Dinner's On Me
Dating in the land of assumptions
They were making small talk at an outdoor table under a canopy lined with bright, round light bulbs and flowering hedges that gave the illusion of privacy. He chewed his food quickly, speaking in between bites and splitting his sentences with swallows. His was an interesting and important job, filled with celebrity clientele and trainings abroad. When the waitress arrived to check on the table, he ordered a second glass of champagne served in a white wine glass.
“Are you intimidated by what I’ve told you?” he asked after a moment of silence and perhaps a lack of some desired or expected response.
She sipped her rosé, never lowering her eyes from his. “Not at all,” she smirked. “I’m having a great time.” And she was. Because hubris was amusing to her. Not in the least bit attractive, mind you. But entertaining, nonetheless.
He smiled. “I bet you are.” He prattled on about the many interesting things he knew, the places he had been, and his history of dating models and debutantes.
When the check came to the table, she reached for her purse.
“You aren’t taking me out, are you?” He laughed and shook his head, tucking his card into the sleeve behind the check.
“I’m happy to split it. We can go Dutch.” She slid her card toward him, which he slid back.
She weighed her options carefully, but briefly. Did she insist? Did she gracefully bow out and express a polite “thank you?” He had spent the better part of the last hour bragging about his wealth. Why not let him get the bill? she reasoned. So long as he didn’t think this somehow indebted her to him. Perhaps he was happy to pay to have someone listen intently to his verbal masquerade.
“Okay. Thank you.” She tucked her card back into her purse. “So, do you have a long drive back?”
“No, not at all. It’s only five miles from here, actually. Just west on the 210. You’ll have an easy time getting home. Traffic thins out this time of day going in your direction. You’ll probably want to take the 60 from here.”
She shrugged, nonchalantly. “I’ll take whatever my GPS tells me to take. I have no natural sense of direction.” This had always been true for her. If she knew that the mountains were north, that helped, but beyond that, she lacked an inner compass.
“Sure, until you enter a mall, am I right?” He laughed at his own joke. She rarely entered a shopping mall. She didn’t much care for shopping at all. Shopping was a chore that she enjoyed about as much as cleaning the toilet. She hadn’t bought a new outfit in years. For a moment, she pictured a composite of the other women he must have dated, women who may have been quite savvy navigators of Dillard’s or Nordstrom. Not a single article of her clothing, not her purse, not her shoes, were name brand. The amusement was starting to wear off.
“Nope. Not even then. I’m not very familiar with shopping malls.” She finished off the glass of rosé and stood.
Rather than reply, he welcomed himself to a hug for which she hadn’t been asked. “You know, this dress would look just a bit better if…” he twisted the thin, elastic material that hung over her shoulders into a tight rope, which pulled the cloth inwards, exposing more flesh on either side of her breasts. “There you go!” Pleased with himself, he placed his hand on the small of her back. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Pivoting to face him, she beamed a wide smile, placed her palm on his shoulder and firmly pushed. He took a step back. “You know, it’s cold. I wore my dress this way intentionally,” she said, readjusting the cloth back over her shoulders. “I can find my way back to my car, believe it or not. Oh, and you have pasta sauce on your chin.” There was no sauce, but as he reached back toward the table to seize his discarded cloth napkin, she strode briskly toward her car, grinning from ear to ear. She set up her route home on her GPS and listened to Another One Bites the Dust by Queen while savoring the lingering taste of pesto behind her teeth.