I nod but can’t resist a little teasing. “So you can actually do things for yourself.”
He raises his brows. I’m not sure if he’s amused. I think he is.
“I’m not lazy because I can afford to have things like driving and meals done for me,” he says, opening the door for me. “It’s a matter of efficiency.”
“I know. Like with your brother, the opportunity cost of him taking half an hour to make dinner would probably be in the thousands, or hundreds of thousands.”
“Exactly.”
“On the other hand, not every minute has to count. I mean to say, one doesn’t have to think of every minute as lost revenue. There’s value in not working as much as possible.”
“You sound European.”
“Well, I remember, when I was waitressing at Dee’s, which is one of the best barbecue joints in the Tri-Cities, I had to serve this group of New Yorkers who were in town for business. They couldn’t complain enough about how slow everything in North Carolina moved compared to New York. Maybe they just didn’t understand that you don’t rush good barbecue. And if you’re going to have lunch at Dee’s, you ought to enjoy your time there. Spending it complaining doesn’t seem like an efficient use of the time God grants you.”
“You might fit in in France. Dinner there can take three hours.”
“Okay, things may move slower in the South but not that slow.” I think for a moment. “But a super long dinner actually sounds nice. I would try that, a three-hour dinner. I’m usually scarfing down a sandwich in between work and classes, and I don’t even taste or remember what I ate.”
“You’d like it. You can savor your meal, and I see how much you enjoy food.”
I blush. “I never thought I’d like scallops this much. Was it that obvious?”
“Your face lit up like a beacon.”
I blush deeper. Maybe I should stay away from food in front of Tony.
“You light up during sex, too.”
A woman walking into the elevator as we walk out turns her head. My face is probably as red as a cherry right now.
“Your emotions are easy to see,” Tony says as we exit the hotel.
Unlike Mr. Pokerface next to me.
Tony turns enough heads just by being him, so I change the subject because I don't want more attention drawn our way. "The pho place is nothing fancy. In fact, it's a hole in the wall, but they serve great pho."
"You're a pho connoisseur?"
"Actually, I've never had pho till I came to San Francisco, and I wasn't a huge fan when I first tried it. But it's definitely grown on me. It's kind of like Asian comfort food: it's filling and affordable. It probably won't be as good as what you can get back in Vietnam. I'm sure it isn't. But I hope you lik
e it. At least the options are much better here in San Francisco then back in North Carolina. I mean, we have ethnic food in Durham, in Charlotte, but it's a whole new level here in San Francisco. There could be more soul food options, though."
"Soul food?"
"Fried chicken, collard greens, sweet potato pie."
"Fried chicken is popular in China. KFC outperforms McDonald's quite a bit."
"I guess KFC is better than nothing, but that's not what I would call soul food. If you're interested, there's a pretty good place here in the city called Maybelle's. Her sweet potato pie's to die for."
Of course, we won't get to try it if he decides to end our time together, I want to point out but decide not to press the issue just yet.
We reach the pho place on the outskirts of Chinatown. It's before the dinner rush, so we easily grab a table in the corner. I pick up the plastic menu propped against a bucket of chopsticks and Asian soup spoons and jars of hot sauce, but I know I'm getting my usual, the Tái G?u. Tony orders the noodle soup with fish balls, something I've never worked up the guts to try.
"How come you decided not to use your driver to Eric's place?" I ask after we order.
"I like to drive. When I was younger, I wanted to be a racecar driver."