To the Stars Through Difficulty

By the time Lothar joined her for their first lunch date, Posie was looking impatiently to order, sitting bright and eager, menu in hand, scarves tangled around her like vines.

‘Royal blooded,’ he muttered. ‘But pagan.’

He eased with insinuating grace into the booth opposite her. Despite her presence, that aura of money and orgasm, the slippery plastic stung him even through the tailored seat of his English trousers.

Normally, Lothar brooded bitterly over the industrial green walls of the Igloo Café, its dirty linoleum surfaces, its crusty menus and the fly strips dangling in the windows, black with bodies.

The Igloo he had resigned himself to ‑ he’d dined in it every day for three weeks.

Posie it was who still confounded him.

But this was their first time alone together. No silly aunt to contend with here. The opportunity was too great to lose.

He commenced by reaching for her hand.

Bernadette grabbed him instead. ‘Hiya! How’s my grumpiest customer today? Hungry, I bet.’ Bernadette shook her sharp nose at him.

‘Igloo Special is hash with two vegetables, your choice, roll and butter and jello. It’s pretty good. But ham steak with pineapple ring is best. Martha really outdone herself on that today.’

Bernadette cocked a large, 1962‑waitress hip at Lothar, squinting coyly. When she nodded to Posie she opened her eyes wide and seemed to be saying ‘tip’.

‘Hash for me,’ blurted Posie, husky with longing. ‘But