Riccardo polishes steaming baskets of cutlery straight from the dishwasher. His hands move in a staccato rythum while his eyes remain fixated on the man at table three. He has ordered today's special - Beef in allegro marinade, flown in specially from Paris Tennessee with a side of seasonal vegetables and mashed potato. His suit looks plain and well worn, his tie a mish-mash of ostentatious reds and oranges swirled around and spat out onto cheap polyester. Riccardo picks up his tenth butterknife and rubs it gently, suggestively. He would love to dote on table three but the man has company; a sharp nosed woman dressed from head to toe in plum. Her hair colour, eyeshadow and lipstick, skirt and blazer, blouse and tights, shoes, handbag and nailpolish; everything in more or less identical shades. Riccardo thinks she looks looks a jar of prunes, obviously over compensating for her marginal personality. The pair pause their conversation while their plates are placed in front of them. Riccardo notes that the woman has conservatively ordered the pasta primavera. His attention shifts back to the man who is removing his tie and draping it over the back of his chair. Riccardo's imagination flits to a fantasy involving the man at table three, his tie, a bedpost and a damn good spanking. Riccardo takes a deep breath and governs his strength to keep the tingling in his groin from becoming a full-on errection and grabs another scalding knife from the cutlery basket.
