Thanks again to jacuzzigirl, whose editing made this a better story.
I had three choices. I could go home and drown my sorrows in a carton of Ben and Jerry's. I could order something to eat. Or I could get my wine glass refilled - for starters.
I motioned to the bartender, and decided not to decide right this minute.
I was looking good. I should have been, after the effort I'd made getting ready for this date. The dress was new, and pretty darned hot, frankly. The shoes were new. I had a pleasant tingle of anticipation. Then the jerk from the online dating service showed up. Thank goodness I figured out that it was him -- a good 10 years older than he had claimed and wearing a suit that looked like it dated from the seventies -- before he reached me and asked if I was Beth.
"Beth? No, sorry, you have the wrong girl."
"You're not Beth? But the dress..."
Damn, I had told him what I would be wearing. "Sorry. I would know, don't you think?"
He moved down the bar to wait for his date, but I knew he suspected I was blowing him off. He was going to bore holes in my legs if he looked at them any harder.
So here I was, in a fantastic, sexy dress on a Friday night, alone at the bar of a really posh restaurant,. I wondered if I looked like a classy call girl.
"Close call?"
I was startled from my thoughts and I realized that a high heeled royal blue pump had come into my line of vision. My gaze traveled up a pretty calf, to an obviously very expensive suit, and finally landed on a face framed in soft light brown hair, smiling in a knowing way.
She was standing in what would be called "my space," but I doubted if she was being intentionally intimidating. More likely, I thought, she was very successful, or very rich, or probably both, and used to being the center of her world. Judging by her clothes and jewelry, the rich part seemed like a safe bet. She looked like she spent as much for a haircut as I did for a car payment.
It was hard to say what it was about this woman that made her so stunning. She was too old to have the classic model sort of beauty. Forty or so would have been my guess, more than ten years my senior. A darned good forty, though.
She made my breath catch in my throat, though, and I fumbled around before I managed to get out, "Oh. I'm afraid so."
It was her eyes as much as anything. Where most people find it awkward when eye contact goes on too long, she seemed completely relaxed looking into my eyes, like there was no reason in the world ever to look away.
"I thought so." Her voice matched her appearance, a velvet contralto. She was so poised. So elegant. "I'm dining alone tonight. Why don't you join me? At least he'll think you really were here to meet someone."
Was she nuts? I had never even seen her until fifteen seconds ago. The crazy thing was that I actually considered it briefly, just because she had such an overwhelming presence.
"Oh, I couldn't, really. Thanks for asking, though."
"Of course you could. You shouldn't sit here alone, feeling sorry for yourself."
She boosted herself onto the stool beside mine and motioned for the bartender.
I had to admit that pretending that I was here to meet her would get me out of an awkward spot, so I didn't definitely say no.
"A vodka martini, rocks, please," she said when the bartender arrived. "And another of whatever my friend is drinking."
Good lord, how could my wine glass be empty again? Nerves, I suppose.
"Oh, and would you tell the hostess that there will be two of us now? And I've changed my mind; I'd like to be seated at a banquette."
As the bartender headed off, she turned to face me fully, and said with a smile, "Banquettes are so much nicer when you're with a date, don't you think? Nobody can tell what's going on under the table." She winked.
Did that mean what it seemed to mean? Date? What was going on under the table? It seemed like she was flirting with me. If she was, she was being awfully damned presumptuous. I knew I should get up and walk out the door, but there was a magnetism about her that kept me seated.
"I'm Laura," she said. "I'd shake your hand, but I guess we don't want it to look like we just met, do we?" She leaned over and kissed me. Not a peck on the cheek, a kiss. A soft, sweet kiss, yet somehow demanding.
My head was a little light, and I thought about how much wine I'd had. Not enough to account for the way I felt.
I hadn't managed to get a word out since, "Oh, I couldn't." It wasn't that she blustered. On the contrary, she was serene and deliberate. It was just some outrageous confidence that never entertained the notion that things wouldn't go as she wanted.
The bartender returned with our drinks, and said, "The gentleman," indicating my original date with a glance, "would like to buy these."
She didn't hesitate. "Tell him no thank you," she said, and she laid her hand on my thigh, glancing down the bar with a possessive look.
"That should convince him that you're with me, don't you think?"
I couldn't feel a thing but her hand on my leg. It was nearly a jolt, like electricity. I cleared my throat, and said, "It, um, might be a little over-convincing." I didn't pull away, though, and she didn't move her hand.
"So, that was a blind date?"
Why was it always so embarrassing to admit to meeting someone online? It seemed even more embarrassing to admit that to her. She wouldn't understand resorting to meeting someone online.
"Something like that. How could you tell?"
"Oh, I just watch people. I like to think I'm pretty good at sizing them up."
I smiled a little ruefully, and said, "And that's how you sized me up?"
"Oh no. I get much more than that from you."
I was trying to figure out how to ask what that meant when I was saved by the approach of the hostess, telling us our table was ready.
"Come," Laura said, holding out her hand and silently asking for mine.
No, not asking, really. Assuming. I hadn't said that I would join her. But I gave her my hand. Don't ask me why.
We crossed the crowded restaurant and arrived at a curved banquette, big enough for four. I slid in and sat toward one end, assuming that she would sit across from me, but she slid in almost to the center, and said, "Come sit beside me."
Who did this woman think she was? Yet, it was hard not to do what she asked. Again, "asked" wasn't really the right word.
I slid in to the seat beside her, but I felt incredibly self-conscious as I did it. Nobody could think we were just two acquaintances.
She ordered champagne, again without asking me, and the hostess went away, saying that she would send our waitress.
"I think I heard you say that your name was Beth? Or rather," she said with a slight chuckle, "I guess I heard you say it wasn't."
I blushed at that, and said, "I'm sorry. Yes, Beth. Nice to meet you, Laura." This was feeling more like a twilight zone episode by the minute.
"Have you been here before?" she asked.
"Only to meet someone for drinks. It's...well, it's a bit expensive for me."
"We'll come here more often, then."
I wondered again if that was what it sounded like. "Um, Laura, I'm going to be awfully embarrassed if I'm reading this completely wrong...but...well, I'm kind of...straight."
Her eyes never left mine, and she didn't bat an eye. "And yet you're here." She extended her index finger and gently raked the tip of a perfect nail up from the hollow of my neck, until it barely brushed my lips. I don't remember actually shivering, but I did realize that my back was relaxing out of the arch it had somehow formed.
I would almost certainly have slapped any guy who did that, but I seemed helpless, glued to my seat. At least I knew that I wasn't imagining things.
"Laura, I met you ten minutes ago. You're a bit...intense."
We were interrupted by the waitress, who poured champagne and took our orders.
