CHAPTER 11

Clark slips into the back seat of the taxi and tells the driver where he needs to go. As the taxi begins to wind its way through the traffic, Clark rests his head against the back seat and thinks about the evening to come.

Why did I go through all this trouble just for one evening with Oliver? Am I really in love with him? he wonders as the Met comes into his view.

That was fast, he thinks as the taxi pulls up in front and comes to a stop. Clark gives the driver a few bills as a tip, then steps out of the taxi and into the cool late December air. He looks up at the brightly lit building, taking a deep breath and exhaling before he starts walking towards the fountain where he agreed to meet Oliver.

Five minutes earlier…

Oliver steps out of the limo and closes the door. He briefly speaks with the driver before taking his leave. He starts thinking about the evening to come as he's walking towards the fountain.

Why am I so nervous? It's not as if I've never been on a date before, he tells himself as he arrives at the fountain. He starts to pace back and forth in front of it. I know why I'm nervous, stopping in mid-pace. He's not calling it a date. That's why, he sighs as he resumes his pacing. I want it to be a date, a faraway expression on his face as he remembers their night of passion.

He's so into his reverie that he doesn't see Clark emerging from the taxi.

The Grand Ticino

Martha arrives at the Grand Ticino. "Good evening, Mrs. Kent," the host greets her with a smile. "Where's Mr. Kent?" he asks.

"It's just me tonight," she replies.

"You're in luck because I have a table ready for you right now," he says as he leads her to one near the wall. "Is this table all right?"

"Yes," she says as he pulls out the chair for her and she sits down.

He hands her a menu. "Enjoy," he says before walking away.

The head waiter immediately rushes over when he sees her. "Mrs. Kent, you're dining alone tonight?"

"Hello, Bobo. Yes I am. I'd like a martini with no ice, two olives," raising two fingers.

"Very good," he replies with laughter in his voice as he heads in the direction of the bar. While she's reading the menu she hears a woman's raised voice coming from the next table.

"Every time I tell you how I feel, you tell me how you feel. That doesn't seem like much of a response to me."

"Well, it's the only response I have," he responds as he drinks his water.

Meanwhile, Bobo reappears with the martini. "Have you made a decision yet?" he asks as he hands her the drink.

"I'm not sure yet, but I will have a bowl of minestrone in the meantime."

"Very well," walking away again.

She's a little intrigued with the argument taking place between the man and the woman. The woman's back is to her and she's blocking Martha's view of the man. She can't help but think that the man's voice sounds very familiar to her.

"I really do hate it when you take that tone with me. Like you're above it all and isn't it amusing," she replies in a snide tone.

"But it is, isn't it?" he says with amusement.

"Not to me!" she snaps back. "This is my life, no matter how damned comical it may seem to you," throwing down her napkin. "I don't need some man standing around while I roll around in the mud."

"I think you like to roll around in the mud and I don't. That's fair, isn't it? Now why-"

She stands up and flings a glass of water in his face, then grabs her coat off the back of her chair and storms off. He stands up and picks up a napkin. "Sorry about that, folks. She's a very pretty mental patient," he quips as he wipes his face and shirt.

There's some scattered laughter in the restaurant as one of the waiters comes over with a towel. "Don't mind me. Just do me a favor and clear her place. Get rid of all evidence of her and bring me a big glass of vodka."

"Absolutely," the waiter replies in a firm tone and walks away.

Martha's eyes widen when she finally sees his face. He looks over at her with the same expression. "Martha?"

"Perry?"

"What are you doing here?" they both ask at the same time.

"I didn't feel like cooking tonight," Martha says. "You?"

"I decided to come here for dinner when I remembered how empty my refrigerator was, then Patricia called so…" his voice trailing off.

She gives him a smile. "Would you like to join me for dinner?" she asks.

He puts down the napkin. "Are you sure?" She nods yes. "I'd be delighted," he replies. "I really hate eating alone and lately I seem to end up doing just that," smiling as he sits down across from Martha.

At the same time…

Clark sees Oliver pacing back and forth in front of the brightly lit fountain. Looks like I'm not the only one who's a little nervous about tonight, smiling inwardly as he comes closer. Just then, small jets of water shoot up into the night sky behind Oliver, followed by several larger jets. Clark's eyes follow the columns of water as they rise upwards, then they lower when Oliver looks up at him.

Their eyes lock as Oliver walks towards him. "Hi," Oliver says with a smile as he comes up to him.

"Hi," Clark smiles back.

"You look…handsome," he says after a short pause.

"Thank you. So do you," Clark replies, a slight flush appearing on his cheeks.

Oliver continues to gaze back at Clark. "You're not wearing your glasses."

"I got contacts. What do you think?"

"I love it. I can see your blue eyes much better," he replies as he leans forward.

Clark holds out his hand and shakes his head. "I said I'd come to the opera with you, but that's it."

"Alright," Oliver says as he briefly takes Clark's arm. "Come on, let's go in."

Clark walks besides him as they join the crowd of people making their way to the front door. As they step inside Clark looks up and notices the fancy crystal chandelier in the lobby along with the simply decorated but elegant Christmas tree. "This is incredible," he remarks as they walk beneath the chandelier and head up the red-carpeted stairs.

After they hand their tickets to the usher, they make their way to the coat room. Oliver takes his coat off and helps Clark with his. After handing them to the checker, he turns around and sees what Clark was wearing. "Wow. Thank you."

"For what?" Clark looks at him curiously.

"I don't know," he replies in all honesty. "For your beautiful blue eyes. For the way you look tonight. I don't know. It's been too long since I've been to the opera," he adds with a hint of emotion in his voice.

Clark starts to reach out to touch Oliver's arm, but he stops himself. "So where are we sitting?"

"You'll find out in a minute," he replies. "Come on," nodding his head and starts to walk away with Clark right next to him.

The waiter brings over Perry's drink. "So how are you?" Perry asks after he's given the waiter his dinner order.

"I'm okay," Martha replies as another waiter brings over her soup, then leaves.

"Just okay?" he asks in a concerned tone as he takes a sip of his vodka. "You're here without Jonathan. That doesn't sound like things are okay to me."

"Well what about you? That woman wasn't your wife," she counters. "Where's Alice?" she asks as she dips her spoon into her soup and raises it to her mouth.

He leans back in his chair and sets down his glass. "Touché," he replies after a long pause. "Alice and I split a couple months ago."

She sets the spoon down and reaches over to briefly touch his hand. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks," picking up his drink again.

"So you're dating already?" she asks as she resumes eating her soup.

"I've only had two dates and both of them I ended up having water thrown at me," he replies with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Your lady friend made it sound as if it was more serious than just two dates," she replies as she takes another spoonful of soup.

"I know her from work," he replies with a sigh. "She's an intern at the Planet. Ironically this is not the first time she's thrown water at me."

Martha sets down her spoon. "There's an old saying my mother told me. Would you like to hear it?"

"Sure."

"Don't sh!t where you eat."

He's taken aback at first. "I'll remember that," he finally says with a chuckle. "So why are you eating alone?" he asks as the waiter brings over his salad.

"I'm not eating alone," she says without looking up. "I'm eating with you."

"But don't you usually come here with Jonathan?" he asks as he picks up his fork.

"He has plans tonight," she says in a cool tone.

"I see," nodding his head in understanding.

She looks up at him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why do men chase women?"

He considers the question. "Nerves?"

"I think it's because they fear death," she replies as she finishes up her soup.

"Maybe," he replies with a shrug of his shoulders.

"So what about you?"

He looks up at her. "What about me?"

"You have a wife, yet you're dating a woman who is obviously too young for you."

"I told you we split up," he responds in a slightly annoyed tone.

"But why did you split up?" she persists. "What could have possibly happened between the two of you after all those years together?"

He sets his fork down next to the now empty plate. "Alice told me that she was tired of being alone all the time. She couldn't take the long hours I spent at the office. She wanted me to retire, but I didn't want to. So she told me that if I didn't, then I should leave."

She pushes the empty soup bowl to the side. "So you decided to leave? Just like that?"

"Martha, I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have my job. I love it so much. How could I leave it?"

She shakes her head sadly. "So you chose your job over your marriage. How is that working out for you?" she asks. When he doesn't answer, she continues on. "That's what I thought," picking up her water glass.

"What about Jonathan?" he asks her suddenly

"What about him?" trying to keep her voice level.

"Why aren't you here with him having dinner? Is everything alright with the two of you?"

She sets her glass back down and leans back against her chair. "Well…"

"Well…what?" he asks in a concerned tone.

"I think he may be cheating on me," she replies after a long pause.

He raises his brows in surprise. "What makes you think that?"

"I just have a feeling," she replies. "The other day I smelled perfume on his shirt when I was doing the laundry. It wasn't mine," a sad expression on her face.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," he says in a reassuring tone.

"That's what Clark said," picking up her water glass again.

"Well have you asked him?"

"I would if he were home long enough," she retorts back. "He left me a note saying he wasn't going to be home for dinner tonight."

"So that's why you're here by yourself," a thoughtful expression on his face.

"That's right," taking a sip.

"I wish I knew what to say, but I don't."

"You don't need to say anything. I just appreciate you listening to me," she replies with a small smile.

"Any time you need somebody to talk to, you know where you can find me," he smiles back.

"At the Planet, right?"

"Yeah," he sighs as he resumes finishing his salad.

"Here are our seats," Mona says while looking at the ticket stubs.

"These are pretty good seats," Jonathan remarks as they settle down in their seats. "So have you seen this opera before?" he asks as he opens his program.

"Janet and I saw it at the Met in New York a few years ago," she replies in a wistful tone as she sets her purse down on her lap. "So why don't you tell me about the first one you ever saw?"

He smiles at the memory. "Martha and I were still dating," he begins. "Her father gave Martha a pair of tickets to see Carmen for her birthday, so of course that's where we went."

"I love that opera," Mona says as she opens her program and checks out the cast listing. "What did you think of it?"

"It was long but I liked it," he admits. "I guess I'll never love it as much as Martha does, but I go because it means a lot to her."

She nods her head in agreement. "That's what you do when you're in a committed relationship. Sometimes you have to do things that aren't necessarily your cup of tea, but you do them anyway. That's why I went to the wrestling matches with Janet once a month. I just wanted to spend as much time as I could with her, considering how busy we are…were…with our careers."

"I still can't believe that Janet loved wrestling," shaking his head and chuckling at the same time.

"I know," she chuckles lightly before turning wistful. "Would you believe that I still go?"

He turns his head. "You do?"

She nods her head. "Yeah," she says with a sigh. "Sounds crazy doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't," he replies with a smile while taking her hand and gently squeezing it.

"So you have your own box?" Clark asks as they find their way to the seats right in front of the railing.

"I've had it for years," Oliver replies as they settle into their seats. "I get season tickets every year to all the performances here. I let friends of mine use them when I can't."

"That's a nice thing to do," Clark says as he opens his program. "Don't they also have other performances here besides opera?"

"Yes," Oliver replies. "The season tickets include those too," leaning his head towards Clark. "Is that Old Spice you're wearing?" he whispers softly in Clark's ear.

"It is," he whispers back, feeling a gentle tingle at the warmth of Oliver's breath on his neck. "You like it?"

"Yes," Oliver replies. "It suits you perfectly," pressing his lips lightly behind Clark's ear as the lights begin to go down and the magnificent crystal chandelier rises to the ceiling. "Here we go," he whispers as he leans back in his chair.

I hope I can get through this evening, Clark nervously adjusting his collar as the lights go on over the orchestra pit and the conductor takes his place in front of the pit. The audience applauds as he bows to them before he turns to the orchestra and taps his baton on the podium. The audience falls silent as the overture to La Boheme begins to play…

TO BE CONTINUED…