That�s Amoré

 

We’ve all seen them: the stood-up. Sit in any semi-expensive Italian restaurant for an hour or so, and you’ll notice waiters ferrying bottle after bottle of red wine to a dimly lit back table. So out of curiosity you get up to “go to the bathroom”, passing circuitously by that dim table. There you see him, poor sap sitting alone, no food yet, just a glass of wine, like a canal lock, it’s level ever changing. You notice him bolt upright, nearly spilling the newest half full glass, as soon as you pass by, only to slump back, once again draining the crimson liquid. He does this at every patron who comes within his line of sight. Has she finally arrived? “Maybe she was just mugged or something on the way to the restaurant. Yes, that would explain her absence.” We all know these pitiable characters.

I’ve become more than familiar with them because last Sunday, that pathetic fellow was I. The date was set for 7:00, but I had arrived at 6:30. Better early than late I’d figured, wouldn’t want her to think I wasn’t coming. I approached the hostess stand eagerly, not wanting to waste any time in getting into the bread line (After all isn’t that why one goes to semi-expensive Italian restaurants? For the bread?). I exchanged name for beeper and took a seat by the bar.

I wasn’t about to start drinking just yet; I just wanted a good vantage point. The bar stools were cold wrought iron and ranked on the comfort scale just above the iron maiden. My eyes were glued on the entrance, taking inventory of everyone who walked in the door. The young couples on Sunday afternoon dinner dates, walking in with arms around each other’s well dressed waists; the families who walked slowly behind elderly relatives, their children celebrating the freedom that followed a long church service; and the pinstriped groups of four or five men, (whom I was disappointed to note, did not carry violin cases); all the usual suspects were there that afternoon.

She’ll be here any minute, I thought as I ordered a glass of wine. The spots of hastily poured wine landing on my pristine white cloth napkin reminded me of Sicily. The long stem of the glass spun between my fingers idly. Frank Sinatra crooned ‘That’s Amore’ for the fifth time since I’d arrived; it was all I could do not to sing along. The waiter scurried up to my table and, doing his best Chico Marx, asked,

“Would-a signore like-a a menu?”

He was about as Italian as Baklava. I answered cold, still distractedly scanning the faces of every patron through the door,

“No, no thank you, I’m waiting for someone.”

            A snide little smile peeked out from beneath his moustache before he shuffled away. I swirled what remained of my wine before bringing it to my lips. It was then I saw her, short, smooth auburn hair haloing a cherubic face, her body was of perfect proportion, neither stick figure, nor voluptuous. Her dress was conservative, but still inviting, and a deep shade of blue. This was the girl whom I’d been waiting for. I was sure of it. She was everything I’d hoped. We would dine, dance, fall in love, spend a thousand summer days together…

It was the explosion of crystal glass on the mosaic tile floor that broke my reverie. Suddenly every head turned and eyes burned into me, except for one set. Her eyes set me on fire, but it did not burn, instead I drowned in those green pools.

Once the hush passed over the room and people resumed their duties: eating, drinking, serving, cleaning…

“Table for two please, I’ll be expecting someone.”

Her voice sliced gracefully across the chatter like a beautifully feathered arrow, it penetrated my ear and took a sharp turn to pierce my heart. I knew she had seen me sitting here. Contact had been made, but there she went, sitting at her own dark table for two, while I sat at mine.

Alex had set up this whole blind date thing. He showed her a picture of me, but for whatever reason refused to show me one of her. It’d been a good three months since my last girlfriend and I had gone our separate ways. She went off to New York City, while I went nowhere fast. So I was ready for any date, even if it was double blind. I was assured she was beautiful, brunette, and all the other unnecessary details (Jeff, the friend who arranged this little encounter, had a poetic way evoking the image of “massive melons”). So I arrived with no expectations, and nothing to lose.

Then this beautiful girl comes striding into my restaurant, looks right at me, and walks right past me, without so much as a word. After that first moment of intense disappointment (she was well within the range of girls Jeff tended to hang around.), I pulled myself back together and resumed watching the front door. There was a certain quality about this girl that led me to believe she’d never hang around a guy like Jeff (that same quality also made her that much more attractive).

The first star seen burns brightest, but the night is still young. I called over the waiter,

“How-a can I-a help-a signore?”

I’d grown bored by that point, so I thought I’d have a little fun with him,

“Più vino per favore.”

“Si, si signore.” he scuttled off again. I was astonished; did he actually speak Italian? I thought for sure it was just a silly little waiter act, but sure enough he returned about 10 minutes later, with a steaming basket of breadsticks in hand. Thought he could fool me, did he,

“No, non pane, ho chiesto vino.”

“I’m-a sorry signore, I cannot understand-a your accent.”

“Ha ha,” I took a bite of a delicious buttery breadstick, pausing for dramatic effect, “I didn’t think you were Italian. The accent was amusing for a while, but I asked for more wine, s’il vous plait.”

“Yes signore, I’ll bring that right out for you.”

I know it’s not nice to tease the wait staff, but I just couldn’t resist. When he returned, carrying my second glass of wine, he looked as if I had been the first to call him on his act. As pleased with myself as I was, I still felt bad,

“Grazie,” I handed him a couple dollars, “for the little bambini at home.”

After all this entertainment, staring at the front door had begun to lose its appeal. I started scanning around the restaurant. I saw all the couples, laughing and talking, everything a lonely guy would least want to see. I had to sublimate my jealousy into happiness for them. A good hour went by, my eyes scanning the full dining room, occasionally darting back to the door. By about 8:30, I noticed the girl in the blue dress still sitting alone at her table.

A new waiter came to replace Chico, whose shift must have ended,

“Are you ready to order sir?”

I must have been staring at her again, because he took me by surprise,

“No, I’m still waiting for someone. I’ve been here since 6:30; I had been sitting up at the bar. My eyes were glued on the entrance, taking inventory of everyone who walked in the door…”

After I had brought him up to speed,

“I only wanted your order, not your life story, buddy. But if you’re so attracted to this dame in the blue dress, why not talk to her? It’s obvious no one’s comin’ to meet you. Go to her, or eat alone. I don’t care. Either way, I’ll be needing your order.”

I think I liked the pseudo-Italian waiter better, but this one was certainly on to something. It was a rude awakening from a rude waiter: I’d been sitting here for over two hours waiting for no one, when just across the room was a girl who was everything I’d been waiting for.

“Hold that thought,” I stood up and brushed past him, and started walking straight away; straight to the bathroom.

What was I thinking? was I going to just slide into the booth with a stranger? What would she say? “I was hoping you’d come over.”? I’m such a fool. I stared hard at myself in the bathroom mirror.

Another man came in, so I washed my hands to convince him I hadn’t just fallen in love with my reflection or something. The cascade of water falling on my hands was soothing, and I began to think more seriously about the girl in blue. Barely had my thoughts turned back to her than the water stopped. The calming sound of rushing water was replaced with the tinny, hollow sound of a stranger peeing. So, I dried my hands and resolved myself to go for it. What’s the worst that can happen?

I felt the waiter’s contemptuous eyes tracking me as I walked from the hostess stand down the dark red carpet toward her. Resolved as I was I was still very nervous; my hands sweat, I dried them in my pockets. I nearly walked by her table, but hers was a face that would stop any man in his tracks in awe. I rested my hand on the edge of the thick olive tablecloth,

“Are you waiting or someone?”

I startled her, causing her to lose her staring contest with the candle perched in the middle of the table,

“Well, yes. I was waiting for someone, but you’re not him.”

“I’m sorry to intrude, but I’ve seen you sitting here for well over an hour. I was waiting for someone myself, but she doesn’t appear to be coming. So I thought it a tragedy that the two of us should eat alone. May I join you?”

She gave me a little half smile, “I had given up waiting, and was going to leave, but I suppose I could stay.”

My heart leapt into my throat. I sat in the empty side of the booth, and cautiously took a sip of water from the yet untouched glass.

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”

“Erm, I’m sorry. I’m Emilio. What’s your name?”

“Emilio, that’s an unusual name. Mine’s Madeline.”

I felt myself staring, so I pretended to study the menu for a moment, before I looked back up at her,

“It was my great grandfather’s name. Madeline’s a very pretty name.”

A tight little smile spread across her lips, despite her best efforts to hold it back. In light of her initial coldness, I thought perhaps I had begun to win her over. However, the smile was the only response I got from her, and I was at a loss for what to say next.

The waiter returned to take our orders, providing a break in the awkward non-conversation. We each ordered, and quickly resumed our silence. She fidgeted with her silverware, smoothed her napkin on her lap, and occasionally glanced back toward the door again, while I just hid myself in my glass of water.

It wasn’t until the breadsticks arrived ten minutes or so later that we were able to speak. Far from deep conversation, we talked about how much we both enjoyed the bread, how it reminded us both of our mothers’ cooking, our families… Her upbringing was of the strict catholic variety, while mine was far more liberal and progressive. We talked about our plans and goals.

By the time the food arrived, we were laughing and talking like old friends. I was thrilled, we could have talked all night it seemed, but as we were at a restaurant, it seemed appropriate that we actually ate what we’d ordered. As soon as the plates hit the table, all of our talking stopped. She seemed distracted suddenly, like an animal anticipating an earthquake.

“We shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be doing this,” Her voice trembled, as she started to stand up, abandoning her fork to drown in alfredo.

I was dumbfounded. We had been getting along so well. What happened that suddenly she would rush off like that?

“But…” There was nothing I could do but to watcher her hastily walk back to the hostess stand. From my vantage point all I could see was the back of her head, talking to a guy who had apparently just come into the restaurant. They stood there facing one another for a moment or two before she stepped closer and hugged him about the waist.

I burned. It must have been her date, finally arriving two hours late. I should have expected as much. What could I have been thinking? Did I believe that I could saunter up to a stranger and have a fun dinner with her without consequence?

I couldn’t stop staring at her and her new beau, wishing there was some way I could dispatch him, and bring Madeline back to me. I watched them from the hostess stand to the middle of the restaurant, until they were seated at a table far back where I could no longer see them.

There was nothing I could do but return my attention to the now cold pasta that lay before me. I twirled my fork among the noodles dissolutely, thinking about how much I wished she would come back to me.

The waiter came back to clear Madeline’s and my nearly untouched plates and mine. I was off into my own world and barely noticed him until he spoke.

“So, your chutzpah didn’t pay off did it? Went and left you when the other guy showed?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s right.”

“I saw her and that guy. She’s made the right choice, I’d say. Big strong guy like that, compared to a wimp like you…”

I was in no mood for this. Every waiter in this restaurant was a different variety of a*****e. My rejection was bad enough; I didn’t need this guy sneering at me just because he didn’t like his station in life.

Then again, we weren’t that different. Here I was, eating alone in another restaurant. I had what I thought was the girl of my dreams, but she’d run off on me, before the check had even arrived.

I thought back to my last relationship. Melissa and I had met three years ago, through a class at school. It started with an innocent drink or two, then concerts, dinners, movies, and before I knew it we’d become inseparable. Looking back, I’d say it was the happiest time in my life, but it all had to end eventually. About a year and a half after we’d started dating, she suddenly decided that this town wasn’t big enough for her. She picked up and left for New York with aspirations of opening some sort of boutique. I knew it to be little more than a pipedream, and held on to my own fantasies that she’d come back to me, and say those words…

“I’m sorry, I never should have left you here.”

But it had been well over a year, and such dreams were starting to become unhealthy.

“I said I’m sorry, you don’t have to ignore me.”

I looked up, and there she was, standing over my table once again. In spite of my hopes for this moment, all my words were lost in my throat.

“Hi,” I mentally smacked myself. There had to be something I could say, “What happened to that other guy?”

“Oh, him? That’s just my boyfriend,” She slid back into her seat opposite me.

“Wait. Wait a minute, that’s your boyfriend, and you’re back here?” I couldn’t believe my luck.

“I think I’ve lost my taste for him, so I decided to come back for dessert.”

I felt her foot against mine; she must have thought I was the table. No, she was definitely rubbing up and down against my leg. I felt a thrill run down my spine. She obviously liked me over that other guy.

She leaned across the table, and looked at me with fire in her eyes, “so, lets get out of here…”

Now that was an invitation I found it hard to resist. I stood quickly, extended my hand to Madeline, and noticed her ex coming toward us. I could tell by the way the carpet nearly burst into flames where he stepped, that this was not a situation I wanted to leave myself in. I may have been infatuated with this girl, but it was time to go. A bonfire may be pretty, but you don’t try to handle the flames.

            I left her there in the restaurant, and never ran into her again. I have no idea what happened, or what I may have missed out on, but I feel like I probably made the right decision.