by Conn, Claudy
Feeling a bit insecure about walking into the restaurant by myself, I opt to sit at the bar for a drink or two before dinner. For some reason, my eye is drawn over to the right. I can’t help but stare at the gorgeous, Adonis-type guy sitting at the end, by himself. He’s got salt and pepper, short, styled hair and the most gorgeous eyes I think I’ve ever seen. I can’t tell what color they are, but holy hell, he’s hot. Clad in a black leather jacket with a white shirt, I can only imagine what he looks like from the waist down. Upon noticing my ridiculous gawking, he smiles, dips his head and cordially tips his glass towards me. Ashamed at myself for staring, I order a glass of Merlot and pretend to read an email on my phone.
The cute, female bartender walks over to this hottie and leans on the bar with her arms crossed as they engage in conversation. She has a petite figure with a black, blunt-cut bob and a bubbly personality. Pointing her finger in his face, and rolling her eyes, I observe him taking her hands and smiling, affectionately kissing them, then tapping her nose. She looks into his eyes, and I can only surmise that they are an item.
My wild, haven’t-had-sex-in-forever-but-horney mind wanders, as I look at them, and I create my own scenario. He’s waiting for her to get off work and when they leave, he’ll help her into her coat, escorting her to his car. He will open the door for her, but not before backing her up to the car, kissing her passionately, and then nipping at her neck, softly. Next, he’ll run his finger down the front of her blouse, gently squeezing her budding nipples, and she’ll moan softly as he whispers what he plans to do to her when they get home. His hot breath on her neck sends chills down her spine.
In the car, classic rock music is playing, perhaps something by Bon Jovi. She sways to the music, singing along, and places her left hand on his crotch, smiling flirtatiously at his growing erection, teasing him wildly by licking her full lips. She’ll unzip his jeans, exposing his most delicious part, admiring the view as she begins a tantalizing mix of rubbing, and pleasurable squeezing. The tiny drop of oozing liquid dances on the head of his engorged penis. Her teasing only titillates him further as he moans and thrusts his hips into her hand, signaling the onset of a delectable climax. His wild eyes remain on the road as his hands tightly grip the steering wheel. He throws his head back against the leather headrest, inhaling deeply, surrendering to this little mobile tryst, and she wipes her hand on her scarf, smiling at the gratification she has just bestowed by her hand.
Thinking of him ignites a southerly tingling from my belly down, as I cross my legs, further intensifying the sensation. Jesus I need to get laid.
I shake my head, take out my notebook, and decide it’s time to write some goals for myself. The down time is good for me, and being the consummate list maker, I begin my New Year’s resolutions a few weeks early.
I title my litany, which will become sacred to me, “Noel Gets a Life for Christmas”. First on the list is to move out and find a new place to live. I write the number one in the left margin, trace over it three times, and draw a star next to it.
Second, I will learn to feel better about myself. I put two stars by this, because I know self-esteem is one of my weakest traits. Next to those stars, I draw a stick figure with a sad face and decide I need to change the sad face to happy, so I scratch it out and re-draw it with a radiant smile. I even draw a sun above it. That should accurately describe my desire to attain happiness. I scribe the letters H.A.P.P.Y. under my stick figure and move on to number three.
I suppose I should make number three Get Into Shape. I need to start eating right and exercising, but God, how I hate exercise. Fast food has become my life, and I need to change my bad eating habits. Dave used to tease me that for every pound he lost, I gained two.
I ponder about number four on the list, and find myself biting on my pen, twiddling it back and forth. The bartender sets a drink in front of me, smiling and nodding to the left, “It’s from the gentleman at the end of the bar.”
I look at her, surprised, and she shrugs. I turn my head to the right, and he lifts his glass. “Cheers,” he mouths.
I hold my glass up, reciprocating. “Thanks.” I say, as my heart beats rapidly with excitement.
I’m giddy at the thought of even being noticed by a man other than Dave. It’s been a long time since anyone has come on to me. Or maybe he’s not coming on to me. My insecure side tells me he’s probably feeling sorry for me, and his gesture of buying a drink is just a pay-it-forward thing. I wonder why this man, who was being affectionate with the bartender, is suddenly buying me a drink. I tell myself he’s probably a total jack-off.
I look down at my list and decide that number four is going to be Get Laid. Sadly, I can’t remember the last time I had sex. I write the number four on the page.
Before our divorce, I tried, over the years, to initiate sex, and Dave always did the deed as if he was doing me a favor. I felt like the most unattractive woman on the face of the earth. I tried new hairstyles, different makeup, new lingerie, but still, Dave always found a reason why “tonight isn’t a good night”. I retreated deeper and deeper into my protective shell, feeling ugly, even though my friends always told me different. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder they say, but I ain’t feeling it. So yes, getting laid is sounding pretty good. Thus, it moves up the list of my to-dos.
I giggle as I contemplate actually moving Get Laid to number one on the list. Whether or not it’s a lasting relationship or just a one-night stand, I need to get my lights fucked out. I draw an image of a phallus, complete with testicles, next to my number four. I snicker, having to put my hand over my mouth. I’m startled as I look to my right and see Mr. Adonis standing beside me. “Is this chair taken?” he points and asks.
I clear my throat, and in an attempt to gain my composure, nonchalantly take a drink from my glass and look at him, motioning with my right hand. “Nope, it’s all yours.”
“Are you waiting on someone?” he asks with a soft, sexy voice.
My heart flutters, and I try to come up with an answer that doesn’t scream, I’m heartbroken, lonely, and damaged goods. I manage a fake smile, which seems to work. “I’m flying solo tonight.”
His face lights up. “Me, too.”
Realizing my life goals are front and center, exposed to the world, I quickly close my notebook, attempting to discreetly place it in my purse while hoping he hasn’t seen the four steps to my new life. It slips from my hand and drops onto the floor, opening to the pages I’ve scribed. Just great. I jump from my bar stool to retrieve it, but my new friend bends down and beats me to it. Looking at the page, curiously, he grins, closes the book, and then hands it to me. I grab it, holding it protectively to my chest. “I was just working on something for a work project,” I contritely respond.
With an innocent, yet flirtatious, look on his face, he winks. “Ahhh, so I’m not interrupting your work then, am I?”
“Actually, I’m done for the night. But what will your girlfriend think?” I nod right over towards the bartender.
He sits back on the stool, putting his hands behind his head, and cackles, “Girlfriend? Seriously? Is that what it looks like?” He summons her with his index finger, and as she walks towards us. He whispers from the side of his mouth so she won’t hear, “She’s my damn niece. Please tell me you don’t think I’d be coming onto someone that young. She’s half my age, for God’s sake.”
She leans over the bar and shrugs her shoulders. “Need another drink, guys?”
“Corry, this pretty lady here thought we were … um, an item. You know, as in boyfriend and girlfriend.”
I shake my head and attempt to explain, when she shrieks, “Eww! Oh my God. That’s gross. He’s old, and he’s my uncle.”
He tilts his head and pops some roasted nuts into his mouth. “Well, there you go. I’m old and gross.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy so handsome that you can’t stop looking at him. Dave is great looking, but this guy … Wow! I’m guessing he’s got to be older
than me. With his salt and pepper, perfectly styled hair, he is definitely a silver fox. An air of confidence exudes from him, and his smile is so sexy.
“So, if you’re solo, would you mind joining me for dinner? I’m getting kind of hungry. That is, if you don’t think I’m being too forward. Sometimes I talk too much.” Extending his hand, he smiles. “By the way, I’m Leon. Leon Hallas.”
I pull the flaps of my loose sweater across my body in an attempt to hide the love handles and take his offered hand. “Hi Leon. I’m Noel Calabrese. Nice to meet you.”
“Well, Noel, let me just close out the tab, and we’ll get a table.”
Corry holds her hand up. “Drinks are on me, guys.”
Leon grabs her hand and kisses it, slipping her his credit card. “You don’t have to do that.”
She passes the card back to him, shaking her head with a smirky grin. “Don’t ever argue with a younger woman.”
He takes the card, slips it into his wallet, and takes his jacket off. “Okay then. We will accept your offer. This is Noel Calabrese. Noel, my niece Corry, who thinks I’m gross and old.”
Corry shakes my hand. “He thinks he’s a comedian, and if history serves me correctly, I think my mom said he was actually the class clown in high school. Nice to meet you, Noel.”
Corry points to the headwaiter, then to us, mouthing the words, “They need a table.”
We’re escorted to a table with a breathtaking view.
“So, Noel, ever been to Los Gatos?”
Looking towards the bar, Corry waves and I smile, giving her a thumbs up, excited to be in the company of my new friend, and her uncle, Leon. “Never. It’s my first time.”
He scoots his chair close to mine so we can both look at the menu. “Well then, let’s make sure your first visit here, and to Dio Deka, is memorable. This restaurant is famous, you know.”
I look at him, puzzled. “It’s the only Greek restaurant in the US of A that has a Michelin star.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Affirmative. The food here is off the charts. What would you like? Does anything pique your interest?”
With elbows on the table, I put my face in my hands and look at him. “I’m decisioned out for the day. Surprise me.”
I can tell this is just what he wanted me to say. He starts pointing out things on the menu, describing them in detail, and I’m oblivious, nodding as if I hear what he’s saying. I’m too busy looking at him and marveling over how this handsome man would find having dinner with me appealing.
He turns the menu so I can see, looking over his glasses, pointing at the house special. “They’re famous for their steaks. What cut would you like?”
To be honest, I could not care less what he orders. He’s so damn good looking, and for once, food is the last thing on my mind. Be still my beating heart. Looking over the different options, I sip my wine and remark, “Hmmm, they all look wonderful. You pick, I’m easy.”
Realizing what I’ve just said, I shake my head in a self-deprecating manner. “Geez. Bad choice of words. Just call me easy.” I laugh.
Smiling warmly, he takes my hands across the table. “Are you new to the Silicon Valley, or have you visited before? I’m assuming you’re not from around here.”
“Why do you assume that?” I ask, curiously.
He laughs. “Well, you sort of have a Southern, or should I say, a Texas, draawwwl,” he says, mocking my accent in a friendly way.
Shifting my body in the chair, and trying to maintain my composure from his ever so sexy imitation of my accent, I respond, batting my eyes as only Scarlett O’Hara would do, blurting out, “So, you’re saying I’m a dead giveaway for a tourist then?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.” He dips his head and grins, almost salaciously, which is a total turn on.
I tell him that I’m indeed from Texas, and he tells me he’s originally from New York. I can’t resist chiding him about his New York accent and give him my best Tony Soprano imitation. “Bada Bing!” I exclaim.
He shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink. “Little lady, Tony Soprano was from Jersey. I’m a New Yorker, and them’s fighting words. Why don’t you give me your best Donald Trump,” he teases.
Contemplating my performance, I shimmy in my chair, close my eyes, and take a moment to think while I inhale deeply. With my index finger, I point and look him seriously in the eye, emulating The Donald. “Leon … You’re fired.” I hold my hands up in victory, and he nods, “Ouch! Very nice—or not so nice, I mean. I actually felt that. So, what am I supposed to do now? I gotta make a living you know.”
Curious about what he does for a living, I ask, and he’s very forthcoming. He owns a chain of health clubs, which is obviously why he’s so physically fit. He’s actually very easy to talk to, and I encourage him to continue talking when he stops suddenly. “I’m probably boring you to death with my life story. I mean, how interesting could what I do for a living be?”
I encourage him to continue, finding this conversation very stimulating. Dave and I never chitchat, and I can’t get enough of Leon’s conversation. He goes into detail about his favorite project and exactly why he’s here on business.
He explains that his younger brother, who served in Operation Desert Storm, and had also done two tours in Iraq, had come back to the States and fallen into deep depression after losing a leg and an arm in battle. Suffering from PTSD, Phillip needed some direction, so Leon came up with the idea to incorporate a separate, state-of-the-art facility onto his gyms for wounded soldiers who needed physical and emotional strengthening. It’s gained national attention, and his brother now runs it.
“It gave Phillip something positive to do and actually has brought us closer together. We had a falling out a few years back and this … It was a blessing in disguise. Phillip is Corry’s dad, and he’s a stand up guy. My hero.” He pulls up a picture of the gym on his phone, proudly showing me.
“This guy here,” he points at a very handsome, blonde guy in a wheelchair, “is Phillip. He’s there day and night, and the changes that we’ve made positively impact the soldiers we serve. I gotta tell you, I wish I could be there every day, because it’s the most rewarding feeling. The love and camaraderie that permeates that room is beyond comprehension.”
I’m nearly brought to tears as he swipes through numerous pictures, likened to a proud parent showing you shots of their kids.
Impressed, I point to the phone. “That’s incredible. I actually think I saw something about your place on The Morning Show a few months ago.”
He nods, beaming with pride. “You sure did. They did a piece on us back in June during PTSD Awareness Month. I’m stoked you caught it.”
“So, were you interviewed?” I ask.
He nods, sheepishly. “Actually, my part was really short. They mainly interviewed Phillip and talked at length with the soldiers, since that was the focus of the piece. I’m not big on grandstanding.”
I excuse myself to use the restroom and adjust my sweater across my midsection. I look in the mirror, fiddle with my limp hair, and see a very tired Noel. I exhale as I look at my blossoming midsection. I suck in my breath, hold my shoulders back, and laugh to myself. It’s been forever since I worried about how I looked. I surely didn’t plan on meeting anyone tonight of all nights, or I may have fixed myself up a little more. When I get back to the table, Leon stands politely, and I sit down.
Not cognizant of having wrapped my sweater around me again, he remarks. “Are you cold? Do you want my jacket?” He offers the jacket draped over the back of his chair.
I look at him, confused. “No, why?”
He cocks his head and smiles, warmly. “You’ve been pulling that damn sweater across you like we’re in Alaska or something. I just thought you were cold.”
Ashamed, I lower my head and shrug my shoulders. “It’s a bad habit. I have a few of those,” I joke, hoping he’ll drop it.
We enjoy a nice dinner and the conversation is wonderful. It�
�s been ages since I have felt like someone is actually listening and enjoying talking to me. Dave and I had gotten to where we’d ask about each other’s days and what we had for lunch, almost habitually. I no more cared what he had for lunch or how his day went then he took interest in mine. Our relationship remained the same after the divorce.
While we were married, when I did try to converse with him or ask him to take me out, he always had an excuse why it wasn’t a good time. I even tried talking about politics or things I knew would push his buttons, but to no avail. We were doomed. Seeing him having sex with Jenna cut to my core and made me feel like a fool, but somehow, that gave me my ticket to freedom—as if I needed that little push to exit the marriage. As for the timing, Christmas probably wasn’t the best season, but then again, looking at it from a glass half full mindset, maybe this was God’s gift to me—the gift of independence and release. My mind sticks on that when Leon laughs and says, “Earth to Noel.”
I shake my head, bringing my thoughts back to the present. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking about all the things …”
“Work stuff?” he asks.
“Yeah, work stuff. I was thinking of all I still need to do for a meeting tomorrow. I’m here for business.”
“Me, too. Whatcha say we ditch thinking about work tonight? It’s the holiday season.” Leon suggests we go out on the town.
“Dancing?” I ask, excitedly.
“Sure, we can do that if you want. You up for some grup fun?” His eyes light up as he bites his lip, unsure if I’ll accept his offer.
“Grup? What’s that?” I ask.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Grown up fun. It’s the bomb! Come on, I’m not an axe murderer or anything. I promise, I’ll have you back at a respectable hour.”
He looks at me with puppy dog eyes. “Please? I promise you’ll love this place.”
