2022-05-30 - Ice Cream and Questions

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : Hey this is Rosencrantz, this is Una right?

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : Yes it is. Hello 🙂

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : Hey

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : So

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : Dancing with you was real nice

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : I enjoyed it too.

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : That dress was fantastic

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : Thank you! Wearing it made me happy.

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : It made me pretty happy too

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : ( little dots showing typing for quite some time )

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : 🙂

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : So that was super awkward of me

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : I'm not exactly any less awkward, let's be real.

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : You're not, are you, lol

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : Noooooooo not even a little.

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : Okay well as long as I'm being awkward. Are you, like. Doing anything

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : At this very moment? Or?

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : Yeah

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : Right now

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : Because I wanna ask you some stuff and we could hang out at the park or something

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : There could be ice cream

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : Oh well, if there's ice cream.

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : Yes, ok. I'm not doing anything. I could be up for this.

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : 'Could'. That sounds super awkward. Yes. Yes, I would like to meet you in the park.

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : You live next to Abildgaard right? I'll pick you up in ten

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : I do. I'll see you then. 🙂

(TXT to Una) Itzhak : Okay but I actually don't know which house it is so you'll have to come out

(TXT to Itzhak) Una : Hahaha ok. I'll wait on the front porch.

A few minutes later, a classic purple Stingray rumbles to the curb. Itzhak reaches over from the driver's seat to pop open the passenger door. He upnods when he sees Una, all tough guy behind mirrored aviators. Back to his usual clothes, clingy heather gray tank top and tight jeans beaten to the texture of suede, washed so many times they're almost white.

As promised, Una's waiting on her front porch, sitting, though the moment she's caught sight of Itzhak she's on her feet and heading down the path to the street. The weather's nice (and not just in the yards of 1, 3 and 5 Oak), and she's dressed for it: a 1950s style emerald green sundress, the kind of thing she does wear on a semi-regular basis. "Hello," she says, approaching the car and climbing in through the helpfully opened door, which gets shut promptly behind her.

"Aww man, love that dress, too." Itzhak makes no secret of admiring Una, eyebrows canted up.

He pulls away and does exactly the speed limit through the residential streets, absently managing the shift and clutch of a machine that only wants to run flat out. There's a plaque reading Heartbreaker on the glove box.

"So, uh, did you have fun? At the party?" Awkward small talk commencing, like Itzhak has had to learn to do this, too.

Una's smile is a pleased with, accompanied (as it so often is) with the faintest hint of a pink blush. "I made this one myself," she admits, which may well be intended to stand in for 'thank you', since she doesn't manage to say those words.

Her sidelong glance, as Itzhak drives, is a thoughtful one; not an outright study, maybe, but certainly watchful: man and machine.

"I did!" And though small talk is the absolute worst, she manages not to leave it there, completely awkward, and adds, "Everyone looked great. It's... hm. Something about giving everyone an opportunity to step out of their usual? We're such an oddball crowd, I expect most of us haven't had many opportunities to enjoy that kind of event in the past. It's nice to get to do that, with friends. Your dance with Ravn was amazing. I caught so many people talking about it later."

Itzhak grins sudden and bright, maybe reddening a bit himself. "When he feels like it? There's a guy who can dance." He laughs quietly at the memory of the two of them drunkenly waltzing the house down. "I had a blast."

Downshift, the engine grumbling. Itzhak pats the dashboard as if soothing the car. "So do you want Everett's place or Vyv? Do you wanna eat a work of art or do you want enough ice cream to choke a horse?"

"He's probably still dying on the inside in recollection," says Una, and she's been laughing and grinning as she does so. "I'm glad." Probably for Itzhak having had a blast and not Ravn dying-on-the-inside, but really, who can say?

"She's beautiful," she notes, the dip of her chin probably intending to to indicate the car. And, "As much as I love the works of art, I believe I was promised ice cream, and there's only one place worth going for that, right? Definitely Everett's. Not everything in life needs to be fancy."

"You got it." Itzhak doesn't have to change course. Downtown is small.

He glances over when Una compliments his car, and he's got such a pleased expression, not quite smiling. "She was hardly more than a shell on a chassis when I got her. Built her damn near from the ground up. I named her that to impress some guy I was in love with. You made that dress too, huh?"

Una notes that expression, absolutely, and it makes her smile in turn (though, really, has she stopped smiling?), though she turns her gaze and watches the streets ahead instead. Her hands clasp in her lap, fingers twined around fingers and kept still by the security of the clasp.

"Yeah? Wow. That's-- I mean, I know all of that is possible. It's a different kind of making to the kind I do, but in the end it's the same concept: putting things together to make new things, or remake them, or improve them. But I don't know anything about cars, so, to me it feels incredibly impressive. It's a good feeling; making something, where something wasn't. Like your car. Or, yes, this dress, though that's a completely different scale."

"Well, to me, pareve hamantashen are a mystery only old Jewish ladies know, so that's pretty badass as far as I'm concerned. Don't even get me started on the dress. Didja make the one you wore to the party?"

Itzhak parks. He's unbuckling and getting out in the same motion, but the passenger door opens apparently on its own. A little flex of his Song.

"God damn it's a nice day." It is, too, perfect room temperature and sunny, big billowy clouds looming on the horizon.

That makes Una laugh again, and oh yes, she looks pretty pleased with herself. Though: "Not the party dress, no," she's quick to add, as she unbuckles herself, giving the door a little, approving glance as she gets out too. "I can sew, but not... not like that. And besides, it was an excellent moment to give in to all my childhood desires to buy something extravagant and ridiculously impractical, just because I could." Worth it.

She tips her chin up towards the sunshine, indulging in it for just a moment, then turns back towards Itzhak. "It's my favourite kind of day," she admits. "Spring and early summer, those few rare days when it's warm but not hot, and it's neither too humid nor too cloudy or wet or--" all the other things the PNW is known for. "Perfect outdoors weather."

Itzhak doesn't say anything. He's watching Una lift her face to the sun. She's talking but he just folds his arms on Heartbreaker's roof and watches, apparently entertained.

When she stops, he jerks his chin at her. "Don't stop on my account. Do that some more."

Una's cheeks go pink in response, gaze lowered but no, that's still amusement in her expression. "Ha," she says. And, "If I do too much of that, I'll burn like a lobster, and I'd rather avoid that." With skin like hers, sunburn probably is a going concern, but that's still certainly an excuse.

"Come on: ice cream. The sun'll still be here after that." It better be.

"Ehhhh aight, but you're awfully damn cute, that's all I'm saying." Smirk. Itzhak holds the door open for Una, normally this time. No showoffy little glimmering gestures. This time. The bell goes dingdingding!

Did he threaten Una with enough ice cream to choke a horse? That's exactly what he orders. On a waffle cone that might collapse under its own weight.

Addington Park is right across the street, so after he pays (he's paying, any protests overridden), he walks slow with Una over to it. "I got a lotta stuff I wanna ask you," he says, "and, yannow, I talk a lot, so just tell me to shut it when you had enough."

More blushing, since this is, indeed, just what Una's cheeks do. This time, her glance is mock-mutinous, a silent insistence that no, don't be silly, she's not even remotely cute, look, she's just going to sail through that door and-- well, she's laughing, too. Cute.

With her token protests on the subject of payment overridden, she's gracious enough, and quiet too, until after Itzhak's remark. "Okay," she says in answer. "I think I can manage that." She turns her head to glance over (and up) at him, expression briefly turning thoughtful and perhaps a little hesitant, but determined, too. "What's on your mind?"

Itzhak waves one hand around in a circle. "Okay, look, we both know we're awkward, so I'm just gonna get awkwardly to the point. Uhhh." Whoops, now it's him flushing behind those sunglasses. He takes them off and hangs them in the neck of his shirt. "So do you, you know, like guys?"

Yep, definitely flushing.

The flushing is endearing. It's also well and truly catching, because Una, she's also flushing again, pink-cheeked and down her neck and bare shoulders and chest too.

It's not, though, an entirely unexpected question, and maybe that's what so immediately prompts that fleeting look of... regret? Apology? She sucks in a deep breath, and then lets out a rueful little laugh, prompt in wading in to this so incredibly awkward moment. "That should be a really easy question, and um-- it's kinda complicated, because it's kind of yes, and also kind of..."

Another deep breath. "I'm ace. I mean, I think so. Which is completely the wrong answer, I know, and I'm sorry, because..." She stares at the ground.

"What? No, no, hang on." Itzhak stops to face Una. "There ain't no wrong answer. In fact, that's a great answer. Hey, don't you dare apologize for being complicated." The eyebrows are up; he really means it.

Una's gaze creeps back up again, the apology in her expression turning into something distinctly more quizzical. Her brows knit. "Why?" she wants to know, elongating the word in her confusion.

Her blush, if anything, has gotten even deeper.

Itzhak rubs the bridge of his magnificent nose, rapidly on his way to turning crimson. "Uh, well, shit, I mean an adorable curvy girl bakes me Jewish cookies, dances with me, and has an absolutely fantastic ass? 'Course I might like to take her out a little."

His ice cream is going to melt with how hard he's blushing although he's valiantly pretending otherwise.

Silent for a few seconds, Una watches the progress of that blush (she can't talk; there can't be any blood left anywhere else in her body, given how red she is). The line of her brows softens, and so does her frown.

"Okay," she says, finally.

Itzhak breathes out. Not that he was holding his breath or anything. "I sure am fucking this up out of the gate," he mutters. "Look, I don't wanna scare you. I just thought, we could hang out, maybe could get to know each other better."

"No you're not," is an immediate response, and with it comes a little smile, rueful and awkward and more than a little sweet too. "Or if you are, so am I, and that's probably just inevitable at this point, right? But--" Una nods, perhaps more firmly than she needs to, but it's a punctuation point as much as anything, a point made. "I'd like that."

She laughs then, too, more than a little self-effacing as her free hand lifts to her still-burning cheek. "I'd also like to stop blushing every two seconds, but history tells me that's not really likely. It's really awkward."

"Can't promise that, stupid sympathy blushing." Itzhak scrubs at his unshaven cheek as if it would wipe the blush away. It doesn't. "Not that I'd want you to, because it's cute as hell."

He's smiling, in response to Una, with a rueful hilarity of his own.

Dryly; "Well, as long as it's cute." Only she's also letting out another little blurt of amusement, the kind that eases just a little more of her awkwardness and lets her gather back up a measure of dignity.

Not that her blush is receding either, not yet.

"It's got to serve some kind of purpose, I suppose, aside from constantly telegraphing to the world exactly how awkward I am."

"Real cute," Itzhak confirms, grinning unrepentantly. Bite of ice cream. "Okay, uh. You ask me one. Only fair, right? Right."

Una seems to remember her ice cream only now, and hastily has to lift the cone and defeat the onslaught of melt and drip. It doesn't hurt that it gives it a moment or two to focus on something other than how much she's still blushing, and, maybe, to try and come up with an appropriate question.

"I was going to say," she says, after a moment, "what's a question that I should be asking at this point. But that's cheating, isn't it? I also need you to know that I am overthinking this ridiculously. I mean, exhibit a. So... um. Going for the prosaic here, but I realise I don't know that much about you, and that's the point of this, isn't it? So. Why cars? What made you learn all of that?"

Ice cream. Focus on the ice cream. No more blushing.

Focus on licking up the ice cream, Una. Pay no mind to this long stretch of Jew watching out of the corner of his eye. "Hey, I don't mind a little cheating, but that said," his free hand turns palm up. "Always had a knack for engines. They make sense to me. Like music, everything got its place, everything does its job, you know? Fits together. So when you grow up like we did, you exploit the hell out of anything you got going. For me it was cars. Especially once I started stealing 'em ," he adds with a sigh for that long ago Itzhak. Then he's smiling at Una again. "That was a great question."

Ice cream is very important business, particularly neglected ice cream. Una fails to notice that she's being observed as she licks the edges of the cone clean; and as she eats the ice cream itself (which she does with a little bite rather than a lick).

She does glance up as her question gets answered, though, and it's with a thoughtful expression that she acknowledges this, Itzhak's smile matched by one of her own: she's pleased. "I get that," she agrees. "Things fit together. Right and wrong. How'd you first discover music, for that matter?"

Beat. "Sorry, now I'm taking over the questioning, apparently."

"Hell, you grow up in music, as an Orthodox Jew." Itzhak's smile goes crooked, not because he is very interested in Una nibbling her ice cream or anything. "And the first time I heard a violin, that I remember anyway, this tiny little old man was playing it and he made that thing sound like the voice of God. Been into it ever since. Take over the questions, I'm into that too. What do you wanna know?"

Another swipe at her ice cream, this time with tongue. She's probably not doing it deliberately.

She makes a soft 'hmm' sound as Itzhak answers her question, and this time tilts her head to the side, though that thoughtfulness is replaced at least briefly with a wry little laugh. "Okay, but you can jump in and interrogate me too if you decide you want to. So you got to learn violin as a kid? Or later?"

Yeah he's definitely watching now. Itzhak watches. Then chomps into his own ice cream in an attempt to hide it. Not a very good attempt! "Mmnf," swallowing, "sorta? I got into a music program, after school stuff, that's a charity run for poor kids to learn instruments. But I spent years not playing because prison. So I'm kinda behind. I'll never be as good as Abildgaard, the jerk. How about you? What do you wanna be when you grow up?"

Yeah, this time she's noticed, and flushes accordingly, though she's smiling even so: a shy, if pleased, little smile. "Oh, I see! I'm glad that kind of thing exists. I'm not a musician, I don't really know anything about music, but you're clearly good. It would be a shame for that to--" She breaks off, hesitating over her next question, though it's clearly lingering there.

Instead, she answers the question posed in her direction. "I have no idea," comes with a self-effacing little laugh. "And I feel like I'm old enough that I should. I worked in a thrift shop for years, and I don't think I want to go back to that. Part of me would love to bake full-time, for money, except then I worry that I'd lose the joy of it, and I'd hate that."

Itzhak quirks those eyebrows at Una, not sorry in the least for ogling her licking running ice cream. "Yeah, I get that. I wouldn't have got it when I was younger but I sure as hell get it now. Conservatories have a huge level of burnout. I was never gonna get into one, but I'm glad I didn't so I could just get on to playing the blues like I always wanted. Well, nu, why not give it a shot? You can always not do it if you get sick of it and hey, you'll have learned something. Yeah?" Is he right or is he right, people?

Una's response is to grin (and blush)... and then take another lick of her ice cream. It would be out of character for her to exaggerate it, and so she doesn't, but still: that's clearly a response, right there.

"I... suppose so," she allows, after swallowing that ice cream, her brow furrowing in consideration. "Start small, maybe, see how it feels. Whether there's enough of a client base. It doesn't have to be a big thing." She's clearly working on convincing herself, testing out the words by way of an experiment in acceptance.

"Why the blues, specifically?"

It's just the smallest response but it makes Itzhak break out in an answering grin. "Listen, you don't have to worry about a client base, Jews in Seattle will pay you whatever you ask for a high quality babkha. There ain't no Jewish food there. There's like, one kosher deli, it's disgusting."

He's not thinking about it when he absently sucks a smear of melt from his thumb, mind on other things, possibly babkha. "It'd have to be kosher, of course, so maybe not. Well whatever we'll figure it out. Aww, man, not just the blues but all the American folk music, bluegrass, jazz, punk, swamp music, all that shit." There he goes, getting excited. "That's our music, we brought it over from everywhere from Africa to Ireland and we made something new. That's the music of America!"

Clearly, if nothing else? Una enjoys making Itzhak grin. It makes her grin, too, though her gaze drops rapidly back towards her ice cream. "There'd be some kind of irony there," she says, with a low laugh. "Me, filling the kosher baker black hole." It's food for thought, though, and might get more of a comment, except-- she's listening, chin lifted again (already; so changeable) to half-watch, clearly enjoying Itzhak's enthusiasm. There's more ice cream to eat, too.

"Oh, I like that. I think we, as Americans, tend to get a little... wrapped up in where our ancestors came from, sometimes, forgetting how much of a cultural identity we've built for ourselves, as part of the whole melting pot of ideas. Because we only have a few hundred years of baggage and 'this is how we've always done it' so we've... adapted. Cultural thieves, reinventing everything."

"Exactly, and Jews are a huge part of that. Why do you think you know what schmuck means?" Itzhak has Feelings about this. "Two hundred years ago wasn't no such animal as a New York Jew. Look at me now," and he laughs, well-worn face crinkling in the mild sun.

That makes Una laugh, too. "Absolutely," she agrees. "Whether we all realise it or not. That's America for you."