by Cindy Bokma
The only noise was a delicate clanking of silverware and a low hum of conversation. The strains of an opera came from hidden speakers. I stifled a laugh. This was a scene from a romantic comedy, a Hollywood production. This wasn’t real. Everything was too perfect.
The waiter pulled the chair out and I sat down as he pushed the chair in behind me. Leo watched me with a smile on his face. Did he know I was more used to plastic booths and burgers wrapped in paper?
“What?” I asked, feeling my face grow red. I knew I stuck out as if I had a neon sign blinking over my head. A quick glance around the room told me I was the least attractive and most awkward person in the place.
“You’re beautiful,” Leo said. His intense stare made me shift in my seat, it was as if he could see into my soul.
The waiter announced the specials of the night and Leo ordered what I assumed to be an expensive bottle of white wine. I heard him say something about “vintage” and “the best.”
He opened his leather bound menu and perused the offerings, so I did the same. I immediately looked for prices but none were listed. I didn’t know what some of the words meant. What was white sturgeon caviar? Sauce bordelaise? Agnolotti? My face reddened as I looked over the menu. My catering job hadn’t prepared me for this. I scratched the side of my face, what would I order? What if I didn’t like it? Could everyone in the restaurant tell I was out of my league?
The wine was presented to Leo, who nodded his approval with a quick bob of his head. He took a thoughtful sip of the splash the waiter poured for him. With a deep breath, he sniffed twice then announced, “It’s fine. It’ll do.” He nodded at the waiter who then poured a glass for me. I didn’t know if it was good or bad or anything in between so I smiled as I took a tiny sip and wet my lips.
I opened my mouth to ask the waiter a question, but Leo spoke. “We’re ready to order. We’ll have the Squid Ink Garganelli to start, followed by the Bone Marrow and Uni, with a side of the beet ponzu.”
The Crispy Seared Bass was on the tip of my tongue, but the decision was made for me. I paused for a moment; no man ever chose what I was going to eat. Then again, a man like him never took me to a place like this. Maybe he knew better than I did. There was no maybe about it. Leo knew what was best.
He snapped his menu shut and handed it to the waiter without looking. Then, he focused his blue eyes on my face as I sipped wine. I held the glass with sweaty fingers.
“I like you,” he said. “And I want to know more. Where are you from? What do you like to do when you aren’t working?”
I placed my hands in my lap and shrugged, biting my lip. I didn’t want to talk about myself and my sorry story.
“I’d rather hear about you. Did you grow up around here?” I knit my hands together under the table.
The ambiance of this place was not my style. I was afraid of spilling the wine on the outfit that had to be returned tomorrow. I didn’t want to make an error in etiquette. I was afraid to move. My heart thumped against my rib cage as I tried to not be nervous under the weight of Leo’s stare but couldn’t help the dizzy feeling in my head.
“That’s why I like you. You’re unassuming. Every other woman wants to talk about herself. I get the feeling you want to know me. A refreshing change, but I’m afraid I rather talk about you.” Leo leaned forward, the candlelight flickering across his angular face.
“I’m not all that interesting to be honest,” I said softly, my hands twisted in my lap.
“Then tell me everything uninteresting about you.” He stared into my eyes with intensity. I reached for my glass of wine, took a gulp and licked my lips.
“First tell me about you.” My brain raced with thoughts, flickering through the files of memories. How could I talk about my parents, my brother, and the time I spent in Florida without him pitying me?
He pursed his lips together and took a long sip of wine and then he said, “I was born in England. My parents moved to Bermuda when I was a child where my father worked for the Bank of London. Have you ever been to Bermuda? It’s beautiful. We moved to Beverly Hills when I was a teenager. After high school, I went on to UCLA film school. My mother and father moved to Santa Barbara a few years ago. I have a sister who lives on the east coast. What else do you want to know?” he asked, still staring at me, his sharp eyes searching my face.
“And . . . you’re a director? Producer? Something with movies? Film?” I never heard of him before, but Claire seemed to know everything down to the greatest detail. She mentioned an article about his house in the Hollywood Hills that was featured in an architecture magazine. “Big and modern, lots of glass,” she said, clearly awed. Rubbing shoulders with all kinds of people during my catering job left me unimpressed. No matter how much money people had, they were still just people.
“I dabble in everything. Have you ever heard of the independent film, The Art of Karenna?”
“Yes.” I nodded and took another long sip of the crisp wine. I had to slow down, getting drunk was the last thing I needed right now.
I had seen the film twice. It was the story of a woman who lived in Seattle and couldn’t find true love. She ended up moving to Paris where she decided to live alone and write romance novels in a tiny apartment filled with French antiques. She drank coffee and smoked cigarettes. She was glamorous but lonely. The film left me feeling sad.
“I directed that one. I mostly work in small, independent films and family movies, that kind of thing. Sometimes I produce. I dabble in finance here and there. Now enough about me. I want to know about Delia.”
The waiter swooped in and placed our food in front of us, artfully displayed on smooth white china, steam snaking up in a fancy curl.
“Tell me, where are you from? What else do you do besides work at Dr. Thurman’s?” He delicately sliced his food, elegantly holding his fork and knife. I thought of the contrast between Aunt Priscilla’s uncouth ways and Leo. I found myself thinking of her often, not that I wanted to, but I was always certain I made the right choice to leave when I did.
I shrugged, gazing down at my plate. My stomach grumbled. I was hungry but wanted to savor every bite in case this was the last nice meal for a while.
“Oh”—I waved my hand and chuckled—“my life is dull compared to yours.
“No one is comparing,” he said. Those eyes drilled into me and I took a breath.
“I’m from Ohio. I work at the dentist’s office, I do some catering, and I work part-time at a bookstore. Boring, isn’t it?”
“No, no, fascinating. Tell me. What are your hopes, your dreams?”
I frowned and bit the corner of my lip. “I just want to be loved,” I said.
A photo of my parents and brother popped into my mind. We were on vacation in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The four of us stood in front of a red barn, after a big meal at an Amish restaurant. My mother had asked someone to take a photo; I was embarrassed and David must have been as well because, in the picture, his lips are twisted in a sneer. My parents had their arms around each other. David and I on either side of them. I was wearing a shirt with a rainbow across the chest; David had on a NY Giants tee shirt. My father had his sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, and the wind ruffled my mother’s hair. I remember the car ride after the photo was taken; the four of us singing to the popular songs of the day and laughing at how my father made up the lyrics. I don’t know why this memory surfaced suddenly but I quickly pushed it away.
“I think there’s more to you than that.” Leo placed his fork and knife at an angle on his plate and stared at me. His gaze was so intense, so penetrating. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
“You’re an original. You’d be amazed at how many women I meet who want to be a model or actress. It’s like a breath of fresh air talking to a real person. And you’re ambitious . . . three jobs? You aren’t afraid of work. I like that.”
“That’s what it takes to pay the rent,” I blurted. As if this refined man would want to hear about my struggles. Quic
kly taking a gulp of wine, I wished I could stuff the words back into my mouth.
He didn’t know and probably didn’t care what it was like to work three jobs to pay rent on a tiny apartment. I didn’t want to tell him I originally came here to be an actress, to make some grand dreams come true; it sounded so common, so cliché. I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to find me interesting.
“How old are you?”
“How old are you?”
“I just turned thirty-five.” He casually signaled for the waiter and ordered another bottle of wine, all the while his piercing eyes never left my face.
I took a sip of water. My wine glass was empty and I realized I had consumed more than I usually did, which explained why the edges of the evening had been softened. “I’m almost twenty-two.” I watched his face for a reaction, but he smiled.
“Just about fourteen years apart. I truly believe love has no age limit.”
What did he want me to say? It was clear this meal was not a simple thank you for a dental appointment. He was interested in me. Why, I still didn’t know. He had his pick of any woman in Los Angeles. So why me?
Looking down at my plate, I realized I ate every last bite with no recollection of doing so.
“We’ll share a dessert,” he announced, ordering a milk chocolate mousse with spiced cheesecake. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t care for cheesecake, so I kept my mouth closed and sipped my wine. My head had grown pleasantly fuzzy and warmth spread throughout my limbs making my body liquid.
When the waiter dropped off the bill, Leo slid his black American Express card toward the end of the table without looking at the check.
I thanked him profusely. This was the first hot meal in ages that I didn’t have to cater.
Strolling to the valet, his hand rested lightly on my lower back and I liked the strength of his large palm on my body.
I turned to say something and, as if in slow motion, the toe of my shoe came in contact with uneven pavement and I went down. Trying to right myself, I cartwheeled my arms, landing on my knees with a thud. A sickening rip echoed in in my ears and I realized I fell on my skirt and tore the light fabric.
“Oh Shit!” I yelled, losing all decorum.
Not only did I rip my skirt, but my beautiful shoes were now smudged. I feared that, when I fell over, he saw the tape I placed on the bottom of my fancy shoes. The idea was that I could peel off what got dirty and return the shoes in good shape tomorrow. My plan was ruined and dollar signs and a credit card bill momentarily clouded my eyesight as I lay sprawled on the ground, paralyzed by embarrassment.
“Let me help you.” Leo reached out his hand and pulled me to my feet. An amused look danced on his face as he leaned over close to me and asked if I was okay. “Do I need to take you to the hospital?” He bent down and lightly touched my knee, which was already swelling to the size of an ostrich egg. Asphalt and pebbles stuck to my skin.
“No. Not the hospital.” I gasped, watching a small dot of blood appear on my knee. How could I go to the hospital? I didn’t have health insurance.
Fat, juicy tears stung my eyes as I realized what this meant. First of all, I made a fool of myself. Secondly, I was out about five hundred dollars. Third, the valet and everyone else saw this elegant, worldly, famous director with a girl who couldn’t even walk straight.
I covered my face with my hands and he gently pried them off looking into my eyes. “Let me take you home and clean you up.”
I couldn’t talk. Red hot embarrassment turned my stomach and I worried my dinner was going to reappear. All I could do was nod. He tucked me into the car, which had been brought around by the valet who bit his lip to keep from laughing.
His house was a large, modern work of art nestled in the Hollywood Hills. Claire would love it. Leo helped me out of the car when we pulled up in front of his home, holding me up as we walked to the front door. I hobbled like an old woman, my knee sending shooting pain up my leg.
“I’m sorry. I ruined the evening.” I pouted. I was such a klutz and the wine didn’t help.
“On the contrary.” He laughed. “No need to apologize. I have everything under control.”
The door swung open and I looked around, surveying the contemporary décor. Everything was white, black, and gray. Clean, sleek lines. Floor to ceiling windows with no curtains or drapes. It was sparse and expensive looking with a black marble fireplace and a low slung couch. The carpet beneath my feet was plush and white. I immediately kicked off my shoes; I didn’t want to be responsible for soiling the virgin carpet.
Leaning down, he picked up one of my shoes, examined it, and then looked at me. “What’s on the bottom of your shoes?”
I cleared my throat. “What?” I asked, hoping to buy a few minutes of time so I come up with a clever and witty response. What could I say? Why would I have tape on my shoe if not to protect the bottom?
“It looks like . . . duct tape? Why is there tape on the bottom of your shoes?”
I was forced to look up at him since he towered over me. He was very tall and outrageously handsome. I could fall for him; maybe I already was or was it the wine? He made me nervous. I never met anyone like Leo. Never had I been so intrigued and anxious in the presence of a man.
“Oh, all right. I admit it. I did that so I could return the shoes. And I was supposed to return the whole outfit tomorrow. I couldn’t afford anything nice for tonight, so I bought this thinking I could get my money back when I returned everything. Then I tripped and fell and now, the skirt is ripped and the shoes are scuffed.” I kept babbling and threw up my hands. “There, you have the whole sad story.”
Tears began to spill down my cheeks as I watched his face. Amusement was written all over his features. His lips curled into a smile, his eyes lit up, and he let out a huge laugh.
“I’m not laughing because you’re crying,” he said, handing me a tissue from a side table drawer. “I don’t mean to make fun, but I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Delia. You are so honest. It’s revitalizing. You’re just . . . you.” He helped me limp over to the couch where I hesitated to sit on the clean white fabric. He bent over, gently touching my knee.
“Painful? Let me get some ice.” His touch lingered for a moment on my leg, sending shivers down my spine.
I glanced around the room as he went into the kitchen. It wasn’t my type of decorating. Classy and simple, but sterile and cold with all the straight lines. Silver light fixtures gave off a bright luminosity. It was totally quiet. The house was hidden from the view of the road and it was almost eerie knowing we were surrounded by wilderness with a thicket of large trees encircling the contemporary house.
Leo returned, his suit jacket gone and his fancy leather shoes off. Placing the ice on my leg, he grinned as I winced in pain.
“Your face is shaped like a perfect heart.” He caressed the side of my face with his hand; his skin was smooth. “I know it’s ridiculous, but the first time I saw you, I think I fell in love. Am I crazy?” He bent forward, keeping his hand on my face and pulled me close for a gentle kiss. His lips were soft. He smelled like expensive cologne. I had never been with a real man before. I had been with guys. This was a man. I kissed him back.
The next morning at work, a huge bouquet of red roses waited for me on my desk. Wearing white pants and a silky yellow blouse opened down to her chest, Claire looked from the roses to me back to the roses.
“Oh, you lucky little thing! Tell me all about last night. Everything.” She pulled up her swivel chair and unwrapped a Jolly Rancher. “All the details. Don’t leave anything out.”
I didn’t want to share any details, so I kept it simple. “We had a nice dinner. It was fun.” I plucked the card out of the mass of fragrant roses and read it. It was from Leo, as if I didn’t know. I grinned as I thought of last night.
“That’s all you’re going to say?” She snatched the card from my hand and read it. “Must have been more than nice.”
I shook m
y head as I put my headset on, preparing to answer calls and schedule appointments. “It was a pleasant dinner, Claire. That’s all I’m saying.” I turned my attention away from her. “Hello, Dr. Thurman’s office.”
She looked like a dog whose bone had been taken away, but I wasn’t in the mood to let her get to me.
I started answering the phone and completing my tasks but found it hard to concentrate. I thought back to how Leo persevered in giving me money for the outfit since I couldn’t return it. I refused his offer until he pressed five one-hundred-dollar bills into my hand and forced me to take the money, which he said he could spare.
I didn’t like taking handouts; I had never done so, and didn’t want to start now. One thing I prided myself on was always doing things on my own. That changed last night.
He informed me that he would send a driver to pick me up and he would cook dinner for me at his house. I tried to refuse, I planned on spending a quiet night catching up on some reading, but he insisted.
Now I found myself both looking forward to seeing him and allowing my nerves to dissect every reason why this wasn’t a good idea. He was much older, more experienced. I was a country bumpkin compared to him. We were so different; a relationship would never work. I wished I were more like other girls who would use this man for fun and maybe some luxury. I worried he’d use me and then discard me.
Late last night, with ice on my knee, I poured my heart out to him, telling him about my parents and about living at Aunt Priscilla’s. He laughed when I talked about the dog food commercial and he grew serious as I admitted how I was giving up my dream to be a star.
