected her enough not to ask directly, though he might later hit about his curiosity regarding how a sports bar waitress could afford such a large and lavish apartment, let alone all of the designer accommodations which accessorized it.

As she emerged from the kitchen with her gourmet pasta dish, she looked at him and smiled, giving him a subtle and sexy wink. Her makeup was carefully and beautifully done, she wore a tight-fitting maroon cocktail dress and the Cross of her gold necklace rested provocatively across her elegant neckline. Mitch had to remind himself to maintain eye contact rather than ogle her slim figure, and he was again surprised that he had not yet shared a bed with this beautiful woman. As she sat down across the table, Mitch made certain to keep his eyes at ninety degrees. She poured them both a glass of wine and they began dinner.

"You have an amazing apartment," Mitch complimented as they began to eat. He paused, then decided to just throw his thoughts into the conversational air between them. "How can you afford all of this? And why is this the first time I've been here? And when did you move?"

"Well, Ana responded, showing slight signs of discomfort at the barrage of questions which seemed out-of-place during a dinner date, "I have an aunt who is fairly well-off." She paused, hoping this answer would appease Mitch's curiosity, but she judged from his countenance that it did not. "Since she never had any children, she's always been sure that I'm taken care of, and comfortable." She softly presented Mitch with a facial expression which casually asked him to move on to a different topic.

Mitch accommodated, having only one of his three questions answered. "Hey," he said with a smile, lightening the mood, "I'm taking Ashlynn and her friend to a concert tomorrow night. Would you like to go? I could use a grown-up to talk to."

"Well, I work, but maybe I can get someone to cover my shift." She smiled at him with optimism. "Several people owe me a favor. What concert?" She was chatty and he ate her spaghetti, very receptive of the subject change.

"Oh, I don't remember," Mitch replied, twirling his fork through his spaghetti noodles, "a bunch of 90s rappers, I think. I really should know since it's the music of my youth, but I was more of a Guns N' Roses, Pearl Jam, Nirvana kind of guy back then." He paused and looked at her, giving her a flirtatious pretty-please look, accented by a slight grin; after a few moments, his grin became a smile — she had that effect on him.

Ana returned the smile.

"And," Mitch continued, "she's dragging her friend Kelli along and I would greatly appreciate a fourth person so that I don't end up standing by myself or getting dragged into the crowd of crazies.

"Where's it at?" Ana asked.

"It's at Scottrade," he replied, referring to the Scottrade Arena in downtown St. Louis.

"Sounds like fun," she said, still smiling. "If nothing else, it will be nice to socialize a little with Ashlynn."

Mitch paused for a moment, analyzing that last sentence. Did this mean she wanted to be close to Ashlynn? They already got along quite well, but had not spent an extended time together. Did this mean she was thinking about a future with them? Did she want to move in? Was she looking for marriage? Was she the "new mommy" that Marie had mentioned? But couldn't Ana have younger and better-looking guy?

"Mitch?" Ana said, snapping him back from the depths of his own over-analyzation of a single sentence.

"Huh?" he said, immediately regretting how dumb he sounded. Mitch hated that word and tried to cure Ashlynn of using as well, telling her it sounded ignorant and uneducated, and she instead should say "Excuse me?" or "Yes?" or something similar.

"Are you okay?" Ana asked. "You look like something is bothering you."

"I'm fine," he said with a touch of faux-happiness, "just daydreaming, I guess." He quietly began to hope Ana was the woman about whom Marie tragically spoke, but at the same time, he struggled with seeing Ana's face in front of him as well as Marie's face in his mind's-eye.

Just breathe, he told himself silently.