Dario

 

 

By the time we’d finished our meals, conversation was flowing in all kinds of directions from family, to our favorite television shows, to my dog, Lennox. The restaurant’s ambiance was still very much alive, which was a good thing, because I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. I was enjoying her company too much.

“So, tell me, Mr. Caivano. Did you bring me here to this quaint little place, with the best ponche that I’ve ever had, so that you wouldn’t run into any of your women? Or was this really a specially thought out evening just for me?”

“It was specially thought out just for you,” I replied without hesitation. “I purposely didn’t take you anywhere that had alcohol. I wanted us to have straight-no-chaser talk. No holds barred and liquid courage tends to mess that up a bit.”

“Ohhh, so you think I may be a closet alky or something?”

“Not at all,” I laughed. “I’ll gladly take you somewhere with champagne and wine and all that good stuff when we leave here if you’d like . . . or on the next date,” I hinted.

“That was smooth,” she smiled. “Real smooth.”

“What? I just offered to keep the date going a little longer . . . or to pick it up on a part two . . . at a later date.”

“Mmm-hmm. I heard all of that.”

“And your response is?”

“Well, going to another place for drinks I’ll pass on because since you’re our designated driver, I’d be drinking alone. No thanks.”

“Which leaves date number two.”

“So, that’s the setup, huh? Man, if you don’t have some serious game!” she laughed. “All that athlete swag you have going on.”

I pushed my plate to the side and leaned forward to look deep into her eyes. “Tell me your reservation about athletes, Chanel.”

She sighed and began lightly tapping the side of her glass with a clear coated fingernail. “My reservation is just . . .” She hunched her shoulders slowly, then relaxed them at the same pace. “I just had one too many and know the lifestyle. That’s all. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think all athletes are bad, I just think they’re worse with handling temptation, than the average man. But you know, I guess I get it. Y’all have women who want you just because of your names, and are willing to do whatever it takes to get just a second of your time. That’s serious business.”

“So, you were cheated on. Is that what I’m getting?”

Chanel nodded her response.

“And you stayed with him?”

“Yeppp,” she said, hanging onto the word for a bit.

“So you were in love?”

“I wasn’t in love. Shamefully, I think I was infatuated with the ‘celebrity’. We’d known each other in college, but were just friends, and then he got drafted. We didn’t see each other for a few years and then when we did, things just happened.”

“And so your son—”

“My son isn’t his. Was he around for some of his life? Absolutely. But when the relationship was over and he let our demise impact my son and essentially left my son hanging . . . yeah, that’s when a thousand levels of dislike happened. That’s the one thing that I can’t ever forgive.”

“You mean someone doing something to your son.”

“Yep. Unforgivable.”

“So, this is the guy from the other night, right?”

“Right.”

“He’s clearly still trying, judging by his actions.”

“Yeah, but he knows it’s a lost cause.”

“You really think he knows?”

“I know that he knows. If he doesn’t, then something is very wrong with him.”

I laughed at her straight-faced delivery.

“And so you said that you don’t feel that all athletes are bad, but do you feel that we all cheat?”

“Pretty much,” she responded quickly. “Why wouldn’t you? There’s women everywhere, in every town, every country, every city. Like, okay . . . how many women are you juggling right now?”

“I don’t juggle women, Chanel.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Really, I don’t. I date when I feel like it or when I have time. Outside of that, I’m very upfront with my intentions when I’m dealing with a woman . . . or women. Very upfront. So, there’s no juggling.”

She winked her eye and formed a thin smile. “Women . . . I caught that. Plural. Shows you’re not a singular type of guy.”

“Now that was what I call corny, Miss Norwood.”

“It was, huh?” she said, followed by laughter. “But you got what I meant.”

“I got it. But you still got me wrong. I’m no cheater. When I decide to settle down with a woman, it’ll just be with her. I don’t have time to handle a multitude of women. I have too much going on to add drama to my life. Nah, can’t do it. Your species can be something like crazy.”

“My species? Oh my God!” she laughed out loud again, drawing attention from the people sitting near us. “My species? We’re the crazy ones?! Did you guys hear that?!” she asked the couple next to us.

“I heard it,” the woman offered, laughing. “Not that I was listening to you guys or anything, but I did hear that. And I tell my man all the time that they’re the ones.”

Chanel and the woman fell into girly chuckles. I watched her in amazement. She was seriously a beautiful girl. From her laugh, to the way that she loved her son, to her candor, to her friendliness. She was likeable and genuine.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “You guys tired yet of making us the butt-end of your man-joke?”

“I was just defending myself,” Chanel blurted through laughter. “You started it with the whole ‘species’ comment.”

“Yeah, okay! Surrre he did!” the woman’s guy shouted out.

For the next hour we ended up in mutual dialog with the couple. We learned that their names were Shanda and Roderick, and that they were new to the Bay Area by way of Phoenix, Arizona. Before we parted ways, we’d not only exchanged numbers with them, but Chanel had also invited them both to Suite 713.

It was an eventful time, to say the least.