“Okay,” he said.
“Haven’t you ever wanted an adventure? This is going to be mine.”
“This isn’t your only option for an adventure.”
“You’re being so serious. I count on you to help me chill out. I thought you’d think this was fun.”
“Really?” he said. Then he opened his mouth like he had more to say, but instead he shook his head and said nothing.
“What?” I asked him.
He turned on the TV and we sat there in silence watching an old episode of Cheers. After about five minutes he turned off the television and stood up. “You do know that I thought we were going out tonight. On a date. To dinner. Someplace nice. You know that, right?”
“I’m tired,” I said. “I had an exhausting weekend and I have to work first thing in the morning. And I have a ton of catching up to do. Think about how much work I’ve missed lately.”
“I want you to go back to your apartment and put on a dress. I’ll be over in five minutes. I’m taking you out.”
“But Pete…”
“Don’t argue with me. You’re going to quit your job anyway, so who cares? If you want to be adventurous, start right now. Tonight. With me.”
“Don’t you want to watch the end of the show?” I asked, burrowing further beneath the blanket. He pulled it off me and chucked it across the room. It landed in a dusty corner.
“Now it’s contaminated,” I whined.
“I did that on purpose.” He pointed at the door. “Five minutes. I will be over there to pick you up, and if you aren’t dressed up, we’re going to go out with you looking like that.” I had on a Batman t-shirt and holey yoga pants.
“Fine,” I said. I rose from the couch and sighed. “See you in a few.” I shuffled next door to my own apartment.
After spending a couple of days in California, the Chicago night seemed colder and bleaker than ever. I pulled on a tight, clingy black sweater dress, tights, and some brown leather boots. I brushed my teeth and twisted my hair into a French knot. I still had two minutes to spare so I spritzed on some perfume and put on some makeup. There was a knock on my door.
“Hi Pete,” I said. He was wearing a suit.
“You look beautiful,” he said. “It took my last girlfriend an hour to look that good. No, actually, it took her an hour to try to look that good.”
“You’re wearing a suit,” I said.
“Do you like it?”
“Well, sure. You look great. I just wasn’t expecting you to get so dressed up.”
“I thought ‘maybe a suit will win her over.’ Women like a guy in a suit, right?”
“Right.”
“We’re going somewhere I think you’ll really like,” he said, helping me into my coat.
“Are we walking?” I asked.
“No, I got us a cab. I know it’s not the limousine service you probably received all weekend, but it’s the best I can do on short notice,” he teased. “I think he’s here already.”
We made our way down to the snowy street and got in the cab. It was warm inside and a relief from the journey I’d expected we’d be making on foot. Pete took my hand in his. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. His thumb circled the back of my hand as we chatted about his upcoming week and the new product he was about to endorse: a spray cleaner that could remove set-in blueberry and permanent ink stains with just one squirt.
“It sounds impossible,” I whispered.
“Until very recently, it was,” he replied.
The cab stopped in front of a warmly lit shop I didn’t know.
“What is this place?” I asked while Pete paid our cab driver.
“It’s one of my favorite places. I’ve been wanting to show it to you,” he said, taking my hand again as we got out. We crossed the street and went down five steps, into a space filled with delicious smells, Gypsy music, and cheery talk and laughter. In one corner of the room there were tables where people were eating and drinking. Along the other side was a long, beautiful bar. And in the back was a band, with people twirling each other around on the dance floor in front of us.
“You’ve been wanting to bring me here?” I asked.
“I have.”
“Where are we?”
“Would you believe,” asked Pete, “that this place doesn’t have a name?” He smirked, leading me to a cozy wooden booth that seemed to be carved into a nook in the wall.
Before I could answer, a beautiful, stick-skinny woman appeared, looking rather goth and serious. She deposited two menus on the table and drew in a deep breath, and then let out a long, bored-sounding sigh. “What do you want to drink?” she asked me.
“Umm. A glass of cabernet?” I said, inadvertently raising the last syllable into a nervous question.
“Sure,” she said. “And you?” she asked, turning to Pete.
“I’ll have a Pilsner Urquell,” he said.
She started laughing and then regained her composure, turning very serious. “Sure, of course,” she said.
“That was weird,” I whispered to Pete after she had walked away.
“This place is great, except that they have notoriously bad waitstaff. But it’s worth it.”
“So what’s the story?”
“The owners are a married couple. He’s from West Africa and she’s from Hungary or Prague or some place like that. Their food is a mix of Eastern European and West African,” he said, pointing to the menu. There was chicken with steamed cabbage, goulash, peanut stew… “And so is the music,” he said, just as the Gypsy music was seguing into drumbeats.
“Fascinating,” I said.
“I know! There’s no other place like this in the whole world!”
“And it has no name?”
“Nope.”
“What name shows up on your online checking account when you use your debit card here?”
“Good question. I like your inquisitive nature. However, they only take cash.”
The waitress reappeared, setting down my wine in front of Pete and his beer in front of me. “What are you going to order?” she asked me.
“Hmm,” I said, taking another quick look at the menu to remind myself what I had chosen.
She turned to Pete. “Are you ready yet?”
“As soon as my date makes her choice,” he said politely.
“I’m ready now,” I said. “I’d like the peanut stew with…”
“With firm, cubed tofu over a bed of couscous,” she interrupted, finishing the description for me. “Got it.” She snatched my menu from me and turned back to Pete.
“I’d like the goulash,” he said.
“How original,” she said, walking away without collecting his menu.
Pete looked at me and started to laugh. “I’m sorry, Emma. I had no idea this was going to be so insane.”
“Is she one of your ex-girlfriends?” I asked, half serious, considering how crazy she was acting.
“I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
“Maybe she hates infomercials?”
“That’s possible,” he said. “I once endorsed a juicer that left bits of metal in the juice. She must have gotten one of them.”
“Or perhaps this is one of those places where rude service is part of the experience?” I suggested.
“Judging from tonight, I’d agree with you, but since it’s sometimes more mediocre than bad, I think this is genuinely rotten.”
“Genuine, authentic rottenness. I like anything better when it’s real, don’t you?”
“Of course,” he said, passing me my glass of wine. He picked up his beer and raised it to me, in a toast. “To authentic rottenness,” he said.
“And to Eastern European, West African cuisine,” I said. We clinked glasses and each took a sip. He looked into my eyes when he did so; I hate when people don’t.
“It’s better than it sounds,” he promised. “Well, you’ll see, in just a little bit.”
“How did you find this place?” I asked him.
“I passed by it for a year or so, and I thought it was somebody’s apartment who was always having a party and cooking good food. I always thought ‘I’ve got to meet those people.’ One night I was coming home and I’d had a little bit to drink, and I thought ‘I’m going for it.’ I walked right in and realized it was an actual bar. Or restaurant. Whatever this place is. I couldn’t believe I wasted all that time wondering about this place, when I could have been here, being part of it.”
“Here’s some bread,” said our waitress, reappearing with a basket. She stood before us, glaring, waiting for something. Pete and I looked at each other, unsure what was going on.
“You still have your menu?” she asked Pete, accusingly.
“Here you go,” he said, picking it up and handing it to her.
She grunted, exchanging the bread for it, and walked away. Pete and I burst into giggles.
“She isn’t real. You hired her. She’s an actress,” I said, when I stopped laughing.
“I told you, she’s real. Authentically rotten.”
“I’m glad you dragged me out here,” I said. “This is definitely better than sitting at home.”
“Your compliments are so generous,” he said.
“Let me rephrase that: This is definitely better than pretty much anything I’ve done lately. Do you like that better?”
“In that case, why don’t you forget the whole Bellamy thing?”
“Oh come on, Pete,” I said, taking a sip of my wine. “Are you really that threatened by it?”
“I didn’t say I was threatened. I’m just wondering what we’re doing here.”
“You’re overreacting. Don’t you want to watch me on TV? Why do you get to be on TV but I don’t?”
“So now it’s just a game?”
“Well, in a way. I mean, it’s a show. A game show. Reality TV. Not necessarily reality.”
“If that’s how you feel, why are you doing it? Are they going to pay you?”
“Do I seem like I need or care about money?”
“No.”
“They’re not paying me. Although I think I might get some jewelry and a couple of free evening gowns out of it. That would be exciting.”
“So why are you doing it?”
“I don’t know. For Bellamy, I guess.”
He looked down. “Okay.”
“Come on, Pete. Let’s just have fun. Let’s talk about something else. Anything else.”
“What if he falls in love with you?”
“He’s not going to, but if he did, that would be cool.”
“I think he will,” said Pete.
“I don’t even know for sure if I’m on the show. It’s possible I’m the alternate. How about if we worry about it when it happens.”
“But you’re going to quit your job tomorrow?”
“I’m not going to quit it unless I know for absolute positive that I’ve made it on there. Do you think I’m that irresponsible?”
“You know what?” he said with a shrug. “You’re right. I’m just going to be ‘in the moment.’ That’s how I do things normally, so I’m not sure why I’m getting off track now. Have some bread,” he said, offering the basket to me.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said, taking a piece.
“I’m surprised you don’t have any pets,” he said, between bites of his bread. “You seem like you would have a cat. Or maybe a dog.”
I considered reminding him about Bellamy’s animal rescue work, but instead said, “I’d love to have a pet, but I’m not home enough.”
“I’m home quite a bit. I could help out with it.”
“So we’re moving to the co-parenting step already? I can handle that. Since you’re stepping up, let’s get a higher maintenance pet, like a raccoon, or a monkey.”
“Here you go,” said our waitress, abruptly appearing in front of us. She set our food on the table, and then, sighing deeply, sat down beside me in our booth. “I’m so tired,” she said. “I’m just going to sit here for a sec. My boss can’t see me from here. I’ve been working for four hours.”
Pete and I exchanged baffled glances.
“You can eat,” she said, annoyed. “Pretend I’m not here. I just need to sit down for a minute, you know?”
“My food’s still pretty hot,” said Pete. “I think I’ll wait for it to cool off.”
“Me too,” I said.
We both took some more bread, nibbling on it and staring at the wall.
“I’m Cassie, by the way,” said our waitress. “I might have already told you that.”
“Nope, I don’t think so,” said Pete.
“I’m Emma,” I said, “and this is Pete.”
Pete chewed his bread in silence.
“So are you two married?”
“No,” I said.
“Are you the guy from that vacuum cleaner commercial?” asked Cassie, a sudden spark of recognition in her eyes.
“No,” Pete said immediately, stuffing more bread in his mouth.
“You aren’t? Yes you are! You totally are. If you aren’t, then what do you do? Answer me quick.”
“I’m an IT guy.”
“Oh,” she said. “Listen you two, I have to go before I get caught sitting here or before one of those fucking fiddle players tattles on me. Just flag me down if you need anything. Can you pay soon? I’m going to try to leave early.”
“Yep,” said Pete.
She removed herself from our booth, ignoring our empty drinks, and disappeared into the ladies’ room.
Pete flagged down a different waitress and ordered another round for us, and then, finally, we each took a bite of our meals.
“Worth the wait,” I said, savoring a chunk of carrot covered in rich, peanuty deliciousness.
“Do you want to try mine?” Pete asked.
“I don’t eat meat,” I told him.
“How did I never know that?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. Do you want to try mine?” I asked him.
“I’ve had it before, but thanks.”
I cringed a little, waiting for the inevitable barrage of questions about what had made me do it: Were my family members all vegetarians? Was I raised in a cult? Was I grossed out to see people eating meat? Could he finish his meal or should he order something else? Did I consider fish to be meat? What about chicken? Were those real leather shoes I was wearing? Yes? Then why didn’t I just eat meat if I was going to wear leather? Did I think I was superior to meat eaters? Maybe just a little? Did I sneak some when no one was looking? Were my reasons for health, or the environment, or religious, or spiritual, or ethical, or something carnivores hadn’t even thought of yet?
To my relief, Pete just took a bite of his goulash and said, “That’s cool.”
“Uh oh, here she comes again,” I whispered, as our waitress came slinking our way.
“Listen you two,” she said, “I’ve got to go now.” She lowered her voice and added, “It’s time.” She reached one of her arms over her shoulder, twisting and cracking her back. She repeated the motion with the other arm.
“No problem. Could we have our bill?” asked Pete.
“Didn’t I give it to you already?”
“No.”
“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.
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