NOT A DATE
“You seem more hopped up than usual,” observes Julio.
“Thanks for your diagnosis, Dr. Gonzalez.”
“Long as I been driving you, what is it, six, seven years, this is the first time I’ve seen you on a date with a woman.”
”It’s not a date,” Felix explains, “I’m doing a favor for some babe.”
“Know how many dates it took me to propose to my wife?” asks Julio.
“No.”
“Guess.”
“I don’t want to guess.”
“Just guess.”
“Five.”
“Wrong! One.”
“The original speed-dater.”
“Man got to have his woman… or his man, if you’re so inclined.”
“I’m not so inclined,” hisses Felix.
“You might want to take a few deep breaths before your date,” suggests Julio as they arrive at the restaurant.
“It’s not a date” barks Felix as he opens the car door, “I’ll ping you when I’m done.”
“Roger that,” says Julio.
Julio watches Felix slow-walk to the restaurant, and stop at the entrance, studying it as if he’s deciding whether or not to enter. The front door opens, and Yuki appears, in a summery short skirt and crop top. Julio approves, “Bonita!” She takes Felix’s arm and guides him inside.
The hostess leads Yuki, who leads Felix through a maze of cloth-covered tables to one in the center of this predominantly white space, with color provided by nude paintings adorning the walls. As they sit, Felix glances at the opening night crowd starting to bustle. Yuki takes in the ambiance, clearly excited to be there. She says to Felix, “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me too,” fibs Felix.
Felix avoids looking at the other diners, or at his dinner partner. He concentrates on the table-top, where the salt shaker is tipped over, with a small mound of salt spilled. Felix carefully scoops it into his palm, and deposits it into his pocket.
Yuki asks, “So, how is Darth?”
“He hasn’t committed any major crimes in a couple of days.”
“How long have you had him?”
“A few months.”
“Seems like you got yourself a great doggie there.”
“He’s… unique.”
A white-clad waiter comes to the table, “Good evening, folks, I’m Ricardo. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“A Bloody Mary, please,” orders Yuki.
“And you, sir.”
“Red Bull.”
“Anything in it?”
“Straight up.”
“Be right back,” says Ricardo.
Yuki inspects Felix, “You’re not bad looking, under all that fur and the cap.”
Felix manages a bashful smile. Yuki nods at Felix’s faded Chicago Bulls cap, “Ever take it off?”
“Sometimes in the shower.”
Yuki laughs as she picks up the menu and peruses it. Felix steals a glance at her. From less than half a body length away, he marvels at how easily she laughs, freely showing her teeth, impossibly white against her flawless skin, the only imperfection, a tiny chip in one of her incisors. Yuki looks up from the menu, and waves across the room at a woman surrounded by well-wishers, she says to Felix, “There’s my friend Betsy, the owner of this establishment.”
As Felix’s attention shifts abruptly from Yuki to the room, he is jolted out of his reverie. He had almost forgotten he’s in a public place, one packed like a rush-hour subway car. All the tables are occupied, with people still pouring in through the door. His eyes pan the place, trying to locate the exits.
“Betsy’s my role model,” says Yuki, beaming.
Ricardo weaves through the tables, holding a tray with a Bloody Mary and a Red Bull. Betsy intercepts him, takes the tray, and glides over to Felix and Yuki’s table. “Thank you so much for coming!” says Betsy, glowing with success.
Yuki gushes, “Thank you! The place is beyond gorgeous. I’m so proud of you, Bets.”
Betsy is joined by a hipster with a soul patch and a scarf. Betsy says to the table, “This is my boyfriend, Ace.”
Ace kisses Yuki’s hand, “Enchante.”
Yuki introduces her dinner partner, “And this is… Felix.”
Ace offers his hand to Felix, who winces slightly and shakes hands with Ace. Felix notices that Ace discreetly wipes his hand on his pant leg. He regrets not having talcum powdered his hand. And even that is not foolproof. Felix clenches his hands, and hides them under the table.