Bellamy's Redemption

“Are you sure?” she asked, surveying our table, and then ducking beneath it to look around by our feet.

“We’re sure,” I said.

“Shit. I’ll go get it.”

“It’s never boring with you,” said Pete, after she had left us again.

“I really can’t take responsibility for tonight’s entertainment.”

“You have a natural magnet that draws these situations to you,” he said.

“I’m flattered you think that. I mean… that is a compliment, right?”

“Huge compliment. So, how do you like your food?”

“Great. Seriously great. And how’s yours?”

“Delicious.”

“Okay, you two,” said our waitress. “Here you go.” She slapped t

he bill down on the table and put her hands on her hips, waiting. “You two are killing me!” she added, squinting her eyes and blowing some greasy strands of hair out of her eyes. Pete took out his wallet, examined the bill, and took out some bills while she watched him.

“Tell me you don’t need change,” she said.

“Just keep it all,” he said.

“Thanks. Take it easy.” She did the ‘peace-out’ gesture and was gone.

“Next time can we go to the Olive Garden?” I asked him.

“Sure,” he said, laughing.

We finished our meals and ordered another round of drinks. The music had tapered to a single, haunting fiddle player. Sweet, old Eastern European love songs quietly filled the room. The room had nearly emptied out and the flickering candle made our booth seem like its own private room. Pete reached across the table and took my hand. He opened his mouth and hesitated, but before any words could come out, a different waitress was standing in front of us, hands on hips, looking at us expectantly. “It’s Sunday night,” she said.

Pete and I looked at each other and then looked at her. We both nodded.

“It’s Sunday night,” she repeated. “We don’t stay open super late on Sunday nights.”

“Okay,” said Pete. “We can go.”

“Wait just a minute,” she said, holding up her hand. “You two had another round of drinks after Cassie left.”

“Well, we’d like to pay for those,” said Pete.

“Good. Because you’re going to! I’ll be right back with your bill.” She then made a beeline for a table across the room and began chatting with some people she knew.

“I’d better call us a cab,” said Pete, “before we get kicked out.”

I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room. It was wallpapered in a shiny, Art Nouveau, tarantula themed wallpaper. I wondered who made it. I could envision it fitting in nicely in some of my edgier clientele’s homes. I checked my teeth and touched up my lipstick, putting on a deeper shade than normal, since Pete had seemed to like it so much when he was filming me. I wondered if he was going to kiss me…

“What are you doing?” I whispered to my reflection. “You are totally leading him on!”

I found some perfume in my purse and spritzed it on the back of my neck and then the front of neck, and then under my shirt, just for good measure.

“It’s not leading him on if you like him,” I reassured my reflection.

“So you like him now?” she said back.