I had piled the sugar cubes into an igloo with a little chimney off the right side, though I’m not sure that an igloo would have a chimney. I pictured small sugar people walking in and out with tiny pieces of sugar wood to make a fire for their chimney. All of a sudden the salt and peppershakers conspired together to blast the igloo to the ground, shaking the tiny cubes from the resting place and scattering them all over the table.
A couple walked into the diner, arm in arm. The girl stumbled over her high heels, whispering something in the man’s ear. He was dressed in a sleek leather jacket and black pants, neatly pleated down the front. His hair looked as though it was carefully arranged in some organized pattern of disarray. He seemed not to notice the girl on his arm as he stared down the blouse of the waitress behind the counter, admiring the lace pattern of her bra. The young girl didn’t care, she kept giggling and flirting in some awkward way, her blond locks bouncing in and out of her face. I wondered how easy it would be to ignore someone that cannot seem to stand on her own.
They were seated in the booth next to that of an older man reading his three newspapers. The man rolled his eyes at the couple and scowled as if to condemn their young impetuous ways. Blondie crawled into one side batting her eyelashes, obviously hoping that her companion would sit beside her. He disregarded her plea, neatly hanging his jacket on the empty golden rod that jutted out from the wooden post. He sat across the table from her, careful to arrange himself in such a way that his pants would not wrinkle too much. He grabbed a napkin from the holder and swept it along his side of the table before he laid his hands down and looked her in the eye.
I figured that he was definitely going to get lucky that night and she was going to get hurt the following day when he didn’t call. She should have seen that coming, but maybe whatever it is that she drank before they entered the diner had blurred her vision. This reminded me of why I was there and I felt uncomfortable again. I looked at my watch ticking away in a mocking tone, as if to laugh at my uneasiness. 10:15. Already fifteen minutes late. With one gulp I finished the water and proceeded to gently pour the vodka from the short stocky glass it was served in, into the empty water glass. After all, I didn’t want to make a bad impression.
She said she might be late; she was coming straight from work. Who works until ten on a Friday night? I had asked her where she worked on the phone and she replied with “the corner of Madison and 29th” or 39th or something like that. I had meant to be asking what company she worked for, or maybe what line of work she was in, but I just accepted her answer instead. But who works those kinds of hours? Was I meeting some call girl? Maybe she had been paid to be somebody’s date earlier that evening and she was not sure if she would be requested to perform further services in the sack or if her job would end with a kiss goodnight. Then I wondered what kind of tip one gives to a call girl who has sex with him. I probably could not even afforded the tip, never mind the call girl in the first place.
What kind of a person admits to coming to an old diner that smells of stale bread and old people? The tabletops were made of that plastic-wood like material that has tiny specks of gold throughout the originally white finish, all of which was pealing up at the corners. I was afraid to move in my seat because I feared that I might be stuck to it. The first water glass they brought me had bright red lipstick along the rim, so readily apparent that I could not understand how the waitress did not see it to begin with. But that question was answered when I told her about the lipstick and her response was “So?” I replied, “I’m allergic to most dyes that they use in lipstick and I do not wish to have an epileptic fit in the middle of your lovely establishment.” That seemed to confuse her for a few seconds until finally she picked up the glass and brought another one.
“So are you ready to order yet?” The waitress was back. She had these thick oval shaped glasses that rested on the hump of her nose. She didn’t seem to look through them, but above them, yet they sat there, hanging from a chain around her neck that seemed to vanish in the gray cloud of her hairnet.
“Like I said before, I’m waiting for someone.”
“Well, they’d better get here quick or I’m going to give up your table. You can’t just sit there forever and order one drink, ya know. We do have other customers,” she retorted. I looked around for these numerous customers but all I could find were the young couple, the girl nearly passed out across her cheese fries, and the old man who was eyeing me from behind his paper.
“Ok, I’ll leave if the rest of my party does not come soon.” That seemed to shut her up for a while.
I was eyeing an ant crawling across the table carrying a crumb three times his size when I heard the squeal of the glass door. In walked a brunette dressed in a knee length black dress, very casual but tight in all the right places. On her shoulders rested a pale beige linen jacket, lingering as though attached to her dress. As her towering legs strolled over to the counter, I kept waiting for the jacket to fall to the floor but it didn’t.
The attractive woman in the low-cut blouse behind the doughnut stand pointed in my direction. I nearly gasped as she walked towards me. I probably should have stood up so as to greet her but I was too afraid that she would be three feet taller than I. She smiled warmly, so confidently, as her heals graced the mud stained tiles. I could hardly take my eyes off of her but I managed to catch a glimpse of the guy in the leather coat, undressing her in his mind.
She was thin, with waves of chocolate brown hair flowing down her back and such delicate features. She could have passed for as young as twenty-two but I already knew from her computerized profile that she was twenty-six. When the dating service first contacted me, I found it hard to believe that someone that young would want to be paired with a thirty three year old struggling writer. She wore little makeup, but seemed to have naturally long eyelashes and perfectly blush cheeks. I did not know what to say.
“Hi, Joe?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Samantha. I’m terribly sorry that I’m so late. I’m a resident doctor at the County General, a few blocks down.” She looked at me like I was supposed to say something, which made it so much harder to think of words. Sitting there in my now crumpled Khakis and a faded polo shirt, I was too busy trying to imagine how a computer program matched us to one another.
“It’s not a problem, I just got here, really. What kind of doctor?”
“An OBGYN, I was delivering a baby. I hate to say it but I’m still on call. I must apologize in advance if I am paged.” I wondered if that was the honest truth or if that was just her excuse to ditch me when I bored her to death.
“Wow, that’s incredible.” I was sure that I sounded as astonished as I actually was. I didn’t mean to sound that way, so stereotypical, like such a beautiful woman could not whole heartedly devote herself to bringing life into the world. But to me she looked as though she could just walk around with that smile and live off of that alone.
“So, are we ready to order, yet?” The waitress gave us about a minute before she jumped down our throats. She looked back and forth at the two of us, indicating that she thought us an odd pair. Annoyed, I looked across the table into the gray-green eyes of my mysterious blind date and asked, “Do you want a minute to look at the menu?”
“Oh, nothing much for me, thanks. I’ll just have a cup of coffee please.”
Unsure of what one usually dined on at 10:25 pm, I had planned on taking my cue from her. She never mentioned meeting for coffee, or dessert, or dinner specifically. I was not particularly hungry, but wary of the fact that the nasty old waitress had already threatened to kick me out if I didn’t order soon. I figured I’d better order something. The question came down to what?
“I’ll have a cup of coffee also…and…” the waitress was staring at me so hard that she did not blink. “And cheese fries.” I regretted the order almost as soon as the words came out of my mouth, but I didn’t want to change it then so I gulped. Then I wondered if this beautiful Samantha was going to think even less of me, being that I am not only a slob compared to her, but now a slob that snacks on a gigantic plate of cheese fries at 10:30 at night. To my surprise she didn’t seem to notice, at least her face revealed no shame in my order, and the waitress walked away with a huff.
Samantha leaned over the table in my direction, careful not to touch her dress to the edge. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself,” she tried to get me to speak again.
“Well, I’m a writer.”
“Oh, would I have read any of your work?”
“Uh, probably not. I’m in the middle of writing a novel at the moment, but mostly I just write small columns in unknown newspapers and magazines, nothing big.” I cared not to mention that she may have found some of my work within one of those magazines that sits in front of your seat on an airplane, right next to the puke bag.
“Oh, well what’s your novel about? How’s it going?”
For the first time that night I was actually glad to see the waitress return with our coffees. The beginning of my so-called novel was really a paragraph. I took the opportunity to change the subject. “Why don’t you tell me more about you? What do you like to do in your spare time?”
“Well, I like to volunteer at the local homeless shelters.” She must have read my face because she quickly added “But I also like to go to movies and clubs. Unfortunately I do not get out much with work and everything. Between so many years of schooling and so little time now as a resident, I hardly get to have any fun anymore! Not that my work isn’t fun.” Being that I’d always been more like the stay-at-home-and-rent-a-movie-or-read-a-book type, I was not too confident that my expression changed. I started twiddling my thumbs anxiously on the tabletop until she gave me a comforting smile.
I asked her more about work and Samantha proceeded to tell me about medical school and how she always wanted to become a doctor. She seemed happy to tell me about herself and I was happy not to interrupt her. She hardly paused when my cheese fries came, but did however grab a few of the greasy grimy mush that was somehow related to potatoes. Watching her lick the orange cheese from the corner of her mouth made me feel much more relaxed. Just as I began to tell her about my aspirations to go mountain climbing, even though I had yet to go rock climbing indoors, I heard a faint buzzing sound followed by a high pitched beep.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. That’s my pager. I have to go back to the hospital. The message says that Mrs. Bryer’s contractions are seven minutes apart. I really have to run.”
I was just about to cave in and grab a fry. “Oh. Can I walk you?” I wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to say considering that I still wasn’t clear on why she was sitting across from me to begin with.
“How sweet, I’d love that,” she smiled. It was then that I realized I’d have to walk beside her. I’d look like a squat midget compared to this slender goddess. I motioned for the check.
“What, you didn’t like it? Was there a hair in your food?” The waitress actually looked insulted. So I forked down a mouthful and replied “No, no. I just need the check.” She scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to me.
Samantha was standing, her linen jacket still neatly hiding her shoulders. I quickly threw down more than enough money, wondering how long I had until Mrs. Bryer’s baby would pop out.
“What do I owe for the coffee?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing, don’t worry about it.”
I must admit, it felt pretty good knowing that the stud in the leather jacket was pretty jealous of me at that moment. I looked around as Samantha slipped her arm through mine. I hadn’t even noticed that several more people had ventured into the diner for a late night snack.
Standing next to her, I felt that a sort of confidence was awakened in me that I hadn’t felt since college. This led me to wonder how in the world I got there, on a blind date with a gorgeous doctor. She seemed to be able to read my face and responded “I love to meet people through these computer services every once in a while. I don’t get the chance to meet anyone new; always seem to be working. I have found that you can meet a lot of different people just by altering your answers to all those questions a little. That way I’m not always matched up with the same guy.” I couldn’t help but wonder why she was not already married to some fabulous doctor, but I decided to just let it go.
We stepped out into the night and gazed up at the stars as we walked. She told me about how she grew up in a small town in Connecticut and she had a telescope. I loved to listen to her speak. The more she talked to me the more conformable I felt in her presence. I wondered if I’d ever see her again. As we got to the hospital entrance I thought about asking if I could call her. I decided not to ruin the night with an awkward question I already knew the answer to. She would have responded very politely with something about not having much time for a social life. I had heard all before.
“Joe, I had a wonderful time talking with you. And it was very sweet of you to walk me back to work.” She gently kissed my cheek. I almost blushed like I was twelve again.
“It was my pleasure. Good luck with Mrs. Bryer’s baby.” I tried to sound sophisticated.
“Good night,” she smiled warmly, almost inside the doors.
I stood there for a good long moment. A part of me wanted to run in after her. But I slowly turned away and started walking down the street to nowhere in particular. I watched the stars as I passed and pictured Samantha as a little girl with her telescope. I wondered what made her want to be a doctor in the first place and that made me realize that there was so much I didn’t get to ask her. I kind of liked it that way though. I imagined that maybe she played doctor with dolls as a child. Maybe one day she watched the family dog give birth to puppies and decided that was what she was going to do. Only with people.
I found myself standing in front of the cruddy old diner again. 11:40. I walked in and sat back down at my familiar booth. The waitress with the low-cut blouse smiled up at me flirtatiously from behind the doughnuts. The young couple had left. I pictured leather-coat guy having to wake his date up and drag her from their booth.
“You again. What d’ya want this time? More vodka?” The cranky waitress found me again.
I smiled, “No thanks, just some coffee.” She looked surprised.
The little old man sitting by himself peaked his head above his newspaper. “Pretty lady,” he remarked.
“Yes, she was,” I smiled.