Wee small hours...continued

"She's pretty incredible, don't you think?" I ask her. A second goes by. "Yes. Yes she is." She replies, her gaze unchanged. "My name is P...Peter." I respond quickly, filling the void.
"Nice to meet you, Peter." She turns, sparkling, her complexion fairer than I'd had thought. "Call me...Ruth." She answers with a flash of teeth. "Would you like a seat? I have two to spare." I pull up a chair adjacent to her spot against the window edge. The rain is abating outside, and one can almost make out the shape of buildings. The lights of traffic below us reflect in those buildings, a moving mosaic of crimson and gold dashing about in rhythmic monotony. She orders another martini. "I've noticed you here before." I begin, hoping to move the conversation. "Tuesday, same table. I guess you like jazz."
"I see you like to watch people." She quips, laughing. "You are right, but for the wrong reason. I like to watch people too; music is the ambience that sets my mood."
"I come here for the jazz. People watching is secondary," I try being coy.
"Ah, well. Apologies then." She smiles again. " Do you want a drink?" She flicks her wrist, catching the gaze of a waitress standing patiently by the entrance. I decline, modestly, half standing up. "Oh no, thank you, I'm good for now. I just wanted to say hello, maybe find a fellow jazz lover."
"Oh no, don't go!" She sounds almost wistful.” Company is always welcome at my table." She insists. "Truth be told I came to hear her sing, she's not doing many shows in Boston, but I'm sure you know that already. Sit, sit!" I oblige, settling back into my seat. The houselights have returned, forcing the room's mystique into dark crevices above the hanging lights and into the night. The wind howls outside. Boston shimmers in the dark.

"Most men in my office don't have conversations with me. You're brave, I'll be honest." She flashes more teeth, except this time it is a full smile; her face stretches, not afraid to show the crowfeet peeking behind her eyes.
I laugh. "That's the first I've heard someone call me brave. Thank you!" I responded. "Is there a reason....?"
"A casual chat never hurts." She assures me. "I should say, my nephew looks about your age. You are very brave."
"I'm an...aspiring writer. " I offer her partial honesty. " I want to write about this night. You are intriguing. And like you said, a chat never hurts."
"Here, a cheer to conversations, Lord knows the world doesn't have enough of them." She offers up her martini, a pink, dainty thing, with rose petals floating about the glass. I offer her my glass.

We sip, a toast to conversations. The world sure doesn't have enough of them.