The other side

My last table tonight was a pair of girls. One was black, the other was a creepy Victoria Principle lookalike.

They both were drinking seriously. I didn't pay too much attention at first, but then I noticed the VP girl looking mighty distraught.

When I came by the table, the black girl was saying, so you two argue all the time?

VP replied, weakly, uh-huh.

I knew their was relationship trouble. I should have known from the conspiratorial way they chose the table. Away from others, and with a little wall next to the table to give the sense of privacy. That plus the rapid consumption of martinis is a kiss off story.

I moved in closer. Lingered a little unnecessarily while lifting salad plates.

That's when I heard VP say-

So, I guess I'm back on the market again. Nine years I gave him. Now, what?

Bingo!

Had I found my first?

I imagined me walking up to the table. My eyes trained on VP's eyes, making her uncomfortable with the power, but unable to draw away. She would recognize the empathy in them, and her tiny wounded heart would leap at my words. I would set down her penne, and lean down to her height. My hand would tenderly take her shoulder, and I would say, I know what kind of pain you are going through right now. I only wish I could tell you it will be better soon, but I don't know if I believe that myself. Life is tough. It can kick you around. It's even nastier when you don't have a warm embrace waiting for you at home. What do you say we provide that for each other. Maybe just for tonight, maybe twice tonight, but definitely for each other.

I made my move over to the table.

Then she said, Well, at least I get to keep the fucker's $30,000 ring.

Zoinks!

I just kept walking.

Two months salary for a ring? Hell, that's like two years salary for me. I don't think I could comfort a woman like that. I'm more of a $21,000 total earnings kind of woman comforter.

L.A.

It's going to be fun, isn't it.