"What can I get for you tonight, Mr. Dollington?"
Ken Dollington scratched the chin beneath his gray goatee.
"It's Ken... and you know what I want, Vinnie."
"Spaghetti and Meatball Pizza? With extra sauce?"
It was an easy guess. Ken Dollington and his cadre had been coming to Murals, the quaint family-run Italian restaurant in Cranbury, New Jersey, for 20 plus years, and nine times out of ten, they ordered their preference, which the oldest son of the owners had memorized. Vince had made it clear to the other waitstaff that if he was on shift, he and he alone would be the server for these heavy tippers.
He turned his attention to Ken's wife Krystal, a 50's-something bottle blonde who took great pride in her oversized saline nubes.
"And for you, Mrs. Dollington?"
Krystal put her menu down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. She arched her back just slightly, then looked up at Vince with her signature coquettish expression. He smiled, his eyes resting on her deep decolletage, his shiny black hair coming loose from behind his right ear and swinging onto his sweaty cheek. He tucked the hair back into place.
"Oh what the hell," said Krystal, slapping the table, "I'll just have what I always have."
Vince nodded as he took note, Veal Saltimboca, then made his way around the table collecting the orders from the additional two couples.
Like the Dollingtons, the Carys stuck to their script. Barb, a scant 4 foot 11, 90-pound vegan, would eat only one quarter of her personal pan gluten-free vegetarian pizza with no cheese. Being more moderate in his nonetheless healthy choices, her husband Blake ordered baked salmon, but with double the salad in lieu of pasta - dressing on the side. And Jeni and Tom Jones? They split a Greek pizza - a surprise departure from their usual Margherita-style pie.
"Magnum carafe of Chianti Classico?" suggested Vince, as he harvested the menus.
"Oh yeah!" exclaimed Krystal, with two thumbs up. She'd pregamed at home with a half bottle - it had tasted like more.
"And five glasses," said Vince, smiling at Blake Cary, for he'd never seen the man consume alcohol.
"Sparkling water no ice for me," said Blake, as expected, and Vince high-tailed it to the bar to get the order in, beating out his younger sister who was waddling her way there with an order for a table of 10.
"So," said Jeni in a low whisper, "Pam Anderson told me that she and Andy took a bottle of wine to their new neighbors - the ones who bought the yellow house next door to them, and get this!"
Jeni leaned in to further mask the salacious gossip she was about to impart.
"They have a welcome mat and a garden flag with an upside-down pineapple on it!"
Just then Vince appeared with the wine, prompting Jeni to sit back in her seat. The couples were quiet as Vince filled their glasses.
"Upside down mats and flags," shrugged Ken when the coast was clear, "So they're halfwits - so what?"
"It's a signal," said Jeni, "It means they're-"
"And sparkling water for you, Mr. Cary," said Vince, once again interrupting Jeni's revelation.
"It means they're swingers!" she blurted when Vince took leave.
"Wife swappers?" asked Barb Cary, her makeup-less face almost the same shade of gray as her long braid.
"It's more than just wife swapping," said Jeni, "They mentioned a place they went to recently - it's in Cancun - Cupidity I think the name is. It's a clothing optional resort for couples in the lifestyle."
Jeni air quoted 'the lifestyle.'
"We'd never heard of it until I did the research," said Tom, "but apparently there's a whole subculture of folks who go out to dinner just like we are now, then go back to someone's house for playtime."
Like his wife, Tom was a chronic air quoter, so naturally he emphasized the word 'playtime' in this way.
"Here we are," said Vince, as he lowered a large tray onto the buffet behind him, and having positioned the plates in front of their rightful owners, he executed a marginal bow.
"Buon Appetito," he said, and he scurried away.
While the others adjusted their plates and manipulated their cutlery, Blake considered whether or not to wade in to the lifestyle conversation. Like Tom, he'd done some research, but for a very different reason.
"From what I understand," he said, treading carefully, "it's a very respectful community of monogamous couples who just want to spice up their sex lives."
"How do you know anything about it, honey?" asked Barb, as she separated one slice of her pizza from the other three, then pushed her plate away.
"Yeah, Blake - how do you know anything about it?" Krystal teased with a wink.
He blushed.
"Just some article I stumbled on," he said.
"They've put in for a membership at the club," said Jeni, "I think we should warn the neighborhood."
"Nah," said Ken, wiping red sauce from his chin with his palm, "Just don't accept any backyard barbeque invitations, or you might find an unexpected wiener in your buns."
He chuckled.
Krystal rolled her eyes.
"I want to hear more about playtime," she said, as she poured herself another.
"Playtime happens in playrooms," said Tom, "There's mattresses and swings, and ropes and chains, and rocking horses with dildos built into the saddle, and who the hell knows what else!"
Jeni put a finger to her lips to shush her husband, and he lowered his voice.
"Sometimes the room has a theme," he said, leaning in, "like B...D...S...M."
"B...D...S...M.," said Ken, nodding, "I'll bet everyone here knows what it is, but not a one of us knows what the damn acronym stands for."
"And I'll bet you're right," said Tom, his eyes traveling around the table, "Anyone?"
Of course Blake Cary knew what it stood for, but he declined to enlighten his friends.
"I think the 'D' stands for dog collar," said Jeni, with a smirk.
"I think the 'D' stands for disgusting," said Barb.
Blake frowned.
"And I think you're all under the wrong impression," he said, "It's not a free-for-all; it's really quite civilized. There are clearly defined boundaries - no one does anything they don't want to do. And when playtime is over, everyone leaves with their respective partners."
Blake dipped his fork delicately in the Italian dressing and speared some house salad with it, then thought better of his impassioned defense and added, "At least that's what I gleaned from the article."
"I just can't imagine prancing around sans panties in front of a bunch of strangers and especially at our age," said Jeni, "Tom and I don't walk around naked in front of each other, and we've been married for 35 years!"
"I think it all sounds terribly exciting," said Krystal, with a shoulder shake, "and if everyone's naked, I'm guessing the nudity becomes a non-issue very quickly."
She drained her glass, and anticipating her next move, Ken placed the carafe out of her reach.
"I tend to agree," said Blake, "And it could be argued that clothing just camouflages the true individual underneath, and by stripping down, one is really stripping away that unnecessary layer of distraction."
Ken gripped Blake's shoulder and squeezed it.
"Are you suggesting my shirt and trousers are more distracting than my hairy chest and swinging dick and balls?" said Ken.
Laughter ensued.
"Well, I'd have no problem taking my clothes off," Krystal said, bending over the table, her bowling ball boobies pendulating up towards Blake Cary's face as she snatched the carafe from in front of him.
"I guess I'm driving... again," snarled Ken.
"Of course I wouldn't engage with anyone but you sweetie... well... unless you wanted to."
Krystal kissed her index finger then tapped Ken's nose with it.
"My wife refuses to act her age," he said, sitting back in his chair, his uncomfortably full belly preventing him from crossing his arms over his barreled chest.
Krystal furrowed her brows.
"Act my age?! Look who'zzzzz talking," she slurred, "It's like being married to my frickin' grandfather!"
"OK, that's enough, you two," said Jeni, wagging her finger at the Dollingtons.
Barb smiled and put her meatless arm around her husband's shoulder.
"Blake and I are old souls," she said, stroking the strands of salt and pepper hair above his left ear, "We don't need the lifestyle or whatever other tricks people come up with to keep a marriage going. We're happy just being together, aren't we dear."
Blake smiled softly at his wife and patted her hand, then felt a foot against his shin.
"Can I get a box?" said Barb, turning in her chair towards Vince as he passed by their table, and Blake realized then, that said foot, the toe of which was now lifting his pantleg, was not attached to his wife. He raised his gaze and met Krystal's crystal blue eyes; they widened and narrowed, pulsing some pattern which he struggled, unsuccessfully, to decipher.
"And the checks too please Vince," shouted Tom.
************
Blake rotated his right wrist, then tapped the face of his watch; his grandfather's Omega 3 Seamaster had stopped again. He picked up his phone; still only 10:30 am - perhaps time had stopped everywhere. In hopes of a cat nap, he reclined in his office chair, crossed his feet on the desk, and lowered his eyelids, but the cell phone buzzed in his hand.
+15556739872: Am I wrong or are we on the same page?
Who the heck is that, he wondered, but unable to answer the question, he deleted the message. Fifteen minutes into his shuteye, the question was answered for him.
+15556739872: It's Krystal
And that sat him bolt upright.
