Re: The Aristocrat/The Carnie
The Count was unaccustomed to dining companions. When he chose them, he was fussy over their attributes. They were invariably actresses or ballet dancers and his smile, faint and forgiving ignored the poverty of table manners in exchange for the entertainment of their company which was original. The menus varied but the appetite was the same. He had occasional bouts of dyspepsia which he blamed on foreign cooking and occasionally he tasted an echo of strong tea with cherries in the aftermath of a good meal. Which was to say, the Count thought rather a lot of what he ate and when. It was a preoccupation and the exiled had few.
He had the waiter on the hop. Hup! The waiter had a discoloration on the underside of his right thumb where the bleach had not cleaned his glove entirely. But that was of no matter, the Count was used to enduring imperfection. The waiter was trying to recall all the vintages the train carried, which was a lengthy but uninspiring list and the Count's mouth twitched displeasure. He saw the boy sweep a confection off the plate of a distracted woman. No matter, her clothes strained at the waist, she did not need cake, hm? His eyes over the green glasses followed the boy to another table, and he cleared his throat. When the waiter moved off, the Count pointed to the youth with two long fingers, and beckoned.
He did so with the perfect anticipation the youth would sit on the seat opposite. The Count was rarely surprised these days. Even money could not afford surprise.