The wine? Expensive.
Her dress? Silk.
The man? Rich.
The waiter? Significant.
Her life? Broken.
Chastity sat at the lifted table with the red velvet table cloth and the crystal champagne glasses and the extravagant center piece and the dainty spoons and forks. She knew he was going to propose tonight and even though this was the moment she had been waiting for since she was old enough to dream, she felt sick to her stomach. She looked across the restaurant and spotted a tall, dark skinned waiter with a smile white as snow and eyes that could charm the most broken of hearts. His hair was cut short, and his bow tie, though part of the workers uniform, looked right in place at the base of his long neck. She watched his large, gentle hands as he gracefully poured some coffee for an elderly couple. Chastity’s gaze shifted to the elder male and noticed his glazed over eyes as he admired the woman with him. In his eyes there was no waiter, or crowded restaurant or even the steaming coffee; just him and his lady. His wrinkled hand reached for her fragile fingers and when they touched, Chastity knew what love looked like. Chastity had always wanted someone to look at her that way.
“Chastity?” The voice yanked her back to the table and she looked at the man sitting beside her as if for the first time. “Don’t you think?”
“Yes, Walter. You are always right.” She uttered the well rehearsed reply and Walter went back to rambling about the injustice within politics and his eyes flared with passion. She turned back to look at the table in time to see the man place a heavy fur coat around the tiny bones of his love. The woman lifted her eyes and smiled and, with hands locked, the two elders walked towards the door and out into the bitter cold. The waiter was out of sight.
Chastity ran her finger around the rim of her glass, paying close attention to the way the smooth edged felt against her manicured finger. She didn’t even notice the tear run down her cheek.
“More champagne, madam?” Chastity looked up and locked eyes with the tall waiter.
“I think she has had enough.” Walter answered for her sharply as he stuck out his own glass to be refilled for the fourth time that night. Chastity starred at her half full glass, the first of the night, as if her whole life story was playing within the lingering liquid. “Perhaps some water for the lady.” Walter suggested and shooed him away. “Chastity, darling,” he started, “please look me in the eye. It is terribly rude for you to stare blankly ahead as if you were on this date by yourself. Now I am trying to tell you something important.”
Chastity lifted her head slightly, and looking into Walter’s eyes. A lifeless expression replaced that of passion that had occupied his face just moments ago as he rambled about politics.
“You see, Chastity, I love you. You are difficult, and ditsy, and haven’t more of an opinion on life than a goldfish, but I still love you. You are the prettiest girl I have ever laid eyes on and I want you to be one hundred percent mine. Will you, my pet, marry me?” Walter pulled out a little black velvet box with a thin silver band holding a large diamond.
“But where is your passion now?” She uttered with a broken voice. His hand was cold as it interlocked hers in an awkward way, and his facial expressions were rough and intimidating.
His grip tightened and he whispered, “D*mn it, Chastity; just say yes.”
The waiter came back with a slim glass of water and set it in front of her.  She avoided looking at him as long as possible but finally she had to meet his wide eyes. Her heart cracked when she saw the expression on his face as he spotted the ring. Walter’s grip was constantly increasing and her mother’s voice was on replay in the back of her head, “Marry a rich man, and you will have everything you ever wanted. Money is happiness, my dear child.”
“Say it,” Walter demanded as he touched her cheek lightly with one hand, and crushed her aching hand with the other. He pressed against her cheek, forcing her to look at him, the blush and foundation on her cheek wearing off on his rough skin.
“Yes, Walter.” Her voice cracked and he let go of her.
“Now go clean yourself up; you look a mess.” Walter judged. “Top off my glass, good sir,” he held out his almost full glass to the waiter with a look of victory in his eyes. Walter saw him eye the ring on his fiancé’s finger and chuckled. “We have something to celebrate.” The waiter topped off his glass and watched as Chastity gracefully walked to the bathroom as if nothing had happened.
In the bathroom, Chastity ran her hand under cold water. It was already swelling and her veins were popping out beneath the purple skin. She turned off the water and looked in the mirror. Her whole life she was taught that money was everything, but then why, oh why, was she hopelessly in love with a man of a different race who had nothing compared to Walter. She could do it; she could walk out of this bathroom, break the engagement, and go passionately kiss the waiter like she had done so many other times in secret. She could be like that elderly couple and love and be loved by the tall man with large gentle hands and she could have a life and a family with him. Her mind began to travel like it had so many other times when she thought of him. Sometimes she had even come into the restaurant alone, just in hopes of getting him as a waiter and they could look into each other’s eyes and she would feel loved. She could see in her own reflection a sparkle in her eyes that rarely appeared these days, and she could see her brain getting carried away with the fantasy.
But that was all it was: a fantasy.
She placed her throbbing hand upon the door handle, and the ring sparkled in the yellow lighting of the florescent bathroom bulbs.
When she reached the table, she found Walter was across the room, flirting with a perky breasted waitress with red lipstick and thick calves. Fantasies were something to be dreamt of in the bathroom; nothing more. This was the real world, where rich men married pretty women and then drank away their sorrows. She sat down gracefully at the table and spotted a shot of vodka Walter must have ordered for himself while she was in the bathroom; with one swift movement she downed the harsh drink, consciously aware of the heavy liquid stinging her virgin throat as it went down. The waiter walked over cautiously, and when he saw her wounded hand he stopped. “Chastity,” he started, but Chastity held out her good hand for him to stop.  He reached over and wiped away a tear from her eye. “You don’t have to do this. Tell him you don’t love him and walk away. I will protect you. Chastity, I love -”
“No,” she whispered as Walter began walking back to the table. He looked jubilant as he laid down a rather large bill on the table.
“Keep the change.” He said to the waiter with a sly smile. “I have plenty more where that came from.” Then he grabbed Chastity by the wrist and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. He hugged her tenderly and whispered that he loved her; she collapsed, defeated, in his big strong arms and though she knew perfectly well what love looked like, she wondered if this was what love felt like. “Let’s go home and celebrate this new advance in our relationship. Am I right, or am I right?”
“Yes, Walter. You are always right.” She said in a robotic tone and linked arms with her fiancé. They turned and walked out of the diner and the waiter stood motionless, spotting a large bruise on the back of her left leg for the first time that evening. He waited and waited for her to turn around and give him a sign that she would fix this; that she would be back for him like she had so many times before.
But she didn’t.
She kept walking and they rounded the corner, arms linked, and climbed into Walter’s expensive, shiny black car. The waiter watched as the car drove away, fading into the heavy fog of the evening, Chastity never turning around to look back.