The girl in question takes another dig at her leg and he realizes, very lucidly, that it is pretty much now or never. A flash goes off in his head, a snapshot of a film that he saw years ago, in college maybe, of a man obsessed with a young woman’s leg. Her knee or something. One of those French or Italian kinds, where not much happens and the words are carefully printed all along the bottom of the screen. It was one of those. He can’t recall much else about it, except that this perfectly respectable guy is dying to touch some blond girl’s leg. Various other hijinks ensue along the way, no doubt, but that’s the plot in a nutshell—an older fellow touching the leg of this youngster. And it happens, he touches it, so at least it had a happy ending. He doesn’t know all that much about foreign films, but the ones that he’s seen often seem to end badly. Maybe that’s why he remembers this one; the conclusion is a happy affair.

The coins spill from his hand in a casual enough manner. They hit the faux marble and scatter in a predictable pattern, shooting off in various directions. Thankfully, the lion’s share darts beneath the feet of the two girls and comes to rest with a twirl and a flip. One or two continue to cartwheel about, but most drop faceup and wait quietly. The man lets out an audible “Damn!” to cover his tracks, then scoots sheepishly across the no-man’s-land between himself and the teenagers. Drops to his knees in a penitent gesture, hands held palm up. The girls giggle and smile down at him, rolling their eyes with exaggeration in case any boys happen to be passing. He returns their smiles and gets down to the business of gathering up his money. The other girl, who is shorter than her compatriot and heavily freckled, points at her own mouth and mimes the word “braces.” The other gal nods and smiles again, laughing into her hand.