Waiting for Mr. Darcy

by Chamein Canton

  “You know, whenever you do that I never know whether you’re going to kill me or hug me. You must be at least four inches taller than me.”

  “I’m four and a half inches taller than you,” she corrected.

  “I stand corrected. No pun intended.”

  She began walking him to the door. “Victor, you have plenty of time to pull it together and make it fabulous like only you can.”

  “Are you playing to my ego?”

  “Yes. Is it working?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.”

  “Me, too,” he said as he opened the door. “Wait a second.” He bent down and picked up a bouquet of roses. “Look what I found.”

  “Was that here before?”

  “No, I think I would have noticed. It’s a huge bouquet.” He handed her the flowers. “There’s a card.”

  The heady fragrance of the flowers overwhelmed her senses. “They’re intoxicating.” She opened the card.

  Looking forward to tomorrow night. Nigel.

  Gabby felt herself blush.

  Victor was intrigued. “Oh, was it X-rated?”

  “No. It was sweet.”

  “It smells like romance is in the air this summer.”

  “Indeed it is, Victor, and I for one am going to take as many deep breaths as possible.” She beamed.

  * * *

  Lauren had gone through the contents of her closet without coming to a decision. She flopped onto her bed. “What am I going to wear?” She let out a heavy sigh. “There’s only one thing to do.” She picked up the phone.

  Alicia was working on her laptop, surrounded by reports. “Hello?”

  “Help me, Alicia. I don’t know what to wear.” She sounded desperate.

  “You’re kidding me, right? What time is he picking you up?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  Alicia looked at the clock. “It’s almost seven-thirty. You’re cutting it close. Please tell me you have your makeup on.”

  “I do.”

  Alicia was quiet for a moment. “What about that IGIGI outfit with the georgette blouse and pencil skirt? I think that would be sexy and romantic.”

  The light went on over Lauren’s head. “I completely forgot I’d ordered it. I must have blown right by it.”

  “You have a sickness when it comes to clothes, Lauren. How is it you can’t remember what you just bought?”

  “I know.” Lauren looked over at her closet, which was as large as one of her guest bedrooms.

  “Are you set now?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Call me later.”

  “I will.” She hung up and got dressed in a hurry. By 7:52 she waited in the living room, dressed to thrill.The intercom buzzed.

  “Yes?”

  “Ms. Jones, I have a Mr. Rivera here for you. Shall I send him up?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Bo.”

  She got up and checked out her reflection in the mirror. Should I give my hair a little shake? She examined it carefully. Why not? Lauren gave it a little shake, then looked at her work. “Not bad.” She smiled.

  The doorbell rang.

  When she opened it, there stood Randy in a beautiful chocolate brown suit that complemented his butterscotch skin tone to perfection. He looked good enough to eat and Lauren was hungry.

  “Buenos dias. You look wonderful.”

  “Thank you. So do you.”

  He put his arm out. “Shall we?”

  “Yes.” She took his arm and they walked to the elevator. “I’m curious. Where does a chef go for dinner?”

  The elevator opened and they walked in. “That, my dear, is a surprise.” He smiled as the doors closed.

  Half an hour later they were seated in at AOC L’aile ou la Cuisse, an adorable little bistro in Greenwich Village.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s a nice place.” Lauren looked around at the comfortable, homey décor.

  “The food is very good here.”

  “Do you know the chef?” she asked before she sipped her water.

  “Yes. He’s a good guy.”

  She opened the menu. “All right then, what do you recommend?”

  He opened the menu, too. “Let’s see.” He studied the contents. “There are a lot of good choices here. What do you feel like?”

  “I know we’re in a French restaurant, but I’m in the mood for pasta.”

  “Ah, great minds think alike. They have some terrific pasta, with a French flair of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “How do you feel about pasta du sud? It’s fresh pasta with green olives, a fresh tomato sauce with basil, and Reggiano parmesan cheese. It’s good and it’s perfect for a light summer dinner.”

  “Mmm, you sold me.”

  The waiter came over. “Bonjour. May I start you with something to drink from the bar?”

  Lauren made a face. “I think I’ll stick to mineral water with a twist tonight.”

  Randy laughed. “You can make that two.”

  “Wonderful. Are you ready to order or would you like me to bring your beverages first?”

  “We’re ready to order. We’re both having the pasta du sud.” He handed him the menu.

  “Very good, sir, I’ll be back with your beverages.”

  “By the way, is Rafael in tonight?”

  “No, he was here earlier.”

  “I’m sorry I missed him. Please tell him Randy asked for him.”

  “I will.” He walked away.

  He reached across the table and took Lauren’s hand in his. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

  “You have?” Her heart fluttered.

  “Oh, yes. I was distracted the whole day, which isn’t good when you’re working around hot pots and sharp knives.”

  She rubbed his hand. “It looks like you’re still intact.”

  The waiter brought the beverages back.

  “Thank you,” Randy said.

  “This is a good time to get to know each other better now that we have our land legs, so to speak.” She stopped to sip her beverage.

  “Indeed it is, especially without the pomegranate haze.”

  Lauren was embarrassed. “I’m so sorry about that. I don’t usually drink that much.”

  “It’s okay. Under the circumstances you were justified.”

  “Yes, it’s not every day you become a three-time loser at love.” She looked away.

  “It was their loss.”

  “Thanks.”

  He looked around. “Are you sure Ken isn’t going to come in here and tackle me for saying that?”

  She laughed. “You’re safe, believe me. Ken and I have been over for a while. Last night finally put a period on it and ended the story.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, it’s okay.” She exhaled.

  “On that note we’ll change the subject.”

  “Good. Tell me a little more about you.”

  “My father’s from Puerto Rico. He and my mother met while he was vacationing in Madrid, Spain.”

  “That sounds romantic.”

  “I guess it was. After a whirlwind courtship they married and settled in Madrid. We moved to America when I was four.”

  “Wow.” She sighed dreamily. “Spain is one of my favorite countries. It must have been a little bit of a culture shock for your mother.”

  “My father said she was homesick for a while, but we lived in one of Manhattan’s many colorful neighborhoods and she made friends easily.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Were your parents in the restaurant business?”

  “Not exactly. My father owned a small produce market, but he always had specialty items from Spain, Puerto Rico and the Caribbean so people could bring a little of their homeland to their American kitchens.”

  “He was a good businessman. Does he still have the store?”

  “No. He sold it a few years ago. He and my mothe
r moved to Miami. They’re really happy there.”

  “They’re enjoying their golden years.”

  “It’s more like their platinum years. My father made a killing when he sold the store.” He laughed.

  “Good for him.”

  He sipped his water. “So you’ve been to Spain.”

  “I fell in love with it during the Olympics in Barcelona.”

  He laughed. “I went to the Olympics in 1992. Or I should say I worked them as a chef.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. It was a part of a culinary exchange program between the restaurant I worked for and its sister in Barcelona.” He paused. “The experience really reconnected me with my culinary roots.”

  “That sounds profound.”

  “It was. You see, I spent every other summer in Spain. My parents would send my older brother Thomas and me to visit our grandparents. That’s where I found my love for cooking and Spanish food. I’d spend hours in the kitchen cooking with my grandmother, and then my grandfather would teach me about grapes and wine making.”

  “Did you work in your father’s store?”

  “I did. My father taught me how to choose the best produce, and I can haggle with the best of them. I guess I was destined to go into food. I was lucky to have found my passion early in life. But I will tell you I thought I’d lost it after years of breaking my neck in countless restaurants trying to make a name for myself.”

  “So the Olympics re-lit your torch.” She regretted the sentence the moment it left her lips. “Sorry, that was totally corny.”

  “That’s okay, I appreciated the effort.” He chuckled.

  “Thanks.” She sipped her water. “So did you go to culinary school in the States or Europe?”

  “I went to the Hyde Park, New York, campus of the Culinary Institute of America.”

  “That’s great. A lot of terrific chefs and personalities graduated from that school.”

  “I know. I graduated with some of them.”

  “Really, anyone I know?” Her curiosity was piqued.

  “I went to school at the same time as Michael Chiarello and Todd English, even though they were ahead me. Then there was Rocco DiSpirito, but he graduated a couple of years after I did.”

  “Those are some really big names. Did you know them well?”

  “We spoke and everyone was really friendly in spite of the ‘me-ism’ of the eighties.”

  Lauren was taken off guard by the mention of the eighties. “When did you graduate?”

  “In 1984. Why?”

  “No reason. I thought I was older than you.”

  “When did you graduate?”

  “The same year.”

  “We’re both forty-six years young.” He winked.

  “I like the way that sounds.”

  “Okay, now it’s my turn to ask the questions.”

  “All right, shoot.”

  “Are you a native New Yorker?”

  “As a matter of fact I am. I grew up in Bayside, Queens. I’m a bridge-and-tunnel girl.”

  “Does that mean you’re a Mets fan, too?”

  “I don’t really follow baseball, but I’m a traitor. I like the Yankees.”

  “Me, too.” He paused. “You said last night you were in television.”

  Lauren nodded as she tried to recall their conversation.

  He chuckled softly. “I take it our conversation was bathed in pomegranate.”

  “I’m sorry, but it was. I don’t remember much of what we talked about last night. I could have told you I was the queen of England.”

  “That’s all right. You’ll just have to take my word for it.” He paused. “But I have to ask, is everything from last night a hazy memory?”

  “Not everything.” She smiled knowingly.

  “That’s good to know,” he said, satisfied. “To get back on track, were you always interested in a career in the media?”

  “Yes, although I never wanted to be in front of the camera. To me the real power and action was behind the scenes.”

  “That’s why you became a producer.”

  “Exactly.”

  The waiter returned with their dinner. “Here you go, madame et monsieur.” He put the plates down. “Careful, the plates are hot. Bon appetite.”

  “Thank you.” Lauren inhaled the aroma. “This smells wonderful.”

  “Dig in.”

  She curled the pasta around her fork and took a bite. “Oh, this is heavenly.”

  “I told you the French were pretty good at pasta.”

  “I’m a convert.” She smiled.

  They ate quietly for a few minutes.

  “So continue with your journey to successful television producer.”

  Lauren put her fork down and wiped her mouth. “I don’t know if there’s much more to tell. I majored in film and television studies at Dartmouth, and after I graduated I got a job in public television as a lowly gopher, but it helped me learned the ins and outs of producing.”

  “You went to Dartmouth. That’s a long way from Bayside, Queens. It must have been a culture shock.”

  “I suppose it would have been if I hadn’t gone to Miss Porter’s Boarding School in Connecticut for high school. After four years there I was ready for anything.”

  “Connecticut? That’s practically another country.”

  “You have no idea how right you are.” She picked up her fork again.

  They continued eating until they both finished.

  “This was a real treat. Thank you, Randy.”

  “You’re welcome, but the night is not over yet. There is still dessert.” He raised his eyebrows.

  Lauren felt warm. “I don’t know if I have any room for dessert.”

  “Then we’ll share.” He picked up the dessert menu. “Let’s see. The chocolate mousse is incredible, although the Belgian chocolate gelato gives it a run for its money. Do you like gelato?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He called the waiter over.

  As the waiter cleared the table, he asked, “Would you like to order dessert?”

  “Yes. We’ll have the Belgian chocolate gelato with two spoons, please.”

  “Very good, sir. I’ll be back with your dessert momentarily.”

  “Thank you.” Randy reached over and took Lauren’s hand in his again.

  “How are you enjoying life on the other side of the kitchen tonight?”

  His eyes locked on hers. “I love it.”

  The waiter returned with dessert. “Here you are.” He handed them two spoons. “Enjoy.”

  They each raised their spoon. “Here’s to more nights on the other side,” he said.

  “I second that.”

  They toasted with their spoons before digging in. It was obvious that dessert time was far from over.

  * * *

  A little while later Lauren and Randy were locked in an ardent embrace outside her apartment door. Keys in hand, Lauren struggled to get the key in the door.

  Randy pulled away and put his hand over hers. “Allow me.” He opened the door.

  A moment later they continued where they’d left off.

  Lauren could barely breathe as he kissed her neck and shoulders. “Oh, my,” she said breathlessly. Her body trembled as he slowly undid her blouse while never missing an inch of her skin with his lips until he reached her breasts. Soon her blouse and bra were on the floor. He reached around to the back of her dress and unzipped it so that it joined her blouse on the floor. He stood back to admire her. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Although she was touched she felt a little shy. Even though they’d been together before, she put her hands over her chest.

  “Let me see all of you.”

  Slowly she lowered her hands to the side and he took his tie and shirt off. His body was firm and chiseled. Lauren was wracked with anticipation.

  “You’re all mine and I’m all yours tonight.” He lifted her up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

 
Randy laid her on the bed and lowered himself onto her for a kiss. Before she could wrap her arms around him, he worked his lips and tongue down her body until he reached her stomach. Then he purposefully removed her last barrier and tossed the panties on the floor. Lauren could hear her heart pounding in her ears as he removed his pants. He was as lean and muscular as a thoroughbred. Soon their bodies came together as one. The passion Lauren thought she’d lost in her life was there, pulsating through every inch of her being.

  A little later Lauren had her head on Randy’s chest while he gently stroked her shoulders. All the noise that usually filled her head about work and her failed relationships had vanished. She was content to live in the moment and not worry about what was to come.

  “What’s the going rate for thoughts these days?” Randy asked.

  “Considering what the dollar’s worth right now, I think a penny for thoughts still works.”

  He quietly chuckled. “A penny for your thoughts.”

  “I was just thinking how nice it feels to be in the moment.”

  “Me, too,” he sighed. “It’s nice not worrying about what’s going on with the restaurant all the time. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do, but sometimes I need a break.”

  “I hear that.” She rubbed his chest. “This is nice.”

  “Yes, it is.” He stroked her hair. “I could get used to this.”

  “Me, too.”

  As soon as their eyes locked they kissed again. It was going to be a busy night.

  Chapter 6

  Although she hosted a nationally syndicated lifestyle show and was the creator/editor-in-chief of a wildly successful magazine, Alicia didn’t consider herself to be a real celebrity in the classic sense. She didn’t have an entourage, didn’t fret about the paparazzi and rarely used security. In fact, she lived her life under the radar and frequented many local businesses, especially Mrs. Green’s Natural Market, where she shopped early every Sunday morning.

  George, the manager, walked down the produce aisle.

  “Good morning, Ms. Archer. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “I can’t complain.” He turned to Harrison. “How about you, Harry?”

  “I can’t complain either.”

  Alicia examined a pint of blueberries.

  “What’s cooking this morning, Ms. Archer?”

  “I think I’m going to make blueberry muffins. I’ve had an idea in my head for a new twist on the recipe and I’d like to try it out today.”