Ten Years Later

by Lisa Marie Latino

  “Um, I’m boys with the owner. He already knows to do that.”

  “Soooo…what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is the walk to and from the restaurant.”

  “You’re freaking out over a few steps?” If anyone should be, it’s me, I thought as I rubbed my increasingly throbbing ankle. “What if…what if I walk in with you? Maybe people will see that you’re busy and leave you alone!”

  “Just what I need, pictures of me in Page Six out on the town after a bad loss.”

  “You think I want to be caught on a date with you?” I blurted. “I could lose my job!”

  “So see? It’s a bad idea for both of us.”

  I shook my head. My girlfriends were right; I never should have given Miguel a second chance. Look where it’s left me—defeated (again) and (even more) crippled.

  Wait…crippled.

  “Miguel, what if I told you I had a great way to get in the good graces of any potential haters and the press?”

  ■ ■ ■

  Nearly an hour later, Mohammad made his umpteenth trip around Mulberry Street.

  “How much longer?” he growled.

  “Oh, what do you care?” I snapped. “I’m running up the meter.”

  “I care because I’m getting dizzy! We go around and around because of you!”

  “I’ll triple your tip, all right?! Just keep driving around the block until I tell you to stop.”

  Mohammad was right—this was ridiculous. When Miguel agreed to my plan, obviously I was elated, but as time dragged on I wished I had just kept my big mouth shut. Was a dinner with Miguel Martinez really worth all of this pain (literally)? It was not like I could ever be in a relationship with this man. His high maintenance alone would put me in the grave before our first month anniversary!

  So why am I here, getting abused by some crabby cabbie while racking up hundreds of dollars in taxi fare? Is this my one last gasp at perfecting my reunion story?

  My phone rang. Miguel. I briefly thought about declining the call, but I’d come this far; I owed all parts of myself to see this through.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, baby. I’ll be there in two minutes.”

  “Assume positions,” I said slyly.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Miguel cooed. “See you soon.”

  I turned to Mohammad. “Well, this is goodbye. You can drop me off at the corner of Mulberry, and I’ll take it from there.”

  “Wah, wah!” Mohammad pretended to cry, then got serious. “Fifty-seven dollars, please. Plus triple tip.”

  “It’s criminal what this city charges.” I handed him the money as I stepped out of the car. “Thank you for everything.”

  “I hope to never see you again.” He bowed his head and sped off.

  In the too-far distance, I saw the neon sign for Gufo. I winced and started gimping away on the deserted sidewalk.

  Paranoid weirdo, I thought as I got closer to the restaurant. There’s not a soul around here.

  “EXCUSE ME!” A man rushed by me, almost knocking me over. Three other guys followed him.

  “CAN’T YOU JERKS SEE I’M DISABLED?!” I screamed after them.

  I took a few more excruciating steps and noticed the posse had stopped in front of Gufo. Why would they be going in there? It’s not like they were dressed up; they were wearing jeans and…Yankees jackets.

  “NO! How the hell do they know?” I said aloud.

  Suddenly, a black, tinted-out Escalade pulled up in front of the restaurant. The collector trolls took out their baseballs and Sharpies while licking their lips in anticipation. Meanwhile, nosy neighbors crawled out of the woodwork to investigate the hoopla.

  Way to travel incognito, Miguel. Miraculously, I finally made it to the restaurant, and I nonchalantly waved behind the crowd to the Arnold Schwarzenegger-lookalike driver. Right on cue, he jumped out of the car to open Miguel’s door. The horde swarmed around him as he attempted to exit.

  Just as we discussed, I fell to the ground, which wasn’t much of stretch at this point.

  “OW!” I dramatically shrieked, putting my Italian pipes to good use. Twenty heads turned and collectively gasped as they saw me writhing on the pavement.

  “Everyone stay back!” Arnold Schwarzenegger ordered, creating a path for Miguel to escape.

  Miguel rushed over to me. “Are you okay?”

  One look at him and all my pain floated away. He had on a baby blue button-down shirt and jeans, which nicely complimented his dark tan. His green eyes were filled with genuine concern.

  “I think I twisted my ankle,” I replied faintly, not so much from the pain, but from the scent of his sensual cologne.

  “Okay, hold onto me and I’ll pick you up.”

  I wrapped my arms around his thick neck and immediately felt an electric current.

  “You girls and your high heels.” He smiled, his face only inches away. “No one should wear shoes that high; you can really hurt yourself.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Doctor Scholl.”

  “Okay ready? One, two, three!”

  The gallery erupted into boisterous applause and camera flashes as Miguel lifted me up.

  “You’re a hero, Martinez!” one whistled.

  “Thank you!” he nodded as he whisked me inside.

  After we had crossed the threshold into the restaurant’s vestibule, we burst out laughing.

  “That’ll be on TMZ in a couple hours,” he half-joked as he gently let me down.

  “At least it will be for something positive,” I giggled, steadying myself with my good leg.

  “It’s okay, it’s worth it now that I’m here with you,” Miguel smiled, his eyes glowing just as they had that night back in November.

  Just as I was about to collapse again (this time from sheer ecstasy), we were interrupted by a short, middle-aged Italian man standing at the main door of the restaurant.

  “Miguel!” he greeted, wrapping him in a tight hug.

  “Massimo! Meet my friend, Carla. Carla, this is the best Italian cook in all of New York City.”

  “Piacere di conoscerti,” I smiled.

  “Oh, you speak-a Italian? I like-a her Miguel, she’s a keeper. Italian girls are the best!”

  “I agree,” Miguel replied, giving me a lustful look. I felt myself turn red.

  “Come to my restaurant!” Massimo motioned to us. “It’s a-small, but very nice and romantic. I have a nice-a table set up in the corner!”

  Gufo is Italian for “owl,” and even the most ignorant of people would figure that out by going there. There were owls everywhere—incorporated in the hand-painted mural, sitting on the shelves, hanging from the ceiling. A theme like that had a dangerous potential to be perceived as corny, but in true Italian fashion, the décor was artful and refined.

  “My mother loves-a the owl,” Massimo explained. “I name the restaurant for her.”

  As I continued to study the dimly-lit room, I noticed two pairs of terrifyingly familiar owl eyes staring at me. What the hell? I rubbed my eyes and looked again, just to be sure.

  Dan and Dante. Dan, as in my boss and the person who was responsible for all of the hiring…and all of the firing. And Dante, as in my current co-host and, more importantly in this situation, former best-friend who was privy to the fact that Miguel and I had previously hooked up.

  In other words, I was seriously screwed. Of all the restaurants in this city, they had to be here, tonight of all nights? WHY?!

  I had no time to ponder the thought. I had to launch in damage control mode… Rapidamente! I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, gentleman, I have to go say hello to a couple of work colleagues who are sitting over there.”

  “Who?” Miguel shrilled.

  “My boss and co-host.” I tightly smiled.

  “You work-a with Dante? Oh, what a beautiful man; he has the voice of an angel!” Massimo exclaimed.

  Too bad he’s not up there singing with them, I wryly thought.

  I wobbled
over to Dan and Dante’s table. Their eyes were still unblinking.

  “Hi, guys!” I laughed nervously.

  Dan cut right to the punch. “Carla, what are you doing here with Miguel Martinez?”

  I attempted to make light of the situation. “Oh my God, I am so embarrassed; I was walking down the street and clumsy me fell and twisted my ankle. Miguel happened to pull up at that time, and brought me in here.”

  The men simultaneously looked down at my feet.

  “Which ankle is it?” Dan asked.

  “I don’t know, I can’t tell,” Dante replied dryly.

  “It’s the right one,” I grimaced.

  Dante’s eyes continued to beam into me while Dan resumed his questioning. “Well, who are you supposed to meet then?” Dan asked.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be here at all, actually. I was going to meet some friends down the street—”

  Dante raised an eyebrow.

  “Not those friends. Other friends.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re dressed up like that to meet up with a few friends?”

  “We weren’t exactly going out for brownie sundaes at TGI Friday’s in Honey Crest Plaza, you know,” I shot back.

  “Carla, are you on a date with Miguel Martinez?” Dan scowled.

  “What do you think?” Dante muttered.

  “Noooo!” I nervously laughed. “Besides, I think I can ask the same about you and Dante. You two sure are looking cozy! Like, get a room, guys!”

  “It’s business,” Dante snipped, completely disregarding my poor attempt at humor.

  My heart stopped. Amidst the chaos, it hadn’t occurred to me what else their little meeting here could be ruining. “Well, isn’t your business is my business? What’s going on?”

  “This has nothing to do with W-S-P-S.”

  “Right,” I huffed.

  “Hello, Dan,” I heard a familiar sexy voice purr behind me. My body went stiff.

  Dan’s demeanor immediately changed from stern boss to star struck little boy. “Good to see you, man! Rough game today, I’m sorry.”

  “Ah, what are you going to do?” Miguel shrugged. “We’ll get ‘em next time.”

  “Yeah you will! Allow me to introduce you to Dante Ezra. He co-hosts the mid-morning show with Carla.”

  Miguel extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Dante, I’m a big fan of the show. You two are awesome together.”

  “Thanks,” Dante glowered.

  I wanted to shake him. Really Dante? The biggest sports star in the city just gave your sports show a ringing endorsement; the least you can do is show some appreciation!

  “Anyway, I see you’ve picked a wounded bird off the street,” Dan continued. “You’re Superman!”

  “Thank you, but not exactly…” Miguel chuckled. “I was coming in here to eat dinner, and I saw her lying on the ground. I scooped her up and brought her in here to collect her bearings.”

  “What a guy!” Dan hollered.

  “Your timing is impeccable,” Dante drolled.

  “At least it was right for something today. Good thing I found her before work tomorrow, right?” Miguel quipped, patting Dante on the back.

  “Is it though?” he retorted.

  At this point, I wanted to grab a fork from a nearby table and stab Dante in the eye. “See Miguel, that’s the reason we’re so good on the air…it’s because we honestly can’t stand each other off it!”

  “I see,” he chuckled.

  “So who are you meeting here, some other dudes from the team?” Dan asked brightly.

  “No, I was coming in alone.”

  “Really?” Dante smirked.

  “Well, it’s hard for a newly single guy to fend for himself; I can barely fry an egg! I’ve sadly become the adopted son of many restaurants around the city.”

  “Well, why don’t you sit with us?” Dan’s eyes twinkled.

  My eyes darted to Dante, and we shared a bewildered look, for completely different reasons. Um, what?

  “Really? I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Pull up a chair!”

  No Dan, YOU are the ridiculous one! This was NOT happening right now.

  Miguel waved to Massimo. “Massimo, please set us up over here.”

  “Us?’ I thought she was meeting friends,” Dante sneered.

  “I was,” I answered glumly. “But I guess I can stay for a little.” I helplessly watched Massimo and his team transform the table from terrible twosome to fearsome foursome. Miguel had always been part of my answer for, If you were having a dinner party, what three guests would you invite? but not like this!

  ■ ■ ■

  Four entrees, two bottles of homemade wine and one ruined date later, I officially wanted to kill myself.

  “She refused to understand that when I come home from a game, I want to be left in peace,” Miguel complained.

  “I feel you, bro,” Dan agreed sympathetically.

  “I’d walk through the door, and she’d attack me like an eager puppy. ‘The air conditioning isn’t working; can you fix it?’ ‘Your daughter lost her Barbie doll; can you help her find it?’...”

  “…it’s like, SHUT UP!”

  “Exactly! It’s not like we can’t afford to get the air conditioner fixed by a professional, call him up! And while you’re at it, have the live-in nanny I’m paying thousands for find the stupid toys. Why do you have to bother me for after a shitty game?”

  “So annoying!”

  Dan, what the hell do you know? You’ve never been married, I crossly thought as I shifted pieces of veal Milanese around my plate. Dante and I had stopped contributing to the conversation hours before, but I’m pretty sure nobody noticed. What more could we do besides politely eat our food and observe their banter with glazed-over eyes?

  “Your ex-wife sounds like a pimple on my ass, but you know what? No disrespect, but she’s smoking hot,” Dan inappropriately professed.

  I buried my face in my hands.

  Instead of getting him by the collar and throwing him across the room, Miguel agreed. “Why do you think it was so hard to leave her? There isn’t a more beautiful girl in the world.”

  I slapped my hands down on my lap. Well, isn’t that special? Just as I was locating the nearest exit, Massimo appeared balancing a large tray.

  “Four espresso and my-a special tiramisu,” he announced as he placed the items on our table.

  “Massimo, you didn’t have to do that!” Miguel exclaimed.

  “I was actually just leaving,” I added.

  “You can’t-a go anywhere yet, Carla! I made this just for your table,” Massimo ordered. “Buon appetito.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled as he walked away.

  As Dan and Miguel continued to chat, Dante leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Where are you going?”

  “I told you, I was supposed to meet some friends,” I whispered back.

  “You think I believe that for a second?”

  “Believe it, buddy. If this were a real date, you think I’d tolerate sitting with you and Dan, of all people?” To prevent myself from completely unleashing my fury, I shoved a forkful of (divine) cake in my mouth.

  “What are you doing after dinner?” Dan asked Miguel (just in case there was any confusion).

  Miguel quickly glanced at me, his first acknowledgment since we sat down. “I was actually going to go home and watch some game tape from today. You?”

  “Oh, that sounds like fun…” Dan disappointingly trailed off. “I guess I’m just going to call it a night too.”

  “I’ll have my driver drop everyone off,” Miguel offered.

  Finally, the light at the end of the tunnel…I can ditch these losers and go home!

  After we polished off the rest of the desserts and Miguel paid the bill, we piled into his Escalade—the men in the back, and me in the front (Dante cut me in line, thus preventing me from sitting next to Miguel. Not that it mattered at this point.)

&nbs
p; “This was fun, man! We should do it again sometime,” Dan exclaimed.

  “Definitely! It’s not every day I can hang out with the media in this light. It’s refreshing.”

  “Let me get your number, and we’ll hook up soon.”

  I wondered how I was going to manage the drive home, being that my eyes were now permanently glued in the rolled position.

  In what seemed like centuries but in reality was only a few minutes, we mercifully pulled up to the WSPS parking garage.

  “I’m on the first level,” Dan announced, jumping out of the car. He extended his hand to Miguel. “Catch you later man!”

  “Anytime!”

  And then, there were three. We drove up to the second level in uncomfortable silence.

  “Carla, let me help you!” Miguel exclaimed when the car came to a stop.

  “No, I will!” Dante shot back.

  The both sprung out of the car and appeared before me at the same time. Gee, how did I get so lucky?

  “I can help myself,” I insisted.

  Miguel swooped in past Dante and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I got you, babe,” he said, hoisting me out of my seat. Funny, I didn’t get the same rush as when he cradled me before.

  “My car is over there,” I pouted, pointing my keyless entry remote towards the white Mazda.

  “I told you I was going to get her!” Dante exclaimed, sprinting after us. Miguel ignored him as he gently placed me in the driver’s seat. I shoved off my heels and immediately felt some comfort, the first positive emotion I’d felt in hours.

  “Better?”

  “Now I am,” I genuinely smiled.

  My bliss was sadly short-lived as Dante shoved Miguel out of the way. “Are you okay to drive?”

  “Dude, she’s fine. Relax,” Miguel laughed defensively.

  “She can’t drive barefoot!”

  “Nothing I haven’t done before!” It may not be the smartest way to drive, but I’ve done a lot of things that haven’t been too bright, agreeing to this evening being one of them.

  “Be careful. If you need a ride to the station tomorrow, let me know,” Dante continued.

  I glared at him. “I’d rather walk.” My expression stayed stone cold as I turned to Miguel. “Thank you for dinner.”