What Difference Does it Make

This is the second draft of this (the first already having gone through the workshopping process with my writing class.) I\'m going to put a version of this into my final portfolio, but I\'d really like somemore feedback, so comments would be really appriciated!

Dislcaimer: I don\'t own Gundam Wing, Bandai and Sunrise does. I do not make any money off of these stories, if I did, I wouldn\'t have nearly the debt that I\'m wallowing in right now! If I do plan on making any money off of these sotories, I will change the names and faces to protect innocent fictional characters!

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Duo Maxwell appreciated the chef using real Hungarian paprika because it added a hint of sweetness of the sauce. He appreciated that the dish used nockerle and the lettuce used in the dinner salad. He thought that the \"house special\" dressing had a bit too much pepper, but he still appreciated the amount they used, just enough to wet the greens. He made a note of all of these things.

What he didn\'t appreciate was his date\'s witty, cultivated, unimaginative conversation, but he didn\'t write that down.

\"There was such emoting in his work. It made me feel something. It was truly a postmodern masterpiece of installation art,\" his date said, using his hands to add drama to the conversation. The man was discussing the showing at the 195, or was it the Zodiac? He couldn\'t tell the difference. Last Week had discussed one or the other, whichever one This Week wasn\'t. That seemed to be the way his life was running; different men with different jobs, but the same conversation.

This Week was attractive, but they all were. He wore blue and had sandy blond hair. Duo didn\'t particularly like blonds, they reminded of Quatre. This Week wasn\'t nearly as interesting as Quatre, though.

Duo searched for what he found attractive in This Week last Saturday night. He was thoroughly average in his attractiveness. Light blue eyes, almost gray or silver, and a face like a high school golden boy. Kind of Emilo Estevez in The Breakfast Club. The classically preppy-looking guys that beat him up in high school. The ones his mother always said were \"very good looking boys\" so they couldn\'t have done any of those things Duo accused them of doing. This Week reminded him of all of them.

\"A man of wax\" Shakespeare had written, a good looking man with no substance. This Week was a man of wax. Someone to be carved and molded into an ideal man, but Duo didn\'t want to put forth that much effort.

Maybe This Week should meet Last Week. They\'d make beautifully matching wax bookends.

If he was where with anyone other than This Week, he might have called the lighting romantic, or intimate. An expensive looking oil lamp glowed in the center of the table. Above hung antiqued, crystal draped chandeliers. It dropped attractive shadows across the table and made the food look better, softer. Duo had written that down. He noted that the tables were beautiful dark wood, round pedestal tables, as interesting to the eyes as the food was to the mouth. That the walls were draped with rich, elegant tapestry fabrics, creating an exotic, old world feel. It was cozy without feeling like a grandmother\'s house. Very ambient, and it complimented the food well.

\"Mr. Maxwell, are you finding everything to your satisfaction?\" The chef had come from the back and was standing at his right elbow, looking hopeful, and willing to please. The man seemed huge, looking over his chair like a golem waiting for it\'s creator\'s orders.

This Week had stilled, but had a smug smile on his face. Several people were looking towards their table, gossiping in whispered conversations like he and This Week were some sort of celebrities. They were going to be disappointed to find nothing but a pair of fags: one a newspaper man, the other a pompous hanger-on.

\"Everything is wonderful, thank you,\" he answered, smiling.

\"I am glad you choose the paprikash, Mr. Maxwell,\" the chef said, his accent a thick mix of the heavy Russian consonants and the rolling vowels of Arabic. \"It is a recipe I take great pride in.\"

\"You should. I can tell how much you love it.\"

\"Yes, it is a hundred years of work, passed by my grandmother to my mother, just as it had been given to her. My family is proud of it. Mr. Bailey, from the Sun Times, ordered the stroganoff.\"

\"Yes, I know.\"

\"It was my step-father\'s favorite dinner and he had my mother make it for him often, but he made it too American. I can\'t make good stroganoff because of him.\"

\"Then I\'m very glad to have ordered what I did.\" The chef smiled down at him. It was like a grown child smiling down at his mother, proud and tender.

\"Thank you, Mr. Maxwell.\"

\"Call me Duo,\" he said with a friendly grin.

\"Then you may call me Emil.\"

\"Thank you for your attention Emil.\"

\"Thank you for your attention Duo.\" The chef bowed slightly before moving back to the kitchen, looming over tables with a gentle, benevolent grace before disappearing through the swinging doors into his domain of fire and food. Duo smiled before turning back to This Week.

\"Isn\'t it marvelous Duo?\" This Week asked with all the excited energy that was broadcasted in Technicolor on his face. \"The chef himself came and spoke to you! And everyone was looking at us like we were celebrities!\"

\"Yeah, sure.\"

\"Oh, I bet they\'re all speaking about us too. To be a fly on the ladies room wall. I bet they are saying you look like an actor and I must be your fabulously kept man.\"

\"They aren\'t saying that.\"

\"But did you really have to compliment that man? You lead him on, making him believe that you were going to give him a good review. You, yourself, were saying that the dressing was terrible, and I know that whatever this is,\" This Week gestured at his plate,\" it\'s about as palatable as stale dog food. Your dish looking like something a child at a carnival would regurgitate. Your reviews always say that presentation is important.\"

\"But not as important as taste.\"

\"And yes, my meal sounded wonderfully exotic, but I\'m mot entirely sure what it is exactly.\"

\"Cabbage rolls.\"

\"What?\"

\"You ordered cabbage rolls. They are stuffed with beef and onions mostly. They really are an acquired taste. Truthfully, I was surprised when you ordered it. It takes a very particular person to try and enjoy them.\"

\"Th-they\'re good.\"

\"Yes they are. But you don\'t seem to be enjoying them, and that\'s all your fault. Trying to impress me by ordering something that sounds interesting isn\'t going to work. Too many people have been down that road, and I can see right through your act. So stop trying to be what you think I want, because I\'m not into that pseudo-famous bullshit, although you seem to be. I\'m a reporter, and a small name compared to others. If you want to be a famous face, find a television anchorman, because I\'m never going to be anything more then a two-dimensional face in newsprint.\"

\"Duo…\"

\"So, what do you really think about the Halupki?\"

\"It\'s fine.\" Neither man said anything for a handful of moments. Duo concentrated on his plate, making notes. \"We aren\'t going to have a second date, are we?\" This Week asked.

\"Probably not.\"