Salt

The gaunt man wearing the sunglasses picked up the shaker of salt at his table, held it over his green beans, hesitated, and put it down again, shaking his head. Across the dining area of the restaurant, an aristocratic woman in a green dress watched him from behind her upraised glass of tea.

She thought: Well, is he going to use the salt or not?

The man poked a forkful of green beans into his mouth and chewed vigorously, then reached for his salt shaker again. His fingers wavered just short of it and the man sighed. He was unaware of the woman in the green dress.

What could his dilemma be? the woman mused, swishing an ice cube in her warm mouth. And why does he wear those shades in here? She watched him drum his fingers on the tabletop in front of the salt shaker.

The man noticed, with vague wonder, that he was getting an erection. The rustling and tightening in his crotch quickened his heartbeat. He could even feel the stitching in his underwear. He squirmed in his chair to offset the discomfort and thought about salt. First, he imagined huge trucks with mountains of salt stored in their beds. Then, he envisioned that little girl with the umbrella and the short skirt, skipping cheerfully through a downpour of salt. Sexy. He seized the salt shaker.

This is it! thought the woman as she watched. He has made up his mind! Somehow, this man’s rendezvous with the salt shaker had aroused some unbidden fascination in her. This, she mused, must be what Mondays do to middle-aged women like me. While some people debated gun control and right-to-life issues, here was a man utterly torn between eating his green beans with or without salt. She watched, not caring anymore if he happened to notice she’d taken an interest. She watched.

In his mind, he saw nymphette, vulnerable women slithering like snakes across hot, shiny flats of salt. He saw the Morton salt chick standing in the sodium rain, delicately drawing up her skirt just for him to see. An unclothed housewife sucked the salt from the mailman’s sweaty abdomen. YES! HE WANTED SALT! HE WANTED IT WANTED IT WANTED IT!

He shook the shaker violently. Crystals of salt landed in his food, on his table, and on his suit. He thrust his thick-feeling tongue out to catch the flying sodium like a six-year-old tasting the first snow of the winter. Behind his mirror shades, his eyes widened and jittered with horrendous glee.

The aristocratic-looking woman was aware that her mouth had popped open as the shaded man threw some kind of tantrum in his chair, which now squeaked and creaked undter his sudden upheaval. Amidst the shock of the stranger’s eruption, a single ice cube melted on her tongue.

The man’s shades finally toppled from his twisted, grimacing face as he stood and thrust the salt shaker into his pants, still shucking it. He grinned broadly at the woman in green, but seemed not to notice her. Nor did he notice the stout, wide-eyed waiters who were making their way over to restrain him. Nor did he notice that his green beans were getting cold.

The woman never ate at that restaurant again, and for reasons she couldn't consciously place, she never again wore her green dress.