"Lifetime o' practice, kemo sabe. Long lifetime, lots an' lots o' practice. But I'll allow as this one's the peak. But hey, yer not doin' so bad yerself. Hell, if mine's a ten, then Janet there's at least a seven, hell, maybe even an eight." Al shrugged. "Never give a final score till I seen 'em nekkid." He congratulated himself on his generousity of phrase.
Brad clearly wasn't sure how to take Al's response. He was a tall guy, and broad. Probably played rugby or something in his university days, and obviously spending enough time in the gym now, ten years or so on, Al guessed, to keep himself from going to seed. In his satin slacks and tuxedo shirt, collar open, he presented a sharp contrast to the diminutive Al, who was wearing a yellowing T-shirt over filthy jeans, and had let himself go to seed decades ago.
"Yes, well...quite. I suppose we can agree they're both lovely ladies."
Al smiled. Brad had that public school way of talking that he liked. Probably used it a lot making the sort of money that let him take this train ride with his posh wife. But Al had stopped the poor guy's initial foray dead in its tracks. Be interesting to see if he got back on his feet in the fifteen minutes or so Al reckoned they had. Well, considering the quality of the prize, he might just be motivated enough to stay in the game.
Al defrosted the moment with a comment about the ass of one of the train crew, and they went on trading guy-talk about cars. Brad liked Italian, and Al told him at length about the work he'd been doing on his Ferrari. They spoke of women, and the trip, and he and Janet's plans to fill the time in the coming days. Finally, when it felt like the ladies must be about due back, Brad said, "So, um, Al, it's wonderful that we're hitting it off so well. Um, I'm sure the girls are as well. And I'm glad you think that Janet...well, I know she..."
Poor Brad lost his flow for just a small moment, but it was all the opening Al needed to offer, "Yes, Brad. Go ahead."
"Well," big winning smile that must be great in the boardroom, "I guess what I'm getting at is..." The smile again.
"Well, amigo, ol' Al ain't no mind-reader. Ya got somethin' ya wanna say, spit 'er out. Don't matter what it is. I mean, look at me, Brad. Take a good look." Al grinned wolfishly around his cigarette, then made Brad wait as he took a long swig of beer. "Don't I jist look like the very picture of open-minded an' progressive?"
Brad hesitated, pretty sure there was no safe answer.
"So jist come on out with it." Al leaned forward in his seat ever so slightly. "I mean, Brad, what's the very worst that could possibly happen?"
"Oh, well, it was nothing very momentous really." Quiet laugh that was meant to sound relaxed, but didn't quite. "I was just going to remark on that hula dancer on your arm there, inquire into his provenance."
"Yeah, Brad, I git a lot o' that." Blew two smoke rings, savoring the moment. "Look, she moves when I flex..."
"Hello boys." It was Janet, back with Alyce from their nose-powdering. "Al," she smiled in greeting. "How have you two been getting on?"
Brad answered, "Oh, splendidly. Al has brilliant taste in autos, and he was just showing me how his tattoo moved."
"Oh, do show me," giggled Janet, as Alyce nestled into the lounger next to Al.
Al set about displaying the dexterity of his bicep, and Alyce whispered in his ear, like she had a secret behind her words, "So how did your side of the conversation go?"