Jorz

First Date
~

The column to the right of the entrees started in the forties. Was going to be an expensive meal. Don’t think about college loans—don’t think about college loans. I chose this place to make an impression—highly recommended, by folks higher class than me. Much higher. I’ve been too afraid to ask Belinda out—for a year, really wanted this to turn out well. The trick’s not to spill my drink, drench myself in sauce, or otherwise be a bore. I’ve been told I can put a rock to sleep. Don’t talk about Dad’s new tractor.

I easily decided on the quiche, the cheapest item on the menu. If Belinda selected the duck, on the opposite end of the scale, the magic would be shattered—along with three months of my budget.

Waiting for her to decide, I took in the dark ambiance of the restaurant, the prints on the wall of colorful Parisian cafes and window boxes filled with flowers. Places I’ll never visit.

My eyes drifted to the couple sitting at the next table. The young man’s harsh clothes and close-clipped hair implied a man of labor and few means, less ready to pay Le Petit’s prices than me.

She was a thin, attractive thing, wearing a simple white cotton blouse with long sleeves, hair curled tightly, reminded me of pictures I’d seen of my great-grandmother from the forties. The two sat stiffly erect, their hands in their laps.

Our waiter arrived and poured us a taste of the wine the house pushed this evening. It was tasty, but I opted for iced tea. The difference put a dent in my school loans—I will not die a deadbeat. Have to admit a smile snuck across my face when Belinda ordered the same. The kicker—she ordered the Penne a la Monegasque. She’s a keeper. Twice over. Three times. Beautiful. Smart. Thoughtful.

After the waiter left we fell into small talk—I followed her lead well, I think. Forced my eyes off Belinda’s for a moment. Didn’t want to look like a crazed stalker, though she’s the best eye candy I’ve ever seen. Glanced at the other couple again.

Weird. My first impression had been faulty. They were about the same age as me and Belinda. Though dressed conservatively, they didn’t sit like two first-time daters. They leaned forward, hands outstretched, his folded over hers. Why had I thought their clothes—a bit rugged, before?

Belinda brought me back to the table with a comment about the office, a safe subject. My best friend had warned me not to go on about myself. His second warning was not to bring up sports—I guess I can go on, and on. Evidently, work is safe territory. The waiter brought a basket of bread, which prompted danger-free conversation for another couple minutes. Don't drop the butter knife.

A clink from the next table made me look back at our neighbors. They held fluted glasses up as though they had just toasted. A sparkle of light drew my eyes to the woman’s hand. A modest solitaire and matching band graced it. Hmm. Originally I’d taken them as being on their first date too.

I worked to shrug off my poor observation skills. Her hair no longer spun in tight curls, the front of her white blouse coursed with a flurry of ruffled trim. He wore a proper suit, hair no longer buzzed above his ears.

Belinda spoke of the project we work on, bringing me back again. I imagined how she would change as the years passed. Would always be beautiful. Elegant but down to earth. Fast to smile. I so love the sound of her voice. Soft, comforting, yet confident.

She looked down at the table in thought, and I hurried another glance at my couple. An embellished band joined the woman’s solitaire. On the next finger rested a dinner ring with a big diamond, and I think a splatter of little rubies. Her silk blouse fell open seductively, a diamond pendent swaying above a generous bosom. Her husband leaned toward her, a gentle smile creasing his face, a contented expression, eyes locked onto hers.

I was back before Belinda looked up again. A shiver of excitement rushed into my chest, as I imagined a solitaire like the woman’s, gracing Belinda’s hand, maybe one day.

Belinda’s smile changed, one brow dipping in query. “What?”

“I’ll bet your mother is drop-dead gorgeous,” I answered. No idea where that came from. A book? Movie? Hopefully not trite, or tacky.

“Why do you say that?” A tiny smirk accented the left side of her smile.

“Because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life.” Did that really make it out of my face? Oh, that was too much.

Belinda’s snowy cheeks hued rose. Her lashes trembled and she studied the linen of the table cloth. “You’re supposed to hold things like that until the second date, I think.”

“I’m sorry. Not up on the protocol.” Since this is my first adult date. Pizza shared among five schoolmates wouldn’t count.

She smiled a bit wider.

The waiter brought our meals. I didn’t look back at the other table again until the couple rose to leave.

The woman now wore a flowing, blush-colored gown, elegantly bare shoulders she covered with a chiffon wrap-thing. He donned a tux. Gray monopolized the color of their hair, hers cut short up the sides and back, sexily tousled on top. He held out his arm and she wrapped hers within it. They clung together, making their way slowly from the dining room. Everyone in the room turned to take the couple in. Ghosts from another time.

© R. Mac Wheeler 2017