"The pasta, I mean. Was it as hot as my husband, well, my ex-husband always says it was?" She asked, giving her full focus as if his answer mattered a lot to her.
Bernard had no idea what the woman intended to accomplish by insisting on the answer to that, especially when she rolled her tongue around the word hot," but he knew that he was getting uncomfortable with the way Marissa's face got more and more blank by the moment. So he simply gave her the truth. Hurt sensibilities be damned.
"Oh, I have no idea how it tasted. My gateman gave it a glowing review, though. Remember I told you that day that I am not a fan of pasta, so I had to give it to him? He sent his thanks, though," he said simply.
Marissa couldn't stop the small smile that curled her lips, especially when she remembered that he was not averse to pasta. Bernard was pleased as he caught the smile, and they exchanged a look that didn't go unnoticed by the hawk-eyed Ms. Robinson.
She laughed airily Oh, that is no problem at all. I could make something else next time if you let me know what you like."
"I am sure that that wouldn't be necessary." Marissa replied, placing her hand on his thigh as she said, "Bernard here doesn't like eating out, so no matter how 'hot' the meal could be, it just wouldn't agree with him." Her emphasis on the wordhot, just like Ms. Robinson had done earlier, made Bernard smile, and he wondered if he could be lucky enough for Marissa to be jealous because of him.
"Maybe all hope is not lost yet," he thought as he entwined his hands with hers, and she squeezed his hands in return.
"That is true. Marissa knows me so well," he said with an adoring look in his eyes as he looked at her face.
"Of course, darling." Marissa answered, getting into character as she returned his look, "That is why I am your wife and not your well... You know, and not your neighbor." Marissa laughed and smiled sheepishly at Ms. Robinson, who smiled back at her with a steely glare in her eyes.
Bernard covered his laughter with a slight cough as he picked up his drink again. "Well, well, my wife has claws after all," he thought as he began to relax for the first time since Ms. Robinson had joined them, certain that Marissa could handle herself. "I might even enjoy this; after all, it is not every day I get to see her lay claim to me like this, and after these two months? Well..." he refused to think about that as he sat back.
"Well, Marissa, is it?" Ms. Robinson said after a pause.
"It is Mrs. Babalola to you," Marissa replied with her smile still in place.
"Oh, I see. Mrs. Babalola, it is then," she said agreeably, and Bernard looked away so she couldn't see the smile on his face. It wouldn't do to be caught mocking a lady, would it?
"We were talking about what we do."
"Were we?" Marissa replied innocently.
"Yeah, what is it that you do?"
"I am into dropshipping; I have been at it for a while now and now I am..."
"Oh, so you are a merchant then? How cute to be able to play around with figures and merchandise with the sense of being a big shot," she said, showing her claws.
"Okay, that is going too far," Bernard thought, and he was about to tell her off when Marissa replied with a smile.
"I imagine that's how cute it is to play around with paint and brushes as well as calling yourself an artist with the self-righteous thought of thinking that you are the next best thing that happens after the discovery of toast bread."
"I don't just think it. Most of my clients and models think so. I have an exhibition center where the patrons say that every time, and veteran critics agree with them. I made millions selling just one of these paintings that I was playing around with, as you said just last week."
"I see that I am expected to be wowed. So yeah, let me say, Wow, oh, you are so incredible, Ms. Robinson. Let's also not forget the fact that you are the one who first thought that it was fine to throw shade at what people do just because you do not understand it and you expect all of us to make things happen for ourselves by slapping paint around painting."
"Nudes"
"What?" Marissa asked in confusion, and even Bernard, who was about to call Marissa's name and suggest they change places, paused as well.
"Well, I figured I would save you the stress of guessing what I paint after all," Ms. Robinson said with her fake smile as she raised one perfectly manicured finger to signal the waiter for a refill. She turned back to face Marissa and said, "I am a figure painter. I paint human bodies, and I specialize mostly in painting nudes. Male models mainly: I appreciate and am fascinated by the way the male bodies are made and sculpted; no two bodies are ever the same. Not even that of identical twins. There is always something different, something unique, and that is what I help to bring out. That is what I bring to life on the canvas. I am obsessed by it," she described, her face glowing with an inner light that made Marissa think that she truly loves what she does.
"If only she wasn't slutty about it, I would have appreciated her love for her art," Marissa thought, as she loves people who can conform ideas in their heads and make them come alive and real.
"You are the perfect specimen as a model," she said suddenly to Bernard as Marissa choked on her drink.
Ms. Robinson gave a small sigh of satisfaction before leaning forward to pat Marissa on the back. Oh, sorry, did you have any issues hearing about nudes? You shouldn't though, seeing as you are a married woman." Marissa's eyes were still smarting, and as much as she would have liked to reply to the sick woman, she was not about to risk her health, so she subtly moved her body from Ms. Robinson's reach.
Ms. Robinson smiled at the approaching waiter and said, "There you are, sweetheart. I was about to come hunt you down myself," she smiled at the waiter. She picked up her drink and jumped up as she knocked Marissa's drink over right on the latter's lap.
"Oh my, I am so sorry!" she exclaimed.