Ch. 1 My Makeover
"You should say something to him," Elaine suddenly said out of the blue flashing me a mischievous smile.
"Who?" I asked red faced. She had obviously caught me visually devouring the young waiter as he left our check.
"Liz, don't try and play stupid. Marcos, the waiter, the one you can't take your eyes off of."
"He's half my age!" I gave her the clichéd reply.
"So," Elaine wasn't the type to accept such a lazy excuse.
"So, I can only imagine what he would think at an old lady throwing herself at him like a horny teenager."
"You're not an old lady. You're a beautiful and successful forty year old woman," Elaine boasted loudly.
"Who could be his mother," I said in a whisper trying to remind her to keep her voice down in the crowded restaurant.
"Is that the best excuse you can come up with? Every time he comes over here he can't take his eyes off of you. He's been blatantly flirting with you since we sat down."
"He's just trying to get a bigger tip," I cynically replied trying to temper her enthusiam as well as my own growing appreciation for the points she was making.
"You're hopeless," she finally said in a stinging tone.
"I'm not hopeless, just realistic," I answered back defensively.
"Well, how's that approach working for you? You haven't dated in at least a year."
"Easy," I responded. I can take some tough love, but Elaine was starting to push my limits.
"I'm sorry; I just want to see you happy."
"And hitting on a twenty year old waiter will make me happy."
"I bet he could do more than make you happy," Elaine quipped back smiling again with that wicked look.
"You're insatiable," I laughed back. I choose that moment to excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I glanced up at Marco as I passed him and he gave me a bright inviting smile causing me to blush like a school girl once again.
Inside the bathroom I couldn't help but study my reflection in the mirror as I washed my hands. I looked tired. My hair was lifeless, there were small bags under my eyes, and my make up looked exactly like what you would expect make up to look like if you applied it in the car while rushing to make it to work. I was a mess. "What would he want to do with me?" I asked myself dejectedly.
When I emerged Elaine had already paid the bill. As we walked out of the restaurant I felt a hand suddenly touch my shoulder, "Excuse me, Elizabeth," Marco's accented voice called me. I turned to face him shocked that he knew my name. "I am glad you gave me your number. I wanted to ask, but I was not sure that it would be okay for me to do so," he excitedly said as I had the sudden urge to kill my best friend, "I do not have to work on Saturday. Do you want to have dinner?"
I paused for a second before I answered, my brain frozen in shock, "Um, sure," I answered back mindlessly. I must have failed to conceal my bewilderment because Marco gave me a quizzically look as his hazel eyes pierced my own.
"Good, I will call you before then to arrange a time," he responded again with a bright smile revealing his shiny white teeth.
I gave him a half wave goodbye as I turned around to give Elaine a hateful look, which quickly melted away into a joyous smile as she giggled at my embarrassment, "He must have liked the tip I left him," she joked, "You should have known better than to give me your business card."
...............
He called me on Friday, his thick accent just as charming over the phone as it was in person. I learned a little bit about him, he was twenty-three, grew up in a small town near Naples, came to the states as a student when he was eighteen, but decided to drop out of college to pursue career as a chef; a dream he was still striving towards as he worked as a waiter to support himself and save up enough money to pay for culinary school.
Ever word out of his mouth only fueled my crush. And that is what it was, the kind of infatuation I had when I was just a young girl, before my marriage, before my two kids, before my successful legal career, and before the divorce that had convinced me that I would never have those emotions again.
He insisted that I allow him to pick me up. In the seven years since my divorce I had become so jaded about dating that I had previously refused to let any man even know where I lived before we had been out at least a couple of times. But like all foolish young girls I threw caution to the wind and told him where he could pick me up at seven o'clock.
Our dinner together was great. Easily the best meal I had experienced in years. He wanted to know everything about me, my work, my kids, everything. When I told him that I liked to go hiking, he responded that he loved to go hiking. He responded to everything with the same intense passion, there was nothing cynical our skeptical in his expressions, such a strong contrast to the social world in which I was accustomed.
After dinner we walked down the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade holding hands, laughing, and simply enjoying each other's company. I started out self conscious, every glance towards us seemed to contain the same judgment about our age difference, but Marcos didn't seem to mind or even to notice. Not once did he mention the differences in our ages. After a while his indifference spread to me, I even started to realize that it was probably me that read the condemnations in stranger's eyes.
If anything lurked in their stares it was jealousy. Marcos was gorgeous. He had a sculptured face, high model cheekbones and those stunning hazel eyes. He wasn't tall only a couple inches taller than me, but he had an athletic body, whose strength I could feel each time I brushed up against him. His dirty blonde hair was tied back in a short pony tail, the kind of look which I would have mocked if I hadn't been on his arm, but since I was I found it cute, he was the dreamy European man I had always pictured meeting in some cozy, Italian cafe.
He walked me to my door only kissing me briefly on the lips before saying goodnight. He could have easily asked to come in, in fact I wanted him to ask me to come in, but he remained the gentlemen telling me that he had a wonderful time. I said the same, smiling contently as I watched him make his way back to his car from my open door.
The next day he called me at ten in the morning, he obviously didn't intend to play any of the typical games. Since he was the last thing I thought of before I fell asleep and the first thing I thought of when I awoke, I definitely didn't mind the break in dating protocol.
"I had a great time last night," he began in his earnestly sexy voice, "I want to see you as soon as possible. I have to work today and tomorrow, but I am free on Tuesday. Let me cook you dinner. I'll make you something very special."
"Well," I hesitated, a thought reminding me that I usually worked until eight on Tuesday's popped into my head, but just momentarily, "That sounds great," I replied matching his enthusiasm. My rationale side did emerge in convincing him to cook dinner in my spacious kitchen rather than his cramped two bedroom apartment that he shared with three friends.
I took a half day at work so I could prepare for our date. I enjoyed a complete makeover treatment; my hair, nails, and face were all pampered at my favorite spa and salon. I even had a full bikini wax. I was determined to look my best for him, as youthful and vibrant as a cynical forty year old lawyer could manage.
There was no place in my fantasies for a tired, bitter, divorcee. The images that had flashed through my head the two days after our first date were enough to stimulate more than a few self induced orgasms. If he was half as good of a lover as he was in my dreams, it wouldn't matter what he cooked for dinner.
I had a few doubts about how attractive he would find me. I am forty-four years old. But it is not like I haven't stayed fit. I started running long distance when I was in high school, and except for the years when my kids were young I have kept up the habit of jogging. I don't have large breasts, so they only slightly sag, and although the rest of my body isn't perfectly toned I've never been embarrassed to put on a bathing suit. I was anxious about his reaction, since as a good looking young man I'm sure he's had his share of gorgeous young women, but any serious anxiety about his opinion was quelled by the yearning between my thighs.
He arrived at the appointed time on Tuesday. Like I said I wasn't really interested in experiencing his culinary skills, at least not that particular evening, so I tried to get him to make the simplest dish possible. But he was adamant in his desire to provide me with the promised "good meal". So I tried to remain patient, sipping on my glass of red wine as he worked in front of the stove, explaining what he was doing like a proud student.
Despite my impatience I enjoyed being in the kitchen with him. He repeatedly had me test his different dishes, blowing gently on each hot item before slipping into my mouth. Everything tasted great, and the kisses that he gave after each testing were even more delicious. Each kiss became successively longer and more urgent. I held his body against me as my tongue licked the flavors off his lips. I was already wet from being in his presence; it took all of my self restraint not to start tearing off his clothes.
