Rex

Friday Evening

I’ve been feeling a bit leery about this new client ever since leaving Cindy’s office on Monday. I’ve always tried to be nice to the girls who others teased, but I’ve never thought of having sex with one of them. I don’t think she even mentioned her age. Hopefully she doesn’t remind me of my mother or anything weird like that. Cindy is hot for her age, but no one would start out by describing her as a sweetie. Especially using the term twice during the short introduction. My mind has been churning through worst case scenarios all week long, everything from bag ladies to the weird cat lady who used to be our neighbor. Compared to my imagination, I’m hoping that she be a pleasant surprise, just like Sammy.

I pull up to her house in my piece of shit Blazer, not feeling quite as out of place as last week. I make a mental note to talk to an accountant about my financial situation. Obviously if I just take cash under the table, I’ll never qualify for bank loans or anything. It’s not like I can pay cash for a house or even a new car. I check myself in the mirror before shutting off the engine and walking up to the door. Once again, I feel butterflies in my stomach, not knowing who I’m going to find on the other side of the door. I ring the bell and begin to hear the sound of heels walking across a wood floor. She sounds heavy.

“Rex?” she asks, opening the door just a crack to peek outside, the chain still in place.

“Yes.” I smile. A bit relieved as the first thing I notice is her pretty brown eyes.

She closes the door to unhook the chain before reopening it. A smile crosses my face as I think back to all the horrific images that have been floating through my mind the past few days. She’s no model, but she’s definitely not hideous by any stretch of the imagination. I step back to give her room to join me on the front step.

“I totally understand if you want to back out of this arrangement,” she says while keeping her focus on locking the door. “I honestly don’t know what Dr. Farris was thinking. Setting me up with someone like you. You belong on a magazine cover for gosh sake.” It takes me a second to connect Cindy’s last name. I guess I have seen it on the nameplate on her office door.

“Don’t say that. I’ve been really looking forward to eating at the fancy little Italian restaurant that you suggested. I’ve heard it’s amazing,” I reply, holding out my hand to take hers. “I’m sorry, we’ll have to park a block or two away so no one sees my hideous vehicle. They probably wouldn’t let us in.” I laugh, hoping to make her feel better.

“Let’s take my car.” Her eyes brighten and she instantly perks up. “I just bought a new Mazda RX7.”

“Really?” I’m shocked to hear this conservatively dressed special needs teacher drives a sports car. “That would be much better.”

“I’ll let you drive,” she says, fishing the keys out of her purse. “I’m not totally comfortable driving it downtown yet. It’s much quicker than the old Honda Accord I’ve been driving since I got my first job.”

“That’s quite a change,” I reply, still amazed as she punches in the code to open the garage door. As the door begins to lift a gorgeous black RX7 with chrome wheels and a rear deck spoiler comes into view. “What the heck inspired you to get something like this?”

“Dr. Farris. It’s part of my therapy. A frumpy thirty-something teacher driving around in a faded maroon nineteen eighty-eight accord didn’t stand a chance.” She clicks to unlock the doors before handing me the keys. I walk her around to the passenger side and open the door for her. “Wow, this is a first. Thank you!” A beautiful smile emerges and a sense of appreciation radiates from her eyes. Now I see why Cindy kept referring to her as sweet. She’s a very sweet woman.

Leaving her house, I can see a trickle of sweat easing down her left temple. She tries to casually wipe it away without me noticing, but it was too late. After getting onto the freeway, I reach over taking her hand. “Just relax,” I say, trying to comfort her. The poor thing is a nervous wreck. “We’re just going out for dinner to get to know each other.”

“Okay, I’ll try,” she says attempting a smile. “I’m just way outside my comfort zone.”

“That’s the whole point.” I smile back at her, squeezing her hand. “I’m here to help you get beyond your fears and insecurities. How do you like your job?” I ask, wanting to keep the conversation light.

“I just love the kids,” she says, her demeanor instantly changing. “Seeing them build confidence and become a functional part of their environment is very rewarding.” A strange look crosses her face once the words are out. “I suppose you’re doing the same for me, huh?”

“We all need confidence building at one point or another. I was a lost pup when I started seeing Cindy,” I admit, her eyes displaying sheer disbelief.

“How in the world would someone like you be lost? I can’t imagine you having any problems navigating this world.” She pauses, obviously contemplating whether or not to complete her thought. “This world is much easier for pretty people like you,” she adds, turning toward the window and pulling her hand from mine. For the rest of the ride downtown, I explain my upbringing. The fact that I was an athlete, in a family of academics. As I got older I actually teased Mom about the fact that our mailman must have been athletic, because there isn’t a shred of athletic success anywhere in my family lineage.

“The real blow was when I broke my neck during a game my senior year of college. NFL scouts were at the game to see whether I would go in the top five of the draft. I had a spot locked up with one of two teams, it was just a matter of how high I went,” I explain, still feeling a bit choked up talking about it. “It’s the only thing I had thought about since I was ten years old and it all vanished in one second. Afterwards, it became obvious that my girlfriend had only been with me because of my NFL potential. We broke up a few weeks later. I had some nice physical therapists and several friends who would come by to visit, but it was a very low time in my life. Cindy helped me figure out what I wanted to do. I like the idea of helping people realize their full potential.”

“You honestly think there’s hope for me?” she asks, her expression as serious and vulnerable as any I had ever seen.

“I think you have incredible potential.” I reach over and take her trembling hand once again. “There are a lot of men out there who would be lucky to have you.”

“The restaurant is right over there,” she says, seeming uncomfortable with my assessment. “Let’s do valet parking.”

“Only if you stay put and let me come around and open the door for you,” I reply with a grin.

She giggles as I pull up to the podium and open my door. I turn and give her a wink before getting out, talking to the attendant and coming around the car to open her door. I can tell she’s flustered as she awkwardly gets out of the car and steps up onto the curb. I hold out my elbow for her and escort her into the fanciest restaurant I’ve eaten at in a long time. We are greeted by chandeliers, white linen table clothes and a hostess who looks like she just finished sucking on a lemon.

“May I help you?” she asks giving us both a once over.

“Yes, Hastings for two. We have a reservation for six thirty,” I reply firmly, letting her know that I don’t appreciate her demeanor.

“Yes, we have a table for you in the back,” she says, making a note on the page.

“I would like a table by a window with a water view,” I reply, since that’s what I was assured we would have over the phone.

“Oh, okay.” She rolls her eyes and erases the note she just made. Bitch.

“This is wonderful,” Suzette gushes after we’ve been seated, but I would’ve been okay with any table in this place. “I hear that the food is incredible.”

“I’ve read that too. But I wanted us to be able to look out at this fantastic view as well. It’s all part of the experience,” I tell her picking up the wine list. “What kind of wine do you prefer?” I ask her, hoping she wants to split a nice bottle of Bordeaux or cabernet sauvignon.

“I normally just drink white zin of any kind. I don’t know much about wine.” She shrugs, opening the dinner menu. “You go ahead and order whatever you think goes well with Italian.” She keeps her head down as if she’s worried about wanting something different than me.

“I see they have Roscato Rosso. That’s something you’ll really like,” I tell her. “Are you finding anything on the menu that looks good?”

“I’m a little lost. Don’t they have any lasagna or fettuccini alfredo?” she asks, her eyes widening. “Isn’t escargot snails? And octopus? I don’t even like calamari.”

“Do you like lemon and capers?” She gives me a blank stare. “Capers taste sort of like olives,” I explain, trying to help her out.

“Oh, yeah, capers. Of course.” She flutters her hands. “Yes, I love lemon and capers.” She turns back to the menu, shaking her head back and forth. “I just hate this kind of a menu.”

“May I help?” an older gentleman asks. “I’m sorry our menu isn’t more user friendly.”

“Actually, we would like a bottle of Roscato Rosso with La Caprese and Bruschetta con Granchio for starters.” I turn my gaze to her. “I think you’ll like them. If not, we’ll order something else.”

“Have you thought about an entrée?” he asks.

“We’ll split the Scaloppine Di Vitello Al Limone & Capperi with a side of linguine,” I tell him. “Just have them toss the noodles in some truffle oil if possible.”

“Wonderful choice,” he says, nodding to both of us before disappearing with our order.

“Thank you for handling that,” she says with a sigh. “I’m much more comfortable ordering at the Olive Garden.”

“My father always loved dragging us kids to places like this, so I learned to navigate the menus at a young age.” I smile thinking back to ordering the most expensive dishes on the menu. “I never wanted to order from a kid’s menu. If my parents were going to make me wear a suit and go to a fancy restaurant with them, I was going to have something decadent. I remember the first time I ordered steak tartare, thinking it was super fancy meatloaf or something like that. Dad wanted to teach me a lesson, so he made me eat the whole thing.” I cringe at the memory. “It was over forty dollars, so he had tried to talk me out of it. I thought he was BSing me when he said it would be raw. Why would anyone want to eat raw meat? When it came, it was not only raw, but there was a raw egg yolk on top of it. It also came with rye bread. Every part of it was a kid’s worst nightmare.”

“Even at my age, I wouldn’t want to eat anything like that,” she says making a funny face. “I guess I like simple things like spaghetti with a good meat sauce and parmesan cheese sprinkled on top of it.” She rolls her eyes, obviously thinking it sounds pretty lame.

“I like adding a pinch of cayenne pepper to spaghetti sauce to give it a little kick,” I reply, letting her know that it’s something I eat on a regular basis. “Most of my favorite meals are pretty simple. In fact, other than the names, everything I ordered tonight is quite simple. You’ll see.”

By the time our entrée arrives, we’ve blown through both appetizers and the entire bottle of wine. “That last wine was amazing,” she tells the server, talking to him for the first time. “We might need a little more for the meal.” I smile at the fact that she’s the one suggesting a second bottle of wine. It’s good to see her loosening up.

“Bring us your favorite red blend,” I suggest to him, wanting to expand her wine palette just a bit. I would prefer a great French Bordeaux, but the earthiness would be an abrupt change from the light and fruity Roscato.

“Oh my god, I’m in heaven,” she says after her first bite of our meal. “Thank you for not letting me order lasagna,” she says with a foolish grin. “I think this is the best meal I’ve ever had.”

“I’m sure there will be many more of them in your future.” I’m glad to see her having a good time. She was so damn nervous when I picked her up, I thought the whole night might be a disaster. Luckily, that isn’t the case at all.