Mac’s is the best pub in New England, hands down, if you ask me. I go there every summer, when I’m borrowing my sister’s time-share in Nantucket. It’s the kind of bar where you visit once, and you feel at home for life. It’s been around for generations, and some of the patrons there now are there because their fathers brought them to Mac’s to have their first beer, because their fathers had done the same for them. There are pictures on the walls ranging from frequent patrons to celebrities to sports stars. There’s a small TV on the wall behind the bar, and a pool table in the adjacent room.
It was a perfect coastal New England summer day. There was very little wind coming from the water, and the sun had warmed the coast. I had driven to Mac’s to have a beer, and watch the Red Sox game, starting early that Saturday afternoon. I was greeted by a few friends, and made my way to the bar. Donnie, the bartender greeted me, and poured my favorite draft. I had just started watching the game when she sat down in the seat next to mine. I didn’t see her at first, as my attention was focused on the game. I did hear her order a gin and tonic.
I turned to look, and saw her. It was Rachael Ray, host of her own cooking show and a travel show. I’d always been strangely fascinated by her, both professionally and sexually, but I tried to downplay the “celebrity attraction” thing. I smiled at her, and she politely returned the smile. I turned my attention back to the game, but couldn’t get the fact that a woman who I’d fantasized about many times was sitting next to me.
“What’s the score?” she asked me.
“No score. They just started. Are you a fan?”
“Not really. I watch when I can, but I don’t have much time for sports.”
“I can imagine.”
“So, you know who I am, I guess?” She smiled at me, kind of nervously.
“I do. I didn’t want to be rude. I do like your shows, though.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. What’s your name?”
I introduced myself, and shook her hand. I loved the feel of her skin. “What brings you to New England?”
“We’re filming near here tomorrow for
Forty Dollars A Day
. I actually have the night off, because my producer needs to hammer out a few details.”
“I’m guessing that’s something that’s rare. A night off, I mean.”
“Very. So much so, I don’t know what to do with myself.” She took a drink from her glass. “You don’t sound like you’re from here.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m from the South. My sister has a time-share on the beach here. I love coming here to get away. I’d even consider moving here permanently, if it weren’t for the cold weather. I’ve never been a fan of snow.”
“I hear ya.”
She smelled as good as she looked. Rachael and I continued our conversation as the afternoon unfolded. We talked about sports, New England, classic movies, and the fast-paced life of the 21st Century. I’d had Rachael Ray in countless fantasies before this. Add to that the fact that she’s actually a really nice woman to talk to, and how could I not want her even more? I’ve always been one to believe that an opportunity only presents itself once. I wasn’t going to let this one slip away.
“Listen, Rachael, I know you don’t know me from Adam, but if you have the rest of the day off, and if you don’t have plans, I’d love to cook for you tonight. I mean, I’m no Rachael Ray or anything, but maybe I can impress you just a little.” I smiled in an attempt to mask my nervousness.
She looked at me, as if she were studying my eyes or my face, looking for my sincerity. “Why not?”
“Great. I’ll swing by the market on the way home, and get some things, and we’ll say…7:30?”
“Sounds good. Thanks for the offer.” She flashed that smile that had won me over the first time I saw it on TV.
I pulled out my business card, and wrote the timeshare address on the back, as well as my phone number. “Call me if you get lost.” I checked my watch. “I should run. If I’m going to prepare a feast fit for a queen, I might need a little more than thirty minutes.” She smiled at me.
“See you tonight,” she said, still smiling. Her perfume made me want to take her in the bar.
I swung by the market, and picked up some vegetables, a whole chicken, red wine, and ice cream. Chicken Cacciatore sounded like a meal that might impress a woman who’s known for her cooking. I went home, and began to prepare the meal. I had never even attempted something as elaborate as this before. I’m the farthest thing from a cook that you can imagine, and at some point, I almost regretted offering to cook, versus offering to take her out somewhere. A chance to spend an evening with Rachael Ray, however, not to mention the possibility of waking up next to her, was worth the gamble.
I lit some candles throughout the house to eliminate the garlic smell, and put some music on my sister’s stereo. It was such a gorgeous night, that I decided to set the large table on the outside patio for us to dine. The ocean breeze was pretty calm, and you can never breathe too much salt air, in my opinion. If you only get to experience it once a year, or less, then you develop a true appreciation for it. I had just finished setting the table when she knocked, promptly at 7:30.
I adjusted the heat on the stove, and ran to the door.
“Hi. Come on in.”
“Hi. Mmm. I smell garlic. What are we having?”
