Dinner in Chicago

Continued from Part 1:

I see the waitress approaching from across the room, the key bouncing on the chain about her neck as she strides toward our table. No! Wait! I need more time! A few minutes to puzzle this out, please!

But time now makes no difference. You'll reveal nothing else - you're enjoying my torment too much. And I can't read the waitress at all. I'm cornered prey before you, and you relish my discomfort.

"Can I get you anything else? Dessert?" she asks as she reaches our table.

Dessert! Yes! Those extra minutes might be my salvation. Maybe you'll give up some key tell.

"No, thanks," you answer, before I can speak up. "We'll grab something sweet later tonight, I'm sure. I think we're ready for the check, right, pet?"

Pet?!?!? Is that a clue? That means the waitress knows, right? The pounding of my heart in my chest is deafening. And yet you sit there with that tilt of your head and that grin...

"Um, yeah... Sure," I stutter. It has to be now! I have to say something! But what?

"Ok, I'll go get everything that you need. Be right back," the waitress replies. Was that another wink to you? Or am I imagining things?!? "Everything that we need?" Does that mean that she'll tuck the necklace and key in with the check? Can I stop worrying about how to broach the topic with her?

"Pet," you say, somewhat sharply, interrupting my thoughts. "I think the service here has been top notch. I think our waitress deserves a very generous tip, don't you?" The head tilt. The grin. The wink.

I stare at you, eyes wide. I cannot form a coherent thought in my mind. I know you're toying with me, but that knowledge alone does me no good. I search your eyes and your face for any hint about what you've revealed, any clue. But nothing - just that grin and that twinkle in your eye.

My time is up. The waitress stands beside our table and lays the check upon it, the necklace and key still around her neck. I grab cash out of my wallet and hesitate. I close my eyes, take a breath, and stutter, "Um, yeah, thanks. The food was great... Thanks... Yeah... So, the, um, necklace...?"

"This?" she asks, running her fingers down the chain. "Oh, thanks. I almost forgot. Your date asked me to hold onto it. She said it was a key to something very valuable to you."

What to say? How much are you two toying with me?

"Um, yeah... Yes, it is. So, can we have it back?" I ask, feeling the beads of sweat on my forehead.

"What's it a key to? It looks too small for a safe deposit box," the waitress responds, drawing out the tension.

"Um, nothing, really," I offer.

"I doubt it's 'nothing,' or you wouldn't ask for it back," she replies, looking me directly in the eye. Has she copied the way you tilt your head and grin, or am I reading too much into her expression?

How much to give up? How much to reveal? How much of my dignity must I sacrifice?

I look across the table, but you are no help for me. You're resting your chin in your hands, eyebrows raised. To anyone else in the world, that is an innocent look. But I know better. You are toying with me, and enjoying every minute.

"I mean, is it money? Bonds? A family heirloom?" the waitress asks, locking my gaze with hers.

"Jewels," you interrupt, barely suppressing a snicker.

My mouth is dry. My heart is pounding. I am paralyzed to respond. I can feel every slow, painful tick of the clock...

I'm tempted to say nothing. My fear of humiliation is too great. But can I take that risk? If I'm wrong and pass up my only change to regain what proves to be the real key, your torment will be relentless.

My glance darts back and forth between you and the waitress. Time stands still as I brace myself, take a deep breath, and start to confess my situation.

"Um, she... My..." I try to start, hesitantly.

"Well, never mind," the waitress interrupts. "No biggie. Here," she says as she lifts it over her head and lays it on the table before walking away.

I close my eyes and exhale. You don't even try to stifle your laugh "Oh, now THAT was fun!" you exclaim.

I'm numb. I look at you, with complete resignation in my face. In response, you offer the head tilt, the grin and the twinkle in your eye, removing any remaining doubt that you own me.

"OK, you've been such a good sport. You deserve a reward, but first you need to do just a little more to earn it. Let's get back to the hotel," you say, as you stand, drape the chain and key back over your neck and grab my hand, leading me from the restaurant into the open, downtown air...