by Wilde, Ora
“What size, Sir?” she wanted to know.
“Size 8.”
My date’s eyes widened and she looked at me with her mouth agape. I pretended that I didn’t notice her. I led her towards the couch and beckoned her to sit. I wasn’t met with any resistance. She did as I requested.
The saleslady came back with a pair of high cut sneakers of glossy white. I grabbed a piece. Then I reached for my date’s ankle. She flinched on my touch. I steadied my hand and slid the sneaker on her foot. Her look of discomposure was priceless. I asked for her other foot. She extended it willingly. Once it was on, I held her hand and helped her stand up. I led her towards the mirror. She walked with reservation, but the comfort she felt was pretty much obvious for me to observe. She looked at her reflection, but she didn’t focus on her face nor her body as most women would have. Instead, she looked at her feet, shyly turning her rubber shoes from left to right, furtively shifting her balance towards the rear end of her soles to check their bounce.
It was a good fit.
I gave the saleslady my credit card. A few minutes later, we left the establishment.
Then, I saw it.
Something that I have come to know very well. A sure sign that she will be mine that night.
Her lips parted, exposing her teeth of immaculate white.
She was smiling.
The first smile I saw from her since we met.
And as was always the case, when a girl parted her lips like that, her legs would soon follow suit.
Chapter 16
PHOEBE
How did he know my shoe size?
I could’ve asked him, but I didn’t. He was just quiet. Was he really like that? Or was he just shy to talk to me, as I was to talk to him?
Or was this the infamous awkwardness of a first date that I have always heard and read about? Maybe it was. I wouldn’t know. This was actually my very first date in my entire life.
And so far, it has been great!
Snap out of it Phoebe, the voice inside my head screamed. Remember what you’re supposed to do. Don’t ever fall for his traps, because once you do, you’ll fall for him and it would all be over.
Somehow, I questioned that.
Was he even as bad as advertised? There are always two sides to every story, and perhaps, no one bothered to hear his version of the tales about him. His short-lived affair with Cindy... maybe there was something there that she didn’t tell me... something that would have painted him as a wonderful person, or at the very least, as a normal guy who just had to end their relationship because things weren’t working out.
Cindy said he was a scumbag, a jerk, a player, a pompous bastard who collected girls like they were blu-ray discs.
But the man who held my hand at that particular moment... the man who just bought me a pair of really beautiful sneakers so that I wouldn’t have to walk in those really uncomfortable and painful heels.... the man who lifted my feet and helped me try them on... he was a completely different person than how Cindy described him to be.
And there’s something more about him that made me wonder about his true character.
He drove so fast from our place to Rodeo Drive, beating three red lights and failing to slow down on pedestrian lanes along the way. Yet, just before we reached the north end of Bel Air, he abruptly stepped on the breaks, putting his vehicle into a sudden stop and thrusting our bodies forward. We could’ve hit the dashboard were it not for the seatbelts that were fastened around our waists. I looked at him and he was signaling at someone in front of us, telling him or her to go on. I turned my gaze towards the direction he was looking at. And there I saw a middle-aged woman, pushing a grocery cart and carrying a baby in her arms. They were crossing the street, stopping by the side of the road to let us pass. But he pulled up his Hummer and allowed them to cross. With an appreciative smile, the mother nodded at him as she hastily shoved her cart across the street with her other hand holding her child in a tight embrace.
I turned my head to look at my date.
He was smiling. At them. It was a beautiful smile... so tranquil, so warm, so honest.
And it was the first time that night when I started to entertain thoughts the he might be...
“The one?” he asked out of nowhere, jolting me out of my musings.
“W-What? What do you mean?” I asked him.
He was still holding my hand, leading me towards the southern end of the strip, walking casually at a pace that he thought was convenient for me. I wanted to tell him that I could walk better then, what with the pleasant feel of the shoes he gave, and that we could walk a little faster. I was starving, but I didn’t plan on adding that to the things I wanted to tell him.
I couldn’t say what I wanted to say, though. He never talked to me since that time when he threw away my heels on our lawn. I didn’t want to be the one to break the silence. He was the guy. That was his job.
And when he finally spoke, it was like he could read my mind.
He pointed at a movie poster that was displayed in front of the Aidikoff Screening Room, Beverly Hills’ most famous theater. It was for the film The One, which starred Jet Li.
“That movie’s old!” he remarked. “2001, I think? Why’re they showing it now?”
I heaved a sigh of relief. He wasn’t a psychic after all.
“Probably the pre-summer slump,” I said casually.
He turned to look at me, smiling. It wasn’t a cocky smile that time around. There was nary a trace of sardonicism nor mischief in his grin. It was more like a smile of delight... a smile born from being surprised by something that was totally unexpected.
“Pre-summer slump?” he expressed his confusion. “What’s that?”
“Well, most production studios release their movies during the summer, right?” I began to explain. “Summer’s the peak of their business, because that’s when the kids are on vacation, when friends are free to have fun, and when families are complete to enjoy some activities together. So... production studios avoid the two months leading to summer to allow them to focus their marketing efforts, and their budgets I guess, on the peak season.”
He kept his smile as he nodded in agreement.
“What’s your major again?” he questioned quite curiously.
“Biology,” I answered. “Integrative Biology and Physiology actually, but it’s just Biology with a fancier course description.”
“Oh... and here I am thinking that you are either a Business Administration or a Marketing student.”
I chuckled so hard that I almost snorted. Thank God I was able to control it! That would’ve been embarrassing!
“I think there are many mistaken assumptions about me,” I uttered without even thinking. Those words just flowed out of my mouth.
“Well, that makes two of us,” he said as his left mine and looked ahead, towards the road that separated the other end of the strip.
He went to my other side, shielding me from incoming vehicles, raising his hand to plead for them to stop... then he ushered me across the road towards the next set of establishments. That was a... chivalrous gesture. Another entry I could add to the list of things I didn’t know about the Hayden Summersmith.
“So, what are the other mistaken assumptions about you?” I asked, again, without giving my question enough thought.
“Other?” He gave me a bewildered look.
Oh crap!
Did I just give away the fact that I had some preconceived notions about him... notions that he managed to overturn with his gentlemanly ways that night?
I think he noticed how flustered I became that he decided to change the topic himself.
Yet again... another noble act that I appreciated very much.
“Here we are,” he announced with a semblance of zeal. “Finally! How long have we been walking?”
Some twenty minutes or more, I was sure.
“I don’t know,” I told him instead. “I wasn’t aware of the time.”
“Wel
l, we’re here now. You must be hungry.”
Oh yes I was!
“I’m okay,” I said, contrary to what my growling tummy was screaming. “But a nice, comfy seat would be great.”
The guest relations officer greeted us. Hayden didn’t have to tell him his name. The officer immediately recognized him and spoke to him with respect and admiration. He called for a waiter who accompanied us to our table, a rather expansive one for a restaurant that was not that big - though it was very cozy. Hayden pulled up a chair for me and assisted me as I sat. Then he proceeded to his own seat. The waiter lit up the candle in the middle of the table and provided a menu for each of us.
I studied what they offered, but they all seemed so strange to me. The only Japanese delicacies I have tried were sushis and seaweed chips. The names of the dishes on the menu confused me, and in a way, I found them quite intimidating. Kumasu Kuan Yaki. Shokuji. Tsukuri. Takiawase. Mitzugashi. I didn’t understand any of them, and their corresponding pictures didn’t help at all. The only thing I recognized from the images was rice.
I could’ve asked the waiter, but I didn’t. I cursed myself for being too shy.
Complimentary appetizer was served. The waiter identified it as thinly sliced shark meat deep fried to perfection. Hayden took a bite. I guess he was as hungry as I was.
I felt that both Hayden and the waiter were just waiting for me to place my order. They were peculiarly silent. Hayden just kept reading the menu, something which he would’ve surely been familiar with given the fact that the establishment’s reception officer was well acquainted with him. The waiter was just standing in front of our table with a polite smile that never ceased, a pen on one hand and a piece of paper on the other.
What should I order? What should I order? What should I order?
Even in the solitude of my thoughts, I talked really fast whenever I was nervous.
Then I saw an image of something that looked like steamed fish.
“I’d like to try the Shirako,” I said, referring to the name that accompanied the picture.
Suddenly, Hayden seemed to have choked on what he chewing, almost spewing the food that was in his mouth.
“Y-You wouldn’t want to order that,” he quickly said before taking a sip of water.
“But it looks tempting,” I tried to reason out, hoping that I’d be able to conceal my ignorance about Japanese cuisine.
“No... trust me... that’s not a good idea...”
“But it does look delicious. I can already imagine it in my mouth,” I kidded with a grin.
“Uhm... Phoebe? Do you know what Shirako is?” he asked with alarming worry.
I wanted to say yes, but I was afraid that it would just complicate such a small matter.
“Actually, I don’t,” I reticently admitted.
“Phoebe? Shirako means fish sperm.”
At that moment, I wanted to close my eyes and pray for the ground to part and devour my entire existence.
Chapter 17
HAYDEN
I must admit, I found her words quite enticing.
I can already imagine it in my mouth, she said, in reference to a dish composed of fish sperm. That comment alone sent my imagination soaring.
But I had a role to play and a game to win. I shouldn’t give her the slightest clue of how her words - inadvertent as they may have been - aroused me. Besides, her honest mistake was rather amusing... adorable even.
Her face reddened with shame. The waiter tried his best to keep a straight face. I had to do something to comfort her and ensure a more pleasurable evening.
“You’re right, though,” I said. “It is delicious. But I don’t think you’ll find it appetizing now that you know what it is.”
She nodded her head timidly.
“Would you like me to order for you?” I asked.
She nodded once more with diffident grace.
“We’ll just have the tempura bento box,” I told the waiter. “One for each please. And a bottle of Vega Sicilia, Unico.”
Ah. Red wine. I didn’t mind the price. It was sweet enough to be amenable to her taste, but it packed a mighty punch that would most certainly loosen her up the deeper the night would get.
While we were waiting for our meal, I decided to ask her some questions... to get to know her better... to discover the nature of my prey so that I could adjust my plans more accordingly.
“Tell me something about yourself, Phoebe,” I requested.
“Like what?” she asked, her look of mortification has passed.
“Anything. Anything at all that you want to share.”
“There’s nothing special about me,” she replied, very certain about her answer. “I live with my mom down in Van Nuys, as you very well know. We just moved there when the school year started. We used to live east of California. Chalfant to be exact.”
“And you left that place just to be near UCLA?”
“Yes. At first, I didn’t want to. Renting a dorm would have been a more practical option. But my mom insisted. So she bought a house in Van Nuys. It’s small, as you saw, but it was quite expensive. I always remind her about that every morning. It was really a bad decision on her part. She left a good job in Chalfant and started fresh when we got here.”
“All of that just to make it convenient for you to get to school?”
“Well... basically... yes.”
“I don’t know about you, but it’s quite apparent to me that she loves you very much.”
She retreated to her seat. What I said clearly affected her. It was either a fact that she didn’t want to hear, or something that she didn’t want to realize. A few seconds of silence followed before she spoke again.
“H’bout you?” she asked. “You said something about people having the wrong impression about you. What made you say that?”
There was a certain kind of zeal in the way she delivered her question, revealing her eagerness to know more about me. It was a welcome sign... another guarantee that I would be able to claim her that night.
But I didn’t know how to answer her question. I only said that because it sounded so stirringly mysterious, and mystery has always been an aphrodisiac for girls. I knew, though, that I was often misunderstood, dismissed as a facile character with all my quirks and preferences, more so with how seemingly unkind they were. I had no explanations for that, though. It was just who I am. It was just... me.
“I don’t know, really,” I said. “It’s just a feeling I get when I meet people.”
“Really? But there must be something about you to make you feel that they’re misunderstanding you, right? I mean, the word misunderstand involves disparate sides: yours and theirs. You have an idea about what they’re thinking about you, but you know they’re wrong. Why?”
Semantics. She was trying to trick me with her words, to make me open up to her, to reveal who I really was. That wouldn’t work on me, but I’d applaud her for her bravado.
The waiter arrived with the bottle of red wine which he uncorked before us. He poured some on her glass before filling half of mine. I gestured him to be more generous with his serving. He complied and filled it up copiously. I took a sip and smiled at her.
“So, you want to know more about me, huh?” I asked her with a stare which indicated that I was onto her.
She actually gulped even before she could get a taste of her wine. I made her feel uneasy yet again, and that gave me some satisfaction.
“So what, exactly, do you want to know about me, Ms. Phoebe Marie Ellison?” My grin widened even more when I saw her flinch when I mentioned her complete name.
“U-Uhm...” she stuttered. She was caught. She was vulnerable. She was almost ripe for the picking. “C-Can we start with your family?”
Her question caught me by surprise. It wasn’t something I was prepared to answer. It wasn’t something I wanted to answer... not to a virtual stranger who was merely the object of a wager, one who I didn’t even intend on meeting again next week.
“We can talk about your course,” she proceeded to say. “Philosophy. That’s... interesting.”
Big breasts. Young. Possesses a bit of charm. And now... she proved herself to be understanding as well.
There must be more to this girl than what I have come to know so far.
“How did you know I was a Philosophy student?” I asked her, perplexed by what she just said.
