by Robin Roseau
“Damned lawyer,” I said, but I smiled. “All right. I’ve never attended a masquerade. I think that might be fun.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s a good one.”
“I’d want it to be a serious masquerade, where people really put a lot into their costumes. There should be dancing, too.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed. “How about a simple one?”
“All right.”
“I’ve never flown a kite, either,” she said. “I think I’d like to do that.”
“That’s sweet,” I said. I looked over at her, and she was smiling. I offered her my hand for a moment before placing it back on the wheel.
“You thought I’d have something really obscure, like go cave diving or something?”
“Yeah, I suppose I did.”
“There are so many things in the world to do,” she said.
Just then, we turned a corner, and Gambol’s was directly in front of us. I pulled into their lot and parked. We got out together, meeting at the back of the car, and we looked at each other. I reached out and took her hand, and we walked to the entrance together.
I couldn’t tell you what it was about her. She was a high powered lawyer, exceedingly rich, brilliant, sophisticated. But she was making me feel young. I looked at her hand, clasped in mine, before we reached the door.
“Solange?”
“Sidney?”
I looked at her hand. “This is nice.”
“I think so, too,” she said.
“We’re going a little fast for a first date.”
“Do we need to slow down?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good. I didn’t want to.”
Once inside, we presented ourselves to the hostess station. Solange was right; they knew her there.
“Ms. Casper,” said the woman manning the station. “It’s so good to see you tonight. We have your table waiting as you requested.” She turned to the young woman — a teenage girl — standing next to her, handing the girl two menus and speaking too quietly for me to hear.
“If you’ll follow me,” the girl said. She led us to a quiet booth near the windows. We had a beautiful view of Lake Minnetonka. It was a small booth, designed for two, and when we sat down, our knees were touching. But we could both look at each other — and hold hands, if we desired — and watch the lake as we might prefer.
“This is nice,” I said. “Did you know about this table?”
“I did,” she said. “But before you ask, no, I’ve never taken someone here on a date.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” I said. “Wonder? Yes. Ask? No.”
Solange laughed lightly.
We picked up our menus, but when I looked over, Solange was watching me, not looking through the menu.
“Did you already know what you wanted?”
“I am struggling with something.”
“Oh?”
“I am accustomed to taking the lead in my relationships. But you asked me, and I am trying not to become dominant.”
“I suspect you have something specific in mind.”
“I do,” she said. “Perhaps I could offer a suggestion that might please me, but only if it would also please you.”
“Of course.”
“I have some, well, perhaps archaic views about the sharing of food. I hesitate to use the word ‘sacred’, but that’s close.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I will be specific. Unless it would disturb you, I wonder if we couldn’t order two dishes that would please each of us, and share.”
“Oh. No, that wouldn’t disturb me. I think it would be lovely. What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know your tastes.”
“Perhaps tell me your favorites.”
“Do you like seafood? You didn’t order any in Salt Lake City.”
“You were paying attention?”
“Yes.”
I was flattered.
“Yes, I like seafood, although not necessarily the more exotic varieties.”
“No to jellyfish?”
I smiled. “I’m not fond of calamari or oysters, either, although I like scallops, if prepared gently.”
“They have a wonderful scallops appetizer here,” she said. “Or the crab cakes.”
I smiled. “I once spent a week in New England in search of the perfect crab cakes.”
“Did you find them?”
“About six times,” I said with a laugh.
“Do you have a preference?” she asked.
“Between scallops and crab cakes? No, as long as we’re sharing.”
She smiled. “I like both as well, but I think the scallops are better.”
I looked at the menu. “Is that enough seafood? Or would you like the walleye?”
“Broiled?” I nodded. “And our second dish…” She looked through the menu. “Lamb?”
“Ooh, a real contrast to the fish.”
“It’s done in a delicate cream sauce,” she explained.
“Perfect,” I declared.
“Vegetables are done al a carte,” she pointed out. “One order is more than enough.”
“Preferences?” I asked.
She smiled. “I like them all.”
“The asparagus then, if you’re serious.” She nodded.
“This seems like it’s going to be a lot of food.”
“It is,” she said. “And I have dessert for us back at the house.”
“You baked?”
“Heavens no. I barely know how. But I keep ice cream in supply, and the cook made chocolate brownies.”
“You have a cook? Of course you do.”
“She cooks for the staff,” Solange explained. “I eat whatever she makes for them, when I’m home. More likely, I get leftovers.”
I looked away, reminded of our differences.
Solange chose to ignore my body language. “I never got ice cream when I was young. For me, it’s a relatively recent discovery, and I fell in love with the first bite. So now I keep about eight varieties in the house. The cook does all the usual shopping, but I stop by once or twice a week and buy whatever flavor strikes my fancy.”
“Do you eat it all yourself?” I asked, turning back to face her.
“No. The staff again. There’s a special place in the freezer. When I come home, I put the new ones there, and they leave them alone. Once I’ve opened them, I move them to the regular place, and then everyone knows he can take what he wants. For a while, I was buying more nearly every day until the cook brought me to the freezer and showed me how much space was being consumed by tins of ice cream.”
I laughed.
“I think I had half the freezer full.”
“That’s a lot of ice cream.”
“Especially when you realize it’s a walk-in freezer.”
I laugh again.
“The staff likes to have a picnic twice a year, and one year there was an entire pig hanging in the freezer. In front of my ice cream, I will point out.”
That offered another chance to laugh. “Did you yell at them?”
“No. I brought the cook down with me and raised one eyebrow. She had a cow. So to speak.”
“Oh, that was bad,” I said.
The waitress came by. Solange ordered for us, only asking my opinion on what I wanted to drink. It was as she watched the waitress leave that her expression changed, and she turned to me.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m trying to take over again.”
“It’s all right,” I said.
“It’s a bad habit,” she replied. “If you did that to me, I’d have been upset.”
I shrugged. “If you had ordered without the conversation, I probably would have been. But how many different ways can you say ‘scallop appetizer’?” I smiled. “You’re accustomed to getting your own way.”
“Yes, I am.”
“On this stuff, I couldn’t really care less, but I’ll vex you if you ever try to make me do something
I don’t want to do.”
“Oh, I’m not that bad,” she said.
I thought about it. “Okay, speaking hypothetically, and getting way, way ahead of ourselves…”
“All right.”
“Imagine we’re sharing a house.”
“Oh, so we’re talking about our third date?”
I laughed. Lesbians were famous for diving into relationships with both feet.
“And we’re going somewhere.”
“Sure.”
“We walk to the cars. Mine is parked next to yours. Who drives?”
She laughed. “I would just assume I would, but you have seen I am perfectly fine letting someone else drive. My turn. Let’s say we’re both used to the same side of the bed. Who wins?”
“You do.”
“Why me?”
“Because I don’t care, and I would never fight about something that minor, anyway.”
“All right. Pick something you might care about.”
I thought about it. “All right. You decided you were driving, and we went out for dinner. I order a glass of wine. What do you order?”
“Wine to go with yours,” she said.
I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Is there something wrong with that answer?” she asked. I nodded my head slowly.
“It’s one glass of wine with dinner.”
“Even one glass of wine has an effect,” I said. “It might be small, especially if we linger. But airline pilots have to wait eight hours. I follow the same rule. And if you expect me to get into a car with you, so do you.”
She stared at me, and I think she was shocked by my stance.
“Are you an alcoholic, Solange?” I asked her.
“Of course not.”
“So you’re perfectly capable of having a meal without wine.”
She looked away.
“Seriously?” I asked. “You can’t have a meal without a glass of wine? Should I ask my question again?”
She turned back and began speaking to me. In fluent French. I had no idea what she was saying.
“I’m sorry,” I said when she finished. “I have no idea what you just said.”
“I’m French, Sidney,” she said.
“You speak English with a midwestern accent.”
“Vocal coaches.”
“Your passport?”
“American. But I have French attitudes about food.”
“Then you can change your decision about who drives, Solange.”
She studied me, but didn’t say anything.
“You asked me to pick something that mattered to me. And a few weeks ago, you told me to stand up to you when it’s important to me.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I did. I’m actually not used to it, and I find myself somewhat surprised by my reaction.” She paused. “You’re right.”
“To be clear, what you do when I’m not with you is your choice, but when I am with you, that changes.”
“You’re right,” she said again. “But you may have to remind me in the future.”
“You didn’t order wine tonight.”
“You didn’t,” she said. “If you had, I would have as well.”
“So you are capable of a meal without wine.”
“Of course. I didn’t have any on our trip. But wine is like the rest of the meal. It is shared. And that is important to me, Sidney.”
“So that means neither of us drink?”
“Or we let someone drive us.”
“I suppose you have a driver.”
“Not a devoted driver, but yes. I can arrange for a driver.”
The waitress came by, delivering our drinks and a bread plate. When she left, Solange said, “So we’re both accustomed to getting our own way? Are you typically dominant in your relationships?”
“No,” I said. “But when something is important to me, I can be an immovable mountain. This is especially important to me.”
“Even one glass of wine?” she asked.
“Eight hours,” I said. “Solange, promise me.”
She stared at me. “You’re telling me something else.”
“Yes,” I said. “I am telling you this is important to me, and while this is only our first date, and we’re getting way ahead of ourselves, this is one of very, very few issues on which I will not compromise. At all.”
“Tell me why, Sidney,” she ordered in a soft voice.
I looked away. “Bad topic.”
“Tell me.”
I looked out across the water. Sometimes it struck me, and I felt the tears sneak into the corners of my eyes.
“Sidney?” Solange asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Daddy wasn’t drunk,” I said. “It was two drinks, I guess. My aunt talked to me about it years later. He wasn’t a small man. Not fat, but not small. My aunt says he and my uncle had similar builds. My dad’s younger brother. Mom and Daddy both died. It was a one-car accident. There was a deer, I guess. Maybe the alcohol didn’t matter. But maybe if he hadn’t had any at all, his reactions would have been better.”
I wiped the tears away.
“Oh Sidney,” she said. “I didn’t know.”
I turned back. “We are never fighting about this. I’ll probably let you get your way on almost everything, but not on this.”
“Of course,” she replied.
“I’m not neurotic about anything else.”
“I didn’t think you were,” she said. “Sidney, it’s okay. Thank you for telling me.”
I turned away. My mood had plummeted, and I didn’t know how to fix it. Solange took my hand and caressed my arm for a minute.
“Did you grow up with your aunt?”
“Foster. She wasn’t my aunt yet. She was my mom’s best friend, but she was living in California at the time. I was sixteen, I think, when she and Uncle Ted got married. They asked me if I wanted to live with them, but by then, I was in a pretty good foster home, and they were freshly married. I talked to my foster mom about it, and she said she’d support whatever decision I made, but pointed out what it’s like to be a newlywed, trying to make it work with your new husband. I understood.”
I turned back to face her. “Did I scare you off?”
“No, Sidney,” she replied.
“All right. I’d like you to spend from now until the scallops arrive fixing my mood. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know someday, but it’s our first date.”
“Right,” she agreed. “What is the difference between a female lawyer and a pit bull?”
“Oh god,” I said. “What?”
“Lipstick.”
I smiled.
“What’s the difference between God and a lawyer?” she asked. She didn’t wait for me to try to answer. “God doesn’t think he’s a lawyer.”
She went on with lawyer jokes until the waitress appeared with the scallops. By the fourth, I was smiling consistently, and I laughed loudly at a few.
“Thank you,” I told her over the scallops.
“You’re welcome, Sidney,” she said.
The scallops were perfectly done, lightly caramelized on the outside and served over a small bed of greens. There were three of them, and we enjoyed them slowly. Solange cut the third one up before I could get to it, then she speared a piece and offered it to me.
I took it slowly, watching her eyes the entire time. She took the next for herself, then fed me the next bite, back and forth until it was gone. I found I couldn’t take my eyes from her.
We talked about light topics for a while. I think she was giving me more distance from the conversation earlier.
She asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. “An astronaut,” I answered. “You?”
“A mother,” she replied immediately. “That isn’t to be.”
“You’re still young,” I said.
She scoffed, but then schooled her expression. “Life has taken other turns,” she said instead. “My career…”
“I suppose.” I couldn’t imagin
e being a mother and balancing my career, either, although if I were going to get more work like what Ed had given me, I wouldn’t have to work as much to be comfortable. I said that out loud, and Solange laughed.
We traded travel stories, and I discovered she had been a lot of places I hadn’t. As I’d never been to Europe, and she had been born there, that wasn’t too hard.
I moved closer to her, and under the table, took her hand. A minute later, when she didn’t object, I leaned against her and laid my head on her shoulder. We sat quietly for several minutes.
“We couldn’t have done this not that many years ago,” I observed.
“I know,” she replied. “The world keeps changing. I love it.”
The meal came. We separated a little to eat, but I knew I’d be back against her side once the meal was over. Both dishes were fabulous.
“Okay,” she said. “Pet peeves. My biggest: people who are incompetent at the jobs.”
“I know!” I said. “Yeah, me too. Or people who pretend to know what they’re talking about when they don’t.”
“Those guys are fun to rip to pieces though,” she said, “and I don’t surround myself with people who don’t get it.” She smiled. “Gas pumps that shut off early when filling my car.”
“Oh, I hate that,” I said. “Giving a cashier crisp, twenty-dollar bills and getting change that looks like it came from some six-year-old’s pocket after a day of swimming in his shorts.”
“Eww,” she said. She paused. “Freezer burn of my favorite ice cream.”
“I thought you went through it so fast, that wasn’t a risk.”
“Sometimes I go digging for a flavor I remember from a month or so ago, only to realize it was more than that,” she admitted. “Got any pet peeves based on an ex-girlfriend?”
“Not a one,” I said. “But I bet they do.”
She laughed.
“You?”
“Absolutely not,” she replied.
We grinned at each other.
Eventually I was full, full, full. I pushed my plate away, made sure my hands were clean, then moved over to lean against Solange again. I laid my head on her shoulder, closed my eyes, and sighed happily.
“Sleepy?” she asked.
“No. Happy.”
The waitress stopped by, asked about dessert, and accepted my credit card instead. She was prompt, and five minutes later, I was holding my car door for Solange. Instead, she stopped, facing me from a foot away, and lifted her hand to my cheek.