Psychologists and sociologists the world over debate the origins of mankind's habits: nature or nurture? Is man born with a particular habit, or is it instilled in him by way of experience? A careful reading of the opposing analyses does not really lead to one particular answer for any particular habit.
Much the same can be said of Dan's attraction to older women, particularly those whose left hands come adorned with sparkly diamonds. Was Dan born with this temptation, or did it come to pass through experience? In the end, that question will likely never be answered. Nonetheless, a strong case can be made in favor of nurture.
* * *
Dan's parents, though wealthy, have not transferred to him all the trappings that come with that wealth. To be sure, he dresses well. They provided him with the down payment for his condominium, and a nice car when he graduated college. And to be sure, that is more than most young men his age receive from their parents.
Nonetheless, Dan's parents are down-to-earth, very well-grounded (which, of course, calls into question his own particular predilections). During college summers, they required Dan to work at his father's private equity firm. During the school year, he always held a job. It was never full-time, nor was it hard labor. His parents just mandated that he work a few shifts a week to prevent his from viewing the world as his oyster.
So it was that during Dan's junior year at USC he obtained a job waiting tables at the World Café in Santa Monica. It wasn't located terribly convenient to campus or his fraternity house, but the hours were decent, and the tips better.
The World Café sits on the corner of Main and Ashland and offers typical California fare: salads, tuna, light pastas, all very health conscience. While part of the restaurant is indoors, it has a garden patio for diners to enjoy their meal al fresco, surrounded by trees and small rock ponds.
Dan was working one August afternoon a few weeks after he started. It was a typical Friday afternoon for the World Café. A young couple was seated at table 8, picking at a shared salad. Two Hollywood wanna-bes were downing vodka-and-tonics with their pasta, yapping away on their cell phones, ordering Dan to get them this and take that away. A group of young women, apparently taking a break from shopping, sat at table 12. Though Dan wasn't working this table, he made eye contact with a cute brunette, and they exchanged smiles.
Around noon, three older women were seated at table 4, one of Dan's tables. Before he approached the table with their menus, he took one look at them and rolled his proverbial eyes. 'Here we go,' he thought. 'Salads and a bottle of wine.'
After only a few weeks, Dan found that was able to gauge what a person would eat and drink by the way they dressed, who they were with, the day of the week, the time of day, and other such factors. For example, if a couple in their mid-thirties arrived on Saturday around 7:00 wearing comfortable yet stylish clothes, Dan could guess that the husband would order steak or sea bass, and the wife would order chicken or salmon. They might get a glass or two of wine, but might just as well order a few beers.
For another example, at noon on a hot Friday afternoon in August, if three women in their late thirties or early forties walk in dressed for show, they were likely to each order a salad, and together would order a bottle of wine (probably white, and maybe two bottles). The women at table 4 fit this mold. All were clearly trophy wives.
The brunette of the group wore a pair of white, open-toed heels below matching pants; a pale yellow blouse covered what appeared to be ample breasts. As they sat, a French-manicured hand slid her Gucci sunglasses atop her head, a diamond bracelet sliding down her slim, tanned arm in the process. Her lustrous hair had been pulled back in a clip, revealing glossy lips, high cheekbones and glittering green eyes.
One of the blondes – clearly a dye-job – wore a pair of Seven jeans over a pair of black Manolo Blahnik heels. A red, silk halter top hid smallish breasts, and her platinum hair pulled back in a tight ponytail highlighted a freshly-scrubbed face. This one's Gucci glasses were actually hiding her eyes. Dan wondered if she had breast-envy, given her current company.
The third woman – the other blonde, this one a dirty blonde – was a little different from the first two, insofar as she wore a silk skirt instead of pants. It was baby-blue, and ended halfway up tanned and well-toned thighs. Covering a substantial pair of breasts was a white, spaghetti-strap silk top that hung loosely above her cleavage. A pair of open-toed Gucci backless heels adorned her cute feet, exposing red-manicured toes. Matching nails tipped her long elegant fingers. Her hair was pulled back enough to reveal a diamond necklace, which seemed to be paired with the diamond tennis bracelet that clattered on her right wrist.
Looking at them as a whole, Dan wondered at the value of their jewelry. A pair of diamond bracelets, a diamond necklace, at least one pair of diamond earrings, two pendants that were probably purchased on Rodeo Drive. And this does not even include the wedding and engagement rings. All three women wore one of each. Dan was no expert, but he guessed that he was looking at a total of 10 or so carats.
He took all of this in as he collected three menus and made his way over to table 4. When he approached, the three trophy wives looked up at him, all smiles. 'If the jewelry doesn't blind me, the bright teeth will,' he thought to himself as the dirty blonde lifted her dark Chanel glasses to the top of her head, revealing piercing blue eyes that smiled their own brilliance.
"Afternoon, ladies. Can I start you with a drink? A bottle of pinot grigio, perhaps?"
The brunette must have been the leader of the group. "Absolutely. A bottle of Santa Margherita would be perfect. And I don't think we'll need the menus; we eat here often enough." The blondes just nodded their heads. The group started with an order of hummus, but for lunch, the brunette ordered a mozzarella-and-tomato salad, the dye-job a Caesar, and the dirty blonde sesame-encrusted tuna over greens. 'Damn,' Dan thought. 'I forgot to anticipate the hummus.'
With a nod, Dan departed the three wives and put in their lunch order. Grabbing a bottle of pinot grigio, a corkscrew and three glasses, Dan headed back to the table, popped the cork, and filled the glasses. He returned a while later to serve their appetizer and then lunches, and few times to see if they needed anything ("Another bottle of pinot grigio, please").
After two hours of what Dan could only imagine was nothing but pure gossip and inanities, the dirty blonde signaled to him that she would like the check. He quickly responded, and placed the check folder on the table next her, then departed. When he next looked, the three women were walking toward the front gate, having left the check folder on the table.
He collected the folder from the table and cashed it out, surprised (and delighted) to find a thirty percent tip. While he was cashing out, the dirty blonde stopped at the maitre-d's desk and asked when the next shift change would occur. "Four o'clock, ma'am," she was told. After thanking the maitre-d, the three women bid their au reviors, and parted ways, the dirty blonde spending some time in the boutiques that dotted Main Street.
Dan worked the rest of the afternoon. Right after 4:00, he clocked out, collected his tips for the afternoon, and walked through the garden patio toward the front gate. On passing through the front gate, he stopped short, and took in the beautiful creature resting at the curb: an Aston Martin DB7 in titanium gray, top down, its engine tick-tick-ticking the hot afternoon sun. It took him a moment to notice the dirty blonde leaning against the passenger side door, arms folded beneath her generous breasts, one ankle crossed over the other.
"Oh, hi . . . uh . . . Mrs. . . ."
"Mrs. Marcus. Belinda Marcus."
"Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Mrs. Marcus. I saw this car and . . . is it yours?"
"Mm-hm."
"Very nice." Dan paused. "So, did you enjoy your lunch?" he asked, not even looking at her, instead circling around the front of the car, examining all its curves and bulges.
"I did, very much. Thank you. Are you just getting off work now?"
