Hands on the Table
by the only one, therealonlyone@yahoo.com
A handsome man walks up to my podium, and I pretend like I don't notice him because I am doing a lot of work. I look up just as he reaches me. He is unfamiliar, someone I've never seen before.
"Vaughn, party of two," he says, but his voice is a little strained. Like he doesn't know if he wants to be here. I've heard it before, the little clearing of the throat before speaking. I don't have any sympathy for the man because he looks so good. Anyone with his features deserves no pity for getting in the business. They're the kind that could get any job they wanted, but they don't for reasons unknown.
I look at him funny. He is alone, but I know better than to say anything. I've got too much experience in this business than to ask that question. I read the reservation sheet and see that he's got a table near the wall of windows, the back wall of the establishment. I've never seen a first-timer get such a good table.
"Right this way," I say instead, putting two menus in my hand. I'm already halfway to the back of the building when I turn and see him still standing near my podium, staring at the bar. I stop and turn, quickly glancing at the bar to see what he's looking at. Blame my nosiness, a trait I don't prize.
He's watching a pretty woman. Brown hair, tall, slinky black dress that hides her lithe legs. Does he know her? I start walking back to the man, but before I reach him he starts towards her. I'm only a few feet away when I hear him say, "I'm Michael, Michael Vaughn. You're not Sydney Bristow, are you?" Three wrinkles appear on his forehead.
A flash of recognition on the woman's face before she smiles, showing dimples on her cheeks. "Yeah, I am." He offers her his hand and she gets off the black metal stool.
I can't believe it. This is a blind date? One of the best tables in the house to a first-timer, and he's on a blind date? Why can't this happen out in the real world, to normal people like me?
I smile anyway. "Vaughn, party of two? Follow me." I start towards the table once again. She takes hold of his arm and they follow my lead. They are close enough behind me that I can hear what they're saying to one another.
"Sorry I'm late. I got caught in traffic." A lame excuse if I've ever heard one, and I've heard quite a few.
"It's okay, I was early."
I can practically hear the smiles they're wearing, no doubt because they've never been on a blind date with someone who looked so good. I know I'm wearing a look of disgust, mainly out of jealousy. I reach the table and turn, pasting on a smile. I watch him pull out the chair for her before seating himself. She thanks him quietly.
This is all wrong. There is something about the way she thanks him that makes me think she's said it before. And the way he had been staring at her, he could not have known that she was his date. She could have been anyone.
No, I can tell. They know each other. On a blind date you're nervous, even if the other person looks this good. These two are comfortable around each other already.
I ask if they would like menus. "Please," she says, still smiling. "It's my first time here." I hand her one and look at him.
"Same here." I give him the other one and tell them that someone will come take their order in a few minutes. "Okay," he says, accenting the first syllable instead of the second.
I leave them with a dazzling smile before heading back to my podium. I don't want them to detect my skepticism about the whole blind date ploy. Fernando comes up to me and asks if anyone wants a check yet. I say no, but ponder telling him what I think about the two I've just seated as he walks away. The next time he comes I'll tell him. I know he'll have the same opinion I do — it's just a ruse. They're playing a game.
Out of boredom, I find myself watching them. I can't believe it; it's been less than thirty seconds since I sat them and they're already speaking like old friends. Of course, because they are. The woman takes something chrome plated out of a purse I never noticed. It's lip stick, I think. She untwists it all the way then twists it and puts a little on. What a weird idiosyncrasy, I think as a watch her. The man glances at his watch and leans in, speaking softly, I can tell from across the room. She replies quickly, then both sit up straight.
Fernando comes up behind me and I almost squeal when he taps my shoulder. "It's been fifteen minutes since you sat those two in the back," he whispers. I can't believe it; I have been watching them for fifteen minutes? "Should I take an order?" he asks.
Before replying to his question, I say, "Do they seem odd to you?"
"Odd how?" He leans on my podium, looking at me.
"Well, they're on a blind date and I think they act as if they know each other well."
"Really?" I can tell that I've piqued his interest. "Is that why you've been watching them?"
"Oh, shut up." I swat his shoulder and he grins. "You should hear them. It's like they've known each other for years."
"Maybe they have."
"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.
"They could be having an affair."
"Oh, really, Freddy!" I call him by my nickname for him. It irks him but he doesn't say anything about it.
"Seriously! Or maybe it's a secret office romance."
"What, like if you and I started dating they would fire us?"
"Exactly." We are both thinking that this is not possible.
"What kind of office?" I wonder. Then, it hits me. "They're not in the business, are they?"
Fernando shrugs it off.
"How would they get a reservation here then?"
"Relatives."
I don't say anything to that. Both Fernando and I have our jobs because of relatives.
After a few moments of silence, Fernando says, "I better go get their order." I nod and look at the reservation sheet to see when the next group will show up. Ten o'clock. I look at my watch and see that it's only seven twenty. Two and a half hours to go. I might as well go to a back room and sleep, if one's empty.
I end up sitting at the bar and chatting with the bartender, Keith. We talk about drinks. I ask him why they call it a cosmopolitan and that sparks a long conversation.
Five minutes pass. Ten. I see Fernando bringing out two salads and his cousin Martin follows him with a bottle of wine. I know he's taking them to the man and woman I've been thinking about. Keith keeps talking but I crane my neck to watch Fernando and Martin.
My gaze travels to the man and woman before Fernando reaches them. Both are smiling and talking. Laughing, even. His right hand is enveloping her left hand, just beside the single candle in the center of the table. That simple action almost makes me want to jump up and shout that they're having an affair. (That explanation seems more likely to me than the other, but I remember that I forgot to look for rings.)
When the food arrives at their table, their hands practically fly away from each other. It is as if they don't want anyone to know they're together, even if it's just dinner. It solidifies my theory.
"You better man your post," Keith says. I look up and see a woman rushing in. I stand and smile, ready to tell her the restaurant is full.
"Hi," she says, breathless, "I couldn't find the place. I'm Alice." She returns my smile, and I notice that her steel blue eyes seem the perfect complement to her blond hair.
I still smile, wordlessly saying, "And that's supposed to mean something to me?"
"Oh, sorry. Vaughn, party of two. My boyfriend is probably waiting for me." She looks around, most likely for a table with one person. There are none. I don't want to ask her if she's telling the truth, because I know she is. It's the man who lied.
Eyebrows knitted, she searches harder and sees the man in a dark corner of the room, toasting to something with the woman. They're both smiling, having forgotten the rest of the world.
I watch the tears appear in the woman's eyes. I feel genuinely sorry for her; this seems like the worst thing that could happen to anyone. Before the tears actually flow, she spins around and leaves. I feel like crying for Alice. Now I hate the man for doing something so cruel to his girlfriend. Alice couldn't actually see the woman her boyfriend was with — just the back of her head — but that might be good. She might know her, which would make everything worse.
I sit back down, waiting for Fernando to appear from the kitchen so I can tell him of the man's infidelity. Before I see Fernando, a man appears at the side entrance. I stand before he reaches my podium. "Welcome," I say, "do you have a reservation?"
"Yes." He shakes off his coat and drapes it over one arm. "David Stark, party of two. My girlfriend might be here already; I got stuck at the office."
I do a double-take. This is the famous Sark? But he has no English accent. "Did you say Sark?"
"No, Stark. With a 't'."
I walk over to my podium to make the man believe I'm checking the reservation sheet. I turn too quickly. "Sorry, I don't have a reservation for you. Can you see your girlfriend at a table?"
Why do I ask? I know already that his girlfriend is the woman in the back. He is standing at such an angle that he can see only her face. Fury covers his countenance and with an angry voice he says, "Yes, and could you please tell her that I will not be calling her?" Without a moment's pause, he adds, "Ever?"
Okay, I think, this is awkward. "I can do that."
"Thank you." He puts hit coat back on and confidently leaves out the side entrance.
I walk down to the table where the man and the woman are sitting. They've finished half their salads and almost half of the wine, but have stopped and are now just talking.
They're so happy. I almost don't want to bother them, but then I remember what they have done. I decide to say it and get it over with.
"How is your meal?" I'm stalling. I feel weird about what I'm about to say.
"Oh, excellent!" She speaks for both of them, and he nods his agreement.
"Thank you. I have a message for you." I face the woman. "A gentleman named David Stark wanted me to tell you that he will not be calling you."
"Sark?" she asks, confusion clearly showing on both their faces.
"No, Stark." I wonder how they know who Sark is.
Worry floods her face as I walk back to the bar. I've only taken a few steps when she pushes her chair back. "Oh my gosh, Vaughn — I completely forgot!"
His forehead wrinkles as he registers what has just taken place. "A woman named Alice didn't stop by, did she?" he asks me.
I stop and nod, replying, "Just a little while ago." I continue walking and reach the bar. I can't help watching them from a stool.
Both of them stand up. They share a look before she hurries out, his eyes trailing her. He suddenly realizes the situation and pulls out his wallet. Setting a bill on the table, he walks out in swift strides. I wait a few seconds before going to the table to collect the bill.
When I see it, I am shocked. He has placed a hundred dollar bill on the table, without knowing it most likely. I rush back to the door, trying to catch the man, but outside I can already see two cars speeding away. I go back to the table, realizing that I left the cash there.
Fernando arrives and sees that the couple is gone. He looks over my shoulder and I turn, a look of shock on my face. How are we going to split this enormous tip? He raises his eyebrows and we walk back to the bar together — but not before Fernando takes the plates and bottle.
"You know," Fernando says, still holding the dishes, "they only ordered wine and salads. There is just less than seventy dollars left: thirty five each."
"Are you sure I should take it, I mean..." Obviously I am uncertain because of the turn of events in the last few minutes.
"Of course." He smiles. "This is the biggest tip ever," he adds.
I grin. "Don't you know it!"
So out of these happenings, one thing is for sure. All hands on the table means no luck for the outsiders.
-
like it? love it? confused? drop a line at therealonlyone@yahoo.com or review and i'll get back to you.
by the only one, therealonlyone@yahoo.com
A handsome man walks up to my podium, and I pretend like I don't notice him because I am doing a lot of work. I look up just as he reaches me. He is unfamiliar, someone I've never seen before.
"Vaughn, party of two," he says, but his voice is a little strained. Like he doesn't know if he wants to be here. I've heard it before, the little clearing of the throat before speaking. I don't have any sympathy for the man because he looks so good. Anyone with his features deserves no pity for getting in the business. They're the kind that could get any job they wanted, but they don't for reasons unknown.
I look at him funny. He is alone, but I know better than to say anything. I've got too much experience in this business than to ask that question. I read the reservation sheet and see that he's got a table near the wall of windows, the back wall of the establishment. I've never seen a first-timer get such a good table.
"Right this way," I say instead, putting two menus in my hand. I'm already halfway to the back of the building when I turn and see him still standing near my podium, staring at the bar. I stop and turn, quickly glancing at the bar to see what he's looking at. Blame my nosiness, a trait I don't prize.
He's watching a pretty woman. Brown hair, tall, slinky black dress that hides her lithe legs. Does he know her? I start walking back to the man, but before I reach him he starts towards her. I'm only a few feet away when I hear him say, "I'm Michael, Michael Vaughn. You're not Sydney Bristow, are you?" Three wrinkles appear on his forehead.
A flash of recognition on the woman's face before she smiles, showing dimples on her cheeks. "Yeah, I am." He offers her his hand and she gets off the black metal stool.
I can't believe it. This is a blind date? One of the best tables in the house to a first-timer, and he's on a blind date? Why can't this happen out in the real world, to normal people like me?
I smile anyway. "Vaughn, party of two? Follow me." I start towards the table once again. She takes hold of his arm and they follow my lead. They are close enough behind me that I can hear what they're saying to one another.
"Sorry I'm late. I got caught in traffic." A lame excuse if I've ever heard one, and I've heard quite a few.
"It's okay, I was early."
I can practically hear the smiles they're wearing, no doubt because they've never been on a blind date with someone who looked so good. I know I'm wearing a look of disgust, mainly out of jealousy. I reach the table and turn, pasting on a smile. I watch him pull out the chair for her before seating himself. She thanks him quietly.
This is all wrong. There is something about the way she thanks him that makes me think she's said it before. And the way he had been staring at her, he could not have known that she was his date. She could have been anyone.
No, I can tell. They know each other. On a blind date you're nervous, even if the other person looks this good. These two are comfortable around each other already.
I ask if they would like menus. "Please," she says, still smiling. "It's my first time here." I hand her one and look at him.
"Same here." I give him the other one and tell them that someone will come take their order in a few minutes. "Okay," he says, accenting the first syllable instead of the second.
I leave them with a dazzling smile before heading back to my podium. I don't want them to detect my skepticism about the whole blind date ploy. Fernando comes up to me and asks if anyone wants a check yet. I say no, but ponder telling him what I think about the two I've just seated as he walks away. The next time he comes I'll tell him. I know he'll have the same opinion I do — it's just a ruse. They're playing a game.
Out of boredom, I find myself watching them. I can't believe it; it's been less than thirty seconds since I sat them and they're already speaking like old friends. Of course, because they are. The woman takes something chrome plated out of a purse I never noticed. It's lip stick, I think. She untwists it all the way then twists it and puts a little on. What a weird idiosyncrasy, I think as a watch her. The man glances at his watch and leans in, speaking softly, I can tell from across the room. She replies quickly, then both sit up straight.
Fernando comes up behind me and I almost squeal when he taps my shoulder. "It's been fifteen minutes since you sat those two in the back," he whispers. I can't believe it; I have been watching them for fifteen minutes? "Should I take an order?" he asks.
Before replying to his question, I say, "Do they seem odd to you?"
"Odd how?" He leans on my podium, looking at me.
"Well, they're on a blind date and I think they act as if they know each other well."
"Really?" I can tell that I've piqued his interest. "Is that why you've been watching them?"
"Oh, shut up." I swat his shoulder and he grins. "You should hear them. It's like they've known each other for years."
"Maybe they have."
"What do you mean?" I ask, confused.
"They could be having an affair."
"Oh, really, Freddy!" I call him by my nickname for him. It irks him but he doesn't say anything about it.
"Seriously! Or maybe it's a secret office romance."
"What, like if you and I started dating they would fire us?"
"Exactly." We are both thinking that this is not possible.
"What kind of office?" I wonder. Then, it hits me. "They're not in the business, are they?"
Fernando shrugs it off.
"How would they get a reservation here then?"
"Relatives."
I don't say anything to that. Both Fernando and I have our jobs because of relatives.
After a few moments of silence, Fernando says, "I better go get their order." I nod and look at the reservation sheet to see when the next group will show up. Ten o'clock. I look at my watch and see that it's only seven twenty. Two and a half hours to go. I might as well go to a back room and sleep, if one's empty.
I end up sitting at the bar and chatting with the bartender, Keith. We talk about drinks. I ask him why they call it a cosmopolitan and that sparks a long conversation.
Five minutes pass. Ten. I see Fernando bringing out two salads and his cousin Martin follows him with a bottle of wine. I know he's taking them to the man and woman I've been thinking about. Keith keeps talking but I crane my neck to watch Fernando and Martin.
My gaze travels to the man and woman before Fernando reaches them. Both are smiling and talking. Laughing, even. His right hand is enveloping her left hand, just beside the single candle in the center of the table. That simple action almost makes me want to jump up and shout that they're having an affair. (That explanation seems more likely to me than the other, but I remember that I forgot to look for rings.)
When the food arrives at their table, their hands practically fly away from each other. It is as if they don't want anyone to know they're together, even if it's just dinner. It solidifies my theory.
"You better man your post," Keith says. I look up and see a woman rushing in. I stand and smile, ready to tell her the restaurant is full.
"Hi," she says, breathless, "I couldn't find the place. I'm Alice." She returns my smile, and I notice that her steel blue eyes seem the perfect complement to her blond hair.
I still smile, wordlessly saying, "And that's supposed to mean something to me?"
"Oh, sorry. Vaughn, party of two. My boyfriend is probably waiting for me." She looks around, most likely for a table with one person. There are none. I don't want to ask her if she's telling the truth, because I know she is. It's the man who lied.
Eyebrows knitted, she searches harder and sees the man in a dark corner of the room, toasting to something with the woman. They're both smiling, having forgotten the rest of the world.
I watch the tears appear in the woman's eyes. I feel genuinely sorry for her; this seems like the worst thing that could happen to anyone. Before the tears actually flow, she spins around and leaves. I feel like crying for Alice. Now I hate the man for doing something so cruel to his girlfriend. Alice couldn't actually see the woman her boyfriend was with — just the back of her head — but that might be good. She might know her, which would make everything worse.
I sit back down, waiting for Fernando to appear from the kitchen so I can tell him of the man's infidelity. Before I see Fernando, a man appears at the side entrance. I stand before he reaches my podium. "Welcome," I say, "do you have a reservation?"
"Yes." He shakes off his coat and drapes it over one arm. "David Stark, party of two. My girlfriend might be here already; I got stuck at the office."
I do a double-take. This is the famous Sark? But he has no English accent. "Did you say Sark?"
"No, Stark. With a 't'."
I walk over to my podium to make the man believe I'm checking the reservation sheet. I turn too quickly. "Sorry, I don't have a reservation for you. Can you see your girlfriend at a table?"
Why do I ask? I know already that his girlfriend is the woman in the back. He is standing at such an angle that he can see only her face. Fury covers his countenance and with an angry voice he says, "Yes, and could you please tell her that I will not be calling her?" Without a moment's pause, he adds, "Ever?"
Okay, I think, this is awkward. "I can do that."
"Thank you." He puts hit coat back on and confidently leaves out the side entrance.
I walk down to the table where the man and the woman are sitting. They've finished half their salads and almost half of the wine, but have stopped and are now just talking.
They're so happy. I almost don't want to bother them, but then I remember what they have done. I decide to say it and get it over with.
"How is your meal?" I'm stalling. I feel weird about what I'm about to say.
"Oh, excellent!" She speaks for both of them, and he nods his agreement.
"Thank you. I have a message for you." I face the woman. "A gentleman named David Stark wanted me to tell you that he will not be calling you."
"Sark?" she asks, confusion clearly showing on both their faces.
"No, Stark." I wonder how they know who Sark is.
Worry floods her face as I walk back to the bar. I've only taken a few steps when she pushes her chair back. "Oh my gosh, Vaughn — I completely forgot!"
His forehead wrinkles as he registers what has just taken place. "A woman named Alice didn't stop by, did she?" he asks me.
I stop and nod, replying, "Just a little while ago." I continue walking and reach the bar. I can't help watching them from a stool.
Both of them stand up. They share a look before she hurries out, his eyes trailing her. He suddenly realizes the situation and pulls out his wallet. Setting a bill on the table, he walks out in swift strides. I wait a few seconds before going to the table to collect the bill.
When I see it, I am shocked. He has placed a hundred dollar bill on the table, without knowing it most likely. I rush back to the door, trying to catch the man, but outside I can already see two cars speeding away. I go back to the table, realizing that I left the cash there.
Fernando arrives and sees that the couple is gone. He looks over my shoulder and I turn, a look of shock on my face. How are we going to split this enormous tip? He raises his eyebrows and we walk back to the bar together — but not before Fernando takes the plates and bottle.
"You know," Fernando says, still holding the dishes, "they only ordered wine and salads. There is just less than seventy dollars left: thirty five each."
"Are you sure I should take it, I mean..." Obviously I am uncertain because of the turn of events in the last few minutes.
"Of course." He smiles. "This is the biggest tip ever," he adds.
I grin. "Don't you know it!"
So out of these happenings, one thing is for sure. All hands on the table means no luck for the outsiders.
-
like it? love it? confused? drop a line at therealonlyone@yahoo.com or review and i'll get back to you.