Worlds Collide

It was a Monday night for celebrating.

Holmes had met his deadline and Paul was reopening Amour, having just returned from two weeks in France.

Ergo, we planned to meet up at Amour for dinner and wine to blow off some steam.

It is, after all, Carytown restaurant week.

Arriving at the bar, I was surprised to find Pru already in residence.

What are you doing here, I asked of her. What are you doing here, she asked of me.

You just never know who's going to turn up on a Monday night.

I got a glass of Mas de la Rouviere Bandol Rose, a nod to owner Paul, who'd just come back from Provence.

When Holmes and his lovely girlfriend arrived, we rearranged ourselves at his request so I could sit next to him.

He came out of the gate strong, telling me a story he'd heard with me in it and following that with, "I want to to know who this Pru is you mention in your blog."

Holmes, meet Pru. Pru, Holmes. Well, that was easy.

He took issue with her credo that wine at lunch is civilized, taking her to task for suggesting drinking during the workday.

She defended her thesis adamantly. I stayed out of it.

Speaking of drinking, it didn't take much more than a sip out of my glass to convince my dinner dates to follow my lead with the Bandol, its hints of raspberry and citrusy finish sealing the deal.

Once everyone had ordered wonderful things like coq au vin and shrimp with scallops off the restaurant week menu, we got down to admiring vacation pictures.

There were so many to see, each a testament to the pleasures of visiting Paris and Provence with a native.

Delectable food porn from Parisian bistros, incredibly colorful market shots of fruits and vegetables, the Eiffel Tower at night.

One thing was clear: the French are as artful with food presentation at markets as an artist arranging a still life.

No mere pile of fresh fish for them; instead they were laid out in a sunburst pattern, almost as if they were jumping into the sea in a series of arcs.

The shots of Provence- Cyprus trees, outdoor meals spread on colorful blue and yellow tablecloths, distant mountains- and Monaco- casinos, bright blue waters, boats that looked as expensive as houses- were breathtaking.

In one of those oddly coincidental moments, a woman at a nearby table spotted a picture of a five-masted boat and told us it was named the Maltese Falcon.

Like the movie I just saw for the first time? Yup.

Someone told Paul he should have blogged about his trip instead of just documenting it photographically and he responded saying next year he'd take someone along to write it all down for him.

Ooh, ooh, pick me! Pick me!

I could have gotten lost in eating my mixed mushroom medley in puffed pastry while watching scenes of France go by, but Holmes was in far too raucous a mood for that.

I was accused of being a hedonist.

He chided me for not watching TV, for holding out to see movies in theaters rather than at home, even my looks, saying that my bangs needed a trim.

About the kindest he got was telling me that he'd really liked all my recent posts about dating, finding them fascinating and wanting more information about the men I've been seeing.

I filled in details where I chose to, but he preferred to jump to conclusions rather than accept vague answers.

Over shared desserts of dark chocolate creme brulee and today's special, a mouth-watering combination of fall apples and brioche with chantilly cream and vanilla bean ice cream, we got off on a tangent about old theaters.

Like the Biograph on Grace Street, leading to the revelation that not one of us besides Pru had ever seen "Rocky Horror Picture Show."

As Pru is wont to say, horrors!

A nearby two-top chimed in for this conversation, the woman saying she always went dressed as Columbia.

Pru's costume of choice, it seems, was Magenta.

I am completely out of the loop on this one.

Someone brought up the former Regal Cinemas Regency Square and everyone had a story to tell about the theaters.

My favorite came from a server who worked a summer there.

Apparently Joe Morrissey used to come in on busy weekend nights, always with some youthful arm candy, and slip him a $20 bill to be let in the theater early to claim a good seat.

"I was making five bucks an hour, so sure, I took the money and let him in," he shrugged, grinning. Duh.

Imagine if a man took me out and slipped the usher a bill so we could be the first in.

Now that could lead to a good dating story to post.

Actually, the most romantic moment of the evening came when Holmes' beloved told him to kiss her.

Grabbing her head, he swiveled her neck around and planted a kiss on her that had the rest of us watching slack-jawed.

Twice.

If that ever happens to me, Holmes, you can be sure my post won't leave out a single detail.