Twelve Red Herrings

“I think you’ll find it’s pretty good,” I said, rather plaintively.

“I was only teasing, Michael. Don’t take yourself so seriously.”

I took a closer look at my companion and began to wonder if I’d made a terrible mistake. Despite her efforts in the washroom, Anna wasn’t quite the same girl I’d first seen—admittedly at a distance—when I’d nearly crashed my car earlier in the evening.

Oh my God, the car. I suddenly remembered where I’d left it and stole a glance at my watch.

“Am I boring you already, Michael?” Anna asked. “Or is this table on a time-share?”

“Yes. I mean no. I’m sorry, I’ve just remembered something I should have checked on before we came to dinner. Sorry,” I repeated.

Anna frowned, which stopped me saying sorry yet again.

“Is it too late?” she asked.

“Too late for what?”

“To do something about whatever it is you should have checked on before we came to dinner?”

I looked out of the window, and wasn’t pleased to see that it had stopped raining. Now my only hope was that the late-night traffic cops might not be too vigilant.

“No, I’m sure it will be all right,” I said, trying to sound relaxed.

“Well, that’s a relief,” said Anna, in a tone that bordered on the sarcastic.

“So. What’s it like being a doctor?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“Michael, it’s my evening off. I’d rather not talk about my work, if you don’t mind.”

For the next few moments neither of us spoke. I tried again. “Do you have many male patients in your practice?” I asked as the waiter reappeared with our fettuccine.

“I can hardly believe I’m hearing this,” Anna said, unable to disguise the weariness in her voice. “When are people like you going to accept that one or two of us are capable of a little more than spending our lives waiting hand and foot on the male sex.”

The waiter poured some wine into my glass.

“Yes. Of course. Absolutely. No. I didn’t mean it to sound like that …” I sipped the wine and nodded to the waiter, who filled Anna’s glass.

“Then what did you mean it to sound like?” demanded Anna as she stuck her fork firmly into the fettuccine.

“Well, isn’t it unusual for a man to go to a woman doctor?” I said, realizing the moment I had uttered the words that I was only getting myself into even deeper water.

“Good heavens, no, Michael. We live in an enlightened age. I’ve probably seen more naked men than you have—and it’s not an attractive sight, I can assure you.” I laughed, in the hope that it would ease the tension. “In any case,” she added, “Quite a few men are confident enough to accept the existence of women doctors, you know.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” I said. “I just thought …”

“You didn’t think, Michael. That’s the problem with so many men like you. I bet you’ve never even considered consulting a woman doctor.”

“No, but … Yes, but …”

“‘No but, yes but’—Let’s change the subject before I get really angry,” Anna said, putting her fork down. “What do you do for a living, Michael? It doesn’t sound as if you’re in a profession where women are treated as equals.”

“I’m in the restaurant business,” I told her, wishing the fettuccine was a little lighter.

“Ah, yes, you told me in the intermission,” she said. “But what does being ‘in the restaurant business’ actually mean?”

“I’m on the management side. Or at least, that’s what I do nowadays. I started life as a waiter, then I moved into the kitchens for about five years, and finally …”

“ … found you weren’t very good at either, so you took up managing everyone else.”