Searching for the One

by Gabriella Murray

  Then she hung up, feeling worse than when she came home.

  CHAPTER 10

  Sara was determined not to let this last one get her down. Chloe's words had stung her. She couldn't bear the thought of her daughter seeing her as a fool. That, more than anything, drove her on. Rather than read another letter, she decided to take matters in her own hands. She would go straight to the horse's mouth - a Single's Dance at the Heart Grill, a steak house in the neighborhood, right down the road from The Swan. There was one going on the very next night.

  Sara didn't tell Cynthia or Greta she was going. When the time came, she just slipped on a black, wool, fitted dress, sheer black stockings, high heels, and extra crimson lipstick. After spraying a generous dose of her finest perfume, she quietly slipped out the back door.

  It was a short drive to the Heart Grill, but when she arrived, to Sara's amazement, there was a long line of cars waiting to get in. Two Valet Parkers were whisking the cars into the crowded, back parking lot. Sara watched the people in front of her get out of their cars in pairs. Two blonde women came out of one car together - two men in the next car. There was comfort in numbers for everyone; it was definitely easier than walking in alone.

  Sara looked the crowd over as they squeezed through the main door. The women, who looked younger than her, were dressed to kill. Many were in black, leather slacks, expensive jackets, and large hoop earrings. They walked with a strut, acting uninterested. A few guys hung out in a huddle at the front door, checking out the customers and trying to decide if it was worth twenty bucks to get inside. A few tried to pick up women before they went in.

  Sara thought of bolting, but was stuck in her car, and at the very least had to wait to get to Valet Parking to turn it around. When she finally got to the front of the line, fifteen minutes had gone by, and she just wanted to get out and breathe some fresh air.

  When the Valet Parker opened her door, she slipped out, took her ticket and told the guy she was only staying for half an hour. Please leave her car where she could get it fast.

  Without looking up, he said, "It's not that bad, honey. It's dark in there. Everyone survives."

  Sara held her head high as she walked to the front door and the cold wind slapped her face. As she walked into the narrow passageway, the sound of disco music blared from the back. Otherwise the place was foggy, lit with dull, red lights.

  Sara stood behind others on the long coat check line. Most people waiting were either speaking to their friends or looking at a spot on a far wall. They were packed too close to really see anyone. Some of the women secretly checked out the competition. Sara felt a few ladies looking at her; the race for guys was on.

  One of the guys standing in front of her turned, caught her eye, and tried to smile. Sara tried to smile back, but neither quite made it. Without a drink, or more anonymity, it was almost impossible.

  After she gave her coat to the coat check girl, Sara went to the bar, ordered white wine, and sat on a stool, wondering why in the world she ever came. Of course there was always the promise that something would happen. And it was almost March. Spring would be coming, then summer. For how many seasons would this go on? When would she find someone to go out with normally, even for a little while?

  After she got her wine, Sara sat sipping it slowly. She then felt a man, much taller, close up behind. Sara felt his presence, but couldn't bring herself to turn and say hello.

  He did first, finally. "Can I buy you a drink?" he asked.

  "I just bought one," Sara said.

  Usually the people who stayed at the bar spent time drinking; those who congregated around the dance floor stood there hoping to dance.

  He pulled over a stool and sat down behind her. "Damn crowded here tonight."

  "More than usual?" Sara asked.

  "Nah. It's always rotten crowded like this on Thursdays - people come to grab a date for the weekend. Where else can you go? Lorraine's parties are only once a month these days, and the jazz at the Dead Pan gets boring after awhile. Same, old faces. But no one wants to drive far in winter. It's a miracle I came out tonight at all."

  Sara looked at him closely. He had a big, square face, long curly hair, and eyes that kept darting around as he spoke.

  "My name is Howie," he reached out his hand.

  Sara felt she was in for the long run; she could immediately tell he was the kind of man who cornered a woman, pulled up close, bought her one drink after another and talked all night long. She didn't want to spend another second.

  "Hi, Howie."

  "Hi. I'm a stock broker for Merill Lynch."

  "Great."

  He stopped drinking and looked at her from under his curly hair.

  "What's so great about it? You chasing the buck too?"

  Sara started figuring how she could get away.

  "Divorced long?" he asked.

  "Not very."

  "Not me, either. Only four years. Last Thursday would have been our twenty fifth anniversary."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Not me. It was enough. By the time I got out of it, I had high cholesterol and a rapid heart rate. At least those got better. Now I got flat feet and a strangulated hernia. Six of one, half dozen of another."

  Sara drank her drink faster.

  "What's the rush? I upset you or something?"

  "No."

  "You're sure drinking fast. What are you? An alcho? There are plenty of them around."

  Sara put her glass down firmly.

  "I'll get you another."

  "No thanks, I came here to dance."

  Howie shook his head. "So, go dance. It's a bad choice, though. I'd say choose stocks that are stable, not the ones that go up and down. The guy's who are the dancers are the worst bets in town. Pretty boys, in love with themselves."

  "Well, it's been nice meeting you, Howie," Sara got up with a

  sudden, agonizing pain in her heart as he droned on.

  "As I said," he continued, trying to hold her there for another second or so, "I have flat feet, so I don't dance. I'll watch you from here. If you get tired of dancing, you could always come back and give me a hello. You want my card?"

  Sara felt dizzy. "Nice of you to offer."

  He reached into his back pocket, but then looked at her frankly.

  "You can only take my card if you're gonna call. I don't like sitting at the telephone, waiting."

  "I won't call, Howie."

  He stopped cold. "What'd you say?"

  "I won't call. I don't want you waiting."

  "Well, that's decent of you, anyhow."

  Sara wiggled away quickly, weaving between the thickening crowd. She went straight towards the back of the restaurant, then two steps down, to where men and women were either dancing feverishly or watching on the sidelines, waiting to be asked.

  Sara stood there a moment, completely abashed. She watched a few of the couples, dancing in the middle of the floor, putting on a terrific show. She decided to leave when, to her surprise, someone tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

  She turned. A slender, handsome, nimble man, in his early forties, stood behind her.

  "Cara Mia, care to dance?"

  He looked European, with brown eyes, short straight hair, very smooth skin and old fashioned charm.

  "Delighted," Sara said.

  Like a court suitor, he tipped his head, reached out his hand, took hers, and led her to the dance floor. Disco was still playing. The moment they got to the floor, he let loose - graceful and wild. He was a fantastic dancer, easy to follow. Sara started dancing, amazed how agile she still was. They danced one dance after another; with each dance she felt freer.

  After another round of disco, it was time for a few slow ones.

  "I never tire," he breathed, as he pulled her closer. "I also love the slow ones. You're a fantastic dancer, you know."

  "You are."

  "Together we're even better than before."

  The band played I Don't Love You, and everyone slowed d
own.

  "Smooching time," the MC announced.

  "It's a relief to find someone who can dance," he murmured.

  Sara hadn't danced like that, ever. She didn't realize she could, or how much she liked it. And the slow dance in his arms was wonderful too.

  "My name is Vincenzo," he whispered in her ear.

  "Beautiful," she crooned.

  "First generation, Milano."

  "Welcome, Vincenzo."

  He laughed. He had a light, bubbling laugh that brushed all cares away.

  "Why haven't I seen you here before, Cara Mia?"

  "Because this is your lucky night."

  They laughed together freely, like children at play, and after another round of disco and slow dances, finally made their way off the dance floor.

  "Come to the back with me, Cara Mia."

  He knew all the ins and outs of the place, and led her to a group of comfortable sofas at the far side of the restaurant.

  "Wait here and I'll get us sparkling refreshments. Though, with dancing like ours, who needs anything more?"

  In a few moments he returned with two glasses of club soda, gave one to her, sat down and cuddled besides her. As they drank he kept murmuring, "Beautiful, beautiful, my heart is racing."

  Sara was sure something big was happening. She had visions of Camella cheering her on, and Chloe, smiling in pleasure, proud of the exotic man her mother'd finally found. She saw herself dancing with Vincenzo forever.

  Sara took a tissue and gently wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He kissed her hand. Who ever thought she'd meet someone like him at the Heart Grill?

  Soon they got their coats, and he waited outside with her until Valet Parking brought her car.

  "I park my car across the street," he told her. "I can't bear long lines. When you're a regular, you know the tricks."

  Sara waited for him to ask for her number before she got into her car. He didn't.

  "Cara Mia, it's been a beautiful evening. I will see you soon. You can always find me here. Bonna Note. Bonna Note."

  "Bonna Note," she tried to smile.

  Sara got in her car and wondered why she felt as if something had gone awry. What was it? She couldn't quite tell.

  * * * * *

  When she walked through the front door, to Sara's surprise Chloe and Matt were up, lounging on the couch, watching the late News.

  "Where've you been?" Matt grumbled. "It's late."

  "Out."

  "We know that. But where?"

  Chloe was looking closely at Sara too.

  "I went to a local party for a few hours," Sara said in a small voice, feeling as though she were confronting parents who'd caught her slipping out the back door. "It's not that late."

  "It is for you, mom," Chloe joined in. "And we had no idea where you were. That's unusual."

  "It was just local. I only went for an hour."

  Matt, looking disconcerted and crumpled, got up from the couch to go to his room.

  "Wait a minute, Matt. Don't go yet," Sara went towards him. "Let's talk."

  "There's nothing to talk about mom," he said, pulling away. "You're home. You're safe. That's enough. I want to get to bed now. I've got lots of other things on my mind."

  Matt was preparing for his college entrance exams. It must be very hard, she realized, for a young man to have to prepare for college and also see his mother single again.

  "Good night, sweetheart," Sara said to him. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I only went for an hour or so."

  Chloe got up to go to bed as well. "At least I hope it was a terrific night," she said.

  "It was," Sara said softly.

  Chloe turned. "Really?"

  "Yes."

  "You met someone, finally?"

  "I think so."

  * * * * *

  Cynthia called her first thing the next morning, tremendously excited.

  "I heard all about what happened," she yelped over the phone. "Iris told me. She heard it from her friend Paula, who was at the Heart Grill last night. You little devil! Paula said you caught the Golden Ring! Dancing all night with Prince Charming, the most gorgeous guy in the place."

  Sara didn't know what to make of it.

  "Tell me about him. I can't wait to hear."

  "He's charming, handsome, sexy, everything. Italian, first generation, Milano."

  "My God."

  "Calm down, Cynthia."

  "I can't. I'm so happy for you - really truly."

  "Thanks very much."

  "It's about time."

  Sara shivered.

  "If you want to know the truth, we were all beginning to wonder. I mean, one horror story after another. It definitely looked as though something was very wrong."

  "With me?"

  "Naturally. I mean what kind of attractive woman can't find herself a half decent man?"

  Sara wanted to vomit. She had to remind herself that Cynthia meant to be kind and had no idea what she was saying.

  "Destiny, Cindy," Sara started.

  "Forget destiny. Tell me more about Him. Details. When are you seeing him again?"

  Sara couldn't tell Cynthia he didn't take her number.

  "Soon," she said.

  "When soon, darling?" Cynthia sounded shivery.

  "Whenever I want," she said. "I've got to go now. Good-bye."

  "What's the matter, mom?" Abel said, coming in and seeing Sara sitting at the kitchen table.

  "Nothing, sweetheart."

  "You look weird. Did dad call?"

  "Not today."

  "Well, he said he's gonna."

  Sara's heart sank. "Why?"

  "Nothing special," Abel said, pushing his baseball cap off his face, which it half covered. "Dad always asks me how things are going. I tell him things are fine. But he said he doesn't think Berta does a good job cleaning the house. When he drives by there are always things scattered around on the lawn. and he says the garage is a mess and the trash cans are knocked over.

  "That's not Berta's job. And it's not his business what goes on."

  "He says it is."

  "Let him think what he wants." Sara felt her face flush. "And what do you mean when he drives? When does he do that?"

  * * * * *

  Cynthia's words rang in Sara's mind all week long. She knew if she wanted to see Vincenzo again, she'd have to go back to the Heart Grill and find him. Fortunately, they had the same single's dance there every Thursday night.

  The next Thursday night, Sara pulled on another black dress, with the same sheer stockings and high heels. This time she put on a pair of hoop earrings and let her hair fall looser, around her face.

  Even though it was snowing, the lines of cars were just as long. Sara waited her turn, got out, took her ticket and walked bravely inside. She felt more at home this time, thinking Vincenzo was there, waiting. She looked forward to seeing him, to dancing all night long.

  After she checked her coat, she walked in and looked around. Vincenzo was nowhere to be seen.

  She went to the bar for her glass of white wine. Maybe he'd come later. While she waited, she saw Howie at the other end of the bar, talking to a woman who laughed at whatever he said. Sara wondered what was funny about a strangulated hernia? Or maybe he'd found something else to say.

  When she finished her drink she went back to the dance floor. It was half full, with many of the same people she'd seen dancing the week before. An attractive blonde man in his mid-forties came over and stood right next to her. After watching one or two dances, he finally mumbled, "Want to dance?"

  "Sure," Sara mumbled in return.

  He walked on the dance floor alone and she followed behind. They both started disco dancing, not touching at all.

  "I'm Bob," he said as they danced.

  "Sara," she called back over the din. He was actually very nice looking, in a tweed blazer and slacks.

  "Labor relations," he called back. "Negotiations. After we dance, I'll show you my card."

  "Thanks
."

  "I saw you here last time," he called back.

  Sara didn't remember him. He danced a little closer to her; just a little, not much.

  "Once you get a taste for it, this place can be dangerous. I'd advise you right now, watch out."

  Sara smiled, not listening. She didn't enjoy dancing with him, he was nothing at all like Vincenzo.

  After that number, they played a slow dance.

  "I don't know you well enough for this," Bob said the minute the slow music started, leading her off the dance floor. "Last week we all noticed you danced the slow ones with him - the first time, too." He shook his head. "That's pretty unusual for people here."

  Sara was stunned. "You noticed?"

  "The Regulars here. There's a bunch of us, hanging around. You'll get to know who's who."

  "I will?" Sara gulped.

  "Yeah, you'll be one of us. I can tell." Bob lowered his eyes. "This place gets under your skin - it calls you. Like me, for instance, I'm always here. Waiting for my dream lady."

  "You're what?"

  "I don't mean anything bad by it, of course. I like blonde ones. With mean, little smiles."

  Sara took a step back.

  "It's all right. Everyone likes something. Obviously, I'm not your fantasy and you're not mine. That means you and I can be friends. Believe me - we need all the friends we can get."

  Sara didn't know why he assumed she would be back.

  "Do I look like one of the Regulars?"

  "Sure. You came back for Vincenzo, right?"

  Sara didn't answer.

  "When you're a Regular, you know what's going on with a person - in a flash."

  "Well, I'm going to get a club soda."

  "It's been nice talking to you," he said. "You're a sweet woman. You don't belong here. None of us do - in the beginning, that is."

  Sara was about to thank him, tell him he was wrong, when suddenly she saw Vincenzo, staring at them from the corner of the dance floor. He was there and she didn't even know it. He must have just finished a slow one with someone else.

  Bob followed her eyes. "He's here," said Bob. "Stay where you are. Keep talking to me. Don't let him think you're standing, waiting for him. The more guys you talk to the better - always keep moving around."

  Sara saw Vincenzo edge closer.