“Are you afraid of spoiling me?” she asks, and I’m glad we’re off the topic of her childhood, or lack thereof, and back to the present.
But what I’m not happy about is the seemingly nosy guests at the table a good fifteen feet from ours.
I requested, and was given, the V.I.P. table, but although it’s apart from the rest of the guests, it’s in the same room.
“As you’ve seen, I’m quite capable of handling spoiled little girls,” I reply, keeping my attention on who’s important.
She giggles at my reply.
“Yes, Daddy. Yes, you are.”
“That’s it,” a man at the table I was just noticing says as he throws his napkin down on his plate and abruptly stands, his chair tumbling over backwards. “This is sick,” he says looking right at me.
“What’s? Sick,” I snarl, my nostrils flaring as I bare my teeth.
“Daddy and little girl? What’s wrong with you two? You should be in jail for that pedo b.s.” He turns back to his table. “Let’s get outta here, baby,” he says to his female companion.
“Stop right there,” I command, recognizing this guy from TV. I’ve seen him playing professional football before, and he’s about to see my wrath.
I move toward his table, locking my eyes on his as I prepare to teach this idiot a lesson.
“You call your woman baby but it’s sick when I call mine little girl. I think that’s what scientists call failed logic, and if you fail to get outta my face in the next ten seconds this Daddy is gonna give you a spanking for acting all ornery in public, little boy,” I say, loud enough so some of the other tables who were eyeing us up strangely can here. It’s not a threat, it’s a promise to the entire restaurant.
“That’s it old man,” he says turning toward me.
I crack my neck and roll up my sleeves and as he takes another step I push my sleeves farther up my arms, glad that he’s the aggressor so when he winds up on the street on his face I’m not gonna get hauled out of here for aggravated assault. Not that it would have bothered me, but no way I’m leaving Scarlett here in her current little state.
He charges at me just like a football player would as if he’s trying to move a blocker, but this block head doesn’t realize all the force he’s created can easily work against him, as I wrap him up in a headlock and pivot on the ball of my foot, turning him toward the exit.
But then I pause, squeezing tighter as he struggles, but without oxygen going to his pea sized brain that’s not going to last long.
I maneuver him back so he’s facing my table.
“You see that woman? My woman.”
“Let me go,” he gurgles, his face turning redder by the second.
“I don’t want you looking at her, thinking about her, or whispering about her, or us, ever again. As far as you’re concerned she doesn’t exist. And if you even think of challenging what I’m telling you, ordering you, you won’t exist. At all.”
He grunts as I cut off his air supply a bit more, but making sure not to allow him the privilege of blacking out before he apologizes to Scarlett.
“Now apologize.”
He mumbles something incoherent, so I loosen up my grip, but fortunately for him he’s wise enough not to take the opportunity to try a counter-maneuver.
“Say. You’re. Sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” he spits out.
“Like you mean it.”
“I’m sorry,” he says louder, and I pivot, leading him to the front exit with my arm still wrapped tightly around his neck.
Once there I toss him in front for everyone to see and wipe my hands, heading back into the restaurant to sounds of him coughing and choking.
He’ll be alright. If anything he got off lucky.
By the time I’m back at our table the other table has already cleared out, most likely being ushered out the back by the staff.