Lobster Box

by Cheri Crystal

  Lobster Box

  By

  Cheri Crystal

  ::::::

  A dietitian and a medical resident are set up on a blind date by a persistent, meddling, mutual friend. Laurie hopes they don’t end up talking diets, but she wouldn’t mind ‘playing doctor.’ Will the best date ever lead to more than they ever dreamed possible?

  LOBSTER BOX

  © 2013 BY CHERI CRYSTAL. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  THIS ELECTRONIC ORIGINAL SHORT STORY CONTAINS EROTIC CONTENT AND ADULT THEMES. READERS MUST BE OVER 18 TO PURCHASE.

  PUBLISH DATE: SEPTEMBER

  2013 Second edition. LOBSTER BOX first appeared online and in ATTRACTIONS OF THE HEART in 2009.

  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUISINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

  SCANNING, UPLOADING AND/OR DISTRIBUTION OF THIS BOOK VIA THE INTERNET, PRINT, AUDIO RECORDINGS OR ANY OTHER MEANS WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR/PUBLISHER IS ILLEGAL AND WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW.

  GRAPHIC DESIGN: CHERI CRYSTAL

  FIND CHERI CRYSTAL ON THE WEB AT www.chericrystal.com ,facebook.com/chericrystal, and http://www.amazon.com/Cheri-Crystal/e/B002VG3738

  Mom always said, Don’t let boys touch you there, but she never said anything about girls. Her other favorite saying was, Why should he buy the cow, when he can get the milk for free? Well, Ma, she bought the cow!

  But let me back up a bit.

  ::::::

  I graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Dietetics, and by the autumn of 1980, I’d landed my first professional job in a skilled nursing facility in the Bronx. Edna Rubenstein, whose greatest joy was playing matchmaker, decided early on that I was to be her next project. I told her I avoided blind dates like the plague, but after she caught me kissing the evening nurse in the med room, she tried to set me up with her son. It was easier once she accepted that I liked girls and he would never be my type.

  I refused to allow her to give out my number, but she was relentless in her nagging. Edna had warned me about the evening nurse and then she never let me forget my dreadful mistake. Theresa had been a great kisser, but when I found out she was bi-curious and her big Italian boyfriend had connections to the mob, I backed off pronto. It was true that my love life sucked. I was sick of dating losers and watching Love Boat and Fantasy Island on a Saturday night with a bag of potato chips and French onion dip for company, but the final straw was a pathetic New Year’s Eve party.

  I was the poster child for the lonely hearts club when I snuck out before midnight preferring a classic movie to being surrounded by revelers who’d all paired up except for me and a neurotic Woody Allen type. I was doomed. With my tail between my legs, I tiptoed into medical records the following Monday, praying Edna wouldn’t notice and give me the third degree. No such luck.

  “So? Nu? How was the party? Any cute guys, er, girls?”

  “Don’t start, Edna, please.” I grabbed the nearest chart and flipped it open, purposely avoiding her sympathetic glare.

  Aside from distant call bells and the sporadic hum of the copy machine, all was too quiet as she and I worked. My mind wandered and when I looked up, Edna had her worried Jewish mother cap firmly placed atop her lacquered 1950’s hairdo. I knew that look by heart.

  “Okay,” I blurted. “Stop looking at me like that. Maybe you should give your friend’s daughter my number.”

  Edna jumped up so fast she knocked the phone clear off the desk. She became animated with excitement akin to someone who’d just won the lottery. It was too easy to make her day. At the very least, I’d make one of us happy. Setting me up would be perfect for hours of juicy gossip enjoyment and subsequently, gloating if it worked out. Edna was such a type.

  My mind wandered while she rattled on a mile a minute, reciting each of my blind date’s virtues as she dialed a number she knew by heart. “Leslie’s smart, cute, and the best part, she’s a nice Jewish doctor.”

  The last attribute clinched it. My parents would plotz to hear I was dating a doctor.

  Still no answer, Edna refused to hang up. “It’ll be a match made in heaven, and I’ll be Cupid.”

  “More like Yenta.” I rolled my eyes, but I had to laugh at her persistence.

  “Yenta, schmenta. It’s just one date. What could it hurt?” She must have let the phone ring a million times and certainly long enough to allow for second thoughts. I stretched for the receiver, but she was taller and held it out of my reach.

  “Maybe we should wait.”

  “When’s the last time you got laid?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I couldn’t believe the things that came out of her mouth considering she was old enough to be my mother.

  “It has everything to do with it. You’re miserable and you hardly ever go out. Leslie’s just the girl to change that. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Oh, all right, but if it doesn’t work out, I don’t want you pestering me again. Okay?”

  “Of course. I won’t say a word.” She symbolically zipped her lips.

  “Uh hmm.” Where had I heard that before?

  Edna cupped my chin in her chubby hands. Her wedding ring cut off the circulation of her finger, giving it a purple tint. She looked like a heart attack waiting to happen. “Such a shana punim. I want you should be happy, that’s all.”

  I couldn’t bear to disappoint her and agreed to her plan.

  ::::::

  Leslie called on a Tuesday night. I remember it as if it was yesterday. As it happened, I was in the kitchen by the phone and picked up right away. The caller hesitated. I heard only breathing and was about to hang up.

  “Hello, may I please speak to Laurie?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Oh…hi. Edna Rubenstein gave me your number.”

  “Right.”

  The pause felt like forever and my patience wore thin. Finally, she said, “Edna tells me you’re a dietitian.” Another pause. “I could use you.”

  “Please, don’t tell me you called for a diet.”

  “No, but I eat too much junk.”

  “Edna said you’re a doctor. You should know better.”

  “I don’t have time to plan meals.”

  “That’s what they all say.” This conversation was sounding too much like work. “So, Edna’s a friend of your mom’s? Do you live in Co-op City too?”

  “Yes, in the same building, in fact. My parents play Bridge with Edna and her husband. Where on Long Island are you?”

  “Massapequa endearingly known as Matzo-Pizza,” I said.

  “Come again?”

  “It’s on account of the number of Jews and Italians who make up the majority of the neighborhood. We say ‘Matzo-Pizza,’ but technically it should be the other way around with the higher percentage Italians. It’s a great mix.”

  “That’s cute.”

  After a few rounds of “Jewish Geography,” it turned out that Edna was the only person we knew in common.

  “Edna ‘Yenta’ Rubenstein is a piece of work,” I said, but clearly without malice.

  “You can say that again.”

  “She tried to set me up with her son.”

  “Me too. She doesn’t take no for an answer, I’ll give her that.”

  “Yeah. Can you believe she’s worried about my sex life?”

  “Mine too. Don’t repeat this, but once when I had the worst cramps, she told me to have two consecutive orgasms and call her in the morning. I nearly peed in my pants, but you know, her advice helped.”

  “Was that before or after medical school?” I lik
ed her already.

  “Before, silly girl, but I may recommend it to my patients.” We were still laughing when she asked, “Are you free Saturday night?”

  I wiped a tear from my eye. “Sure. Where should we meet?”

  “How about a restaurant near you?”

  “It’s a schlep and you’ll need your passport stamped to come over the Throgs Neck Bridge. You sure you don’t mind?”

  “Very funny, but I don’t mind one bit. I enjoy driving. It breaks the monotony of public transportation.”

  “That would be great.” I gave her directions, and we set the date.

  ::::::

  The week was a drag. As much as I hated to admit it, and I purposely didn’t breathe a word to Edna, I was looking forward to meeting Leslie. I replayed our first conversation ad nauseum. She sounded sexy, down-to-earth, and we seemed to hit it off on the phone, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. She could look like Frankenstein’s daughter and have Hyde’s personality.

  When Saturday finally arrived, the forecast called for snow and exceptionally frigid temperatures for February. A lesser woman might have cancelled, but Leslie picked me up seven sharp. I fidgeted in the kitchen until the doorbell rang.

  As soon as I opened the door, a brilliant smile lit up her cherubic face. The porch light put lovely highlights in her short, wavy blond hair, which she wore back, showing off her handsome features.

  It was a good thing I ran low blood pressures because my heart rate exponentially accelerated. Then I remembered she was a doctor and relaxed, but not by much.

  “Come in.” I stood in the vestibule as if sewn into the carpet. She handed me her jacket and my gaze naturally wandered down her body. I tried to be inconspicuous, but let’s face it; she made no secret of checking me out too. She possessed the most wonderful curves beneath her cream silk blouse and knitted ecru vest and stood at least six inches taller than me. Her aura exuded confidence and comfort in her own skin, but she was not at all condescending like most of the doctors I met at work. I was instantly drawn in by her demeanor as appealing as her deep set, soft, emerald eyes.

  I had my heart set on Chinese food and as ever the good little dietitian, I planned to order steamed chicken with broccoli and brown rice as if I could really resist those crispy fried noodles dipped in duck sauce and lots more soaking up the salty stocked wanton soup. I could easily forgo the Kung Pao chicken, spicy and definitely deep fried for those artery-clogging calories dietitians recommend avoiding or at least indulging in as an occasional treat. I considered what Leslie would order and decided not to worry about it. Besides, I was preoccupied wondering how her patients put their trust in someone who looked too young to be responsible for their health. Her boyish face leaned towards pretty but in the end handsome won out.

  She opened my door before I got in. When we settled in her car with our seat belts fastened, engine sufficiently warmed up, she placed both palms on the wheel, her long fingers stretched at the ready, and announced, “Just lead the way.”

  I squelched the enticing image my overactive imagination conjured up of what such lovely hands would be capable of and forced my mind out of the gutter.

  “I thought we’d try Lotus Seed,” I said. “It’s about a twenty-minute drive from my house. If that’s okay?”

  “Perfect.”

  My lousy sense of direction had us driving around for an hour, but she never once lost her patience despite driving over covered ground multiple times. I should have been more familiar with where we were headed having been there not even a month before with work buddies. I was reluctant to recommend any restaurant I hadn’t tried out first lest it be awful as if their deficiency was all my fault. There I went into negative mode. I mentally smacked myself silly and was back on track before I could utter, “The B.I.T.C.H. is back.”

  “What bitch?” Leslie asked.

  “Oh God. Did I say that out loud?”

  “You did.”

  “Oy, sorry, I’ve been listening to Elton John a lot lately. I’m a huge fan and have all his albums. You know ‘The Bitch is Back’ is on the ‘Caribou’ album, right?”

  “Uh huh.” She cast a suspicious grin, but I wasn’t explaining B.I.T.C.H. was to remind myself I was emulating a Babe in Total Control of Herself. This was our first date. Surely, I could meet her halfway in the confidence department. I was so busy trying to impress her; it’s a miracle that I didn’t miss the neon sign when we were finally in spitting distance of the entrance to the parking lot.

  “There it is,” I said pointing in the middle of the shopping center on Glen Cove Road. “Exactly where I thought.”

  “Yeah, right!” She smirked, but with a totally good-natured grin this time. I simply could not resist this woman.

  “After all the trouble you went to having your passport stamped and just getting here, I figured you’d enjoy the scenic route. You should be honored that I gave you the deluxe tour.” I flashed what I hoped was an Academy Award winning smile.

  “And you’re the best tour guide, too.”

  My cheeks flushed. She had an amazing profile: long eyelashes, a perfect medium sized nose, and rosy lips. The double chin didn’t detract from her strong good looks in the least. Sure, she could lose about thirty pounds, but who couldn’t? We weren’t exactly getting any younger and with food a plenty, hectic schedules and couch potato syndrome, it was harder to keep in shape for anyone less than a fanatic. I did worry about her health and how the extra weight could lead to diabetes, heart disease and cancer, but the last thing I wanted was to be her dietitian, although I wouldn’t mind playing doctor.

  “What’s on your mind?” she asked, giving me a sideways glance.

  “Oh, nothing.” Usually much too open for my own good, it’s a wonder I kept my naughty thoughts to myself. It would be nice to invite her for a brisk walk on the boardwalk at Jones Beach. I made a mental note to suggest it when the weather got a bit warmer, but first, I had to see how sharing a meal went.

  She cut the engine and swiveled her butt in the bucket seat to face me. “If you say so.”

  “Shall we?” I said, with the formality of Miss. Manners.

  “Stay put.” She walked around to my side of the car and I ogled her purpose and relished the effect her swagger had on every inch of my being.

  Opening my door a second time that evening clinched the chivalrous deal. She offered me an elbow. “Please allow me to escort you inside the fine establishment.”

  “Why thank you Doctor.”

  “Pleasure.”

  The Lotus Seed was packed, waiters and waitresses buzzed about carrying platefuls of sizzling entrees, side dishes with a whole assortment of tantalizing aromas, but after we consented to a small table tucked in the far corner practically at the entrance of the kitchen we were seated right away, menus in hand, glasses of water, pot of tea, and a bowl of fried noodles on the table.

  “I’m having steamed chicken and broccoli as my main dish with a low fat hot and sour sauce on the side.” I quickly shut the menu knowing exactly what I wanted and so it wouldn’t weaken my resolve to eat healthy fare. Leslie wasn’t buying my choice.

  “It’s Saturday night, Laurie; surely you’re not going to resist butterfly shrimp with bacon, fried rice and egg roll?”

  “Feel free to order what you like, but I’m quite happy with my selection.”

  “If you say so, but really if you want something tasty your secret is safe with me.” Doubt was written all over her face.

  When the food came we both dug in. Leslie did not put a single bite of food to her lips until I had eaten two chopsticks full of my low fat fare.

  “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “My dad says you can learn to like anything and I stick to his words of wisdom in both my personal life and clinical practice.”

  “Sure you won’t have a shrimp?” She held it up like the prized possession it looked like. There wasn’t even a doubt that I’d enjoy it and want for more.

  “N
o, thanks, but you enjoy. I am not your dietitian tonight. Besides, I prefer my women tall.”

  “And I like shrimps.” She winked at me.

  “Hey, who are you calling a shrimp?”

  “If the t-shirt fits…”

  “Ha, ha.”

  She wore me down. I ended up tasting her dish with the stipulation that she try mine. “What’s fair is fair.”

  “But there’s no oil, seasoning or anything. I’ll hate it.”

  “Won’t know ‘til you try it.”

  She took the teeniest morsel between her chopsticks and was about to dip it in the sauce on her plate when I leaned over to grab her hand. “No cheating.”

  “Tyrant.”

  “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the natural flavor of chicken and vegetables without being smothered in goo.”

  Her hesitation was worse than our first phone call.

  “Don’t be such a baby. I’m going to feed you in a minute.”

  Finally, I gathered a decent sized portion of steamed chicken and a broccoli floweret with my chopsticks and was relieved when she took it in her mouth. I could die waiting for her finish chewing.

  “Okay, there’s no need to masticate the poor chicken to death.”

  She took a few more bites and swallowed. “Euwwww, I thought it was already dead.” She grinned then and I exhaled.

  “Well, was that so terrible?” I was already shaking my leg under the table in anticipation.

  She glanced at my bouncing limb. “You keep that up and they’re going to evacuate the restaurant thinking there’s an earthquake.”

  “Did you like it or what?”

  “Actually, it was quite tasty.”

  I sat back with a self-satisfied grin. “I told you.”

  “You did. Thank you for diet tip numero uno.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Now that I ate the diet food can we order dessert?”

  “I made you something special at home.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “No, let’s get the check.”

  On the way back to her car she promised it would still be warm inside, as if she bought a special feature or something I’d never heard of before.