Might as Well Try

From the other direction she was calling my eye
It could be an illusion but I might as well try
From Scarlet Begonias, Grateful Dead

“There’s something about this place”, I said to Gisele, shortly after settling into our table. It’s not the menu, and certainly not it’s prices, it’s just the vibe. Indeed, Lay Logum is a unique little venue by the sea, intermingling restaurant fare with Plein-Air painting sessions. We we're there just for dinner… or at least that’s how I entered.

One thing that impresses discriminating clientele is their wait staff. They all seem to have the ability to think on there feet, to do or say something in the moment that makes you feel warm and fuzzy about being there. It’s a special edge they have above the din, in a sea of other eateries on this island. On our way to the table my attention was caught by the sight of one certain waitress I’d seen before. It became apparent that she was assigned to beverages this night. Then it descended upon me, a spirit of flirtation with this darling little cup of tea.

I don’t know who started it first. I would guess it was me, because I’m sure gawking men was a nightly routine for her. And so the illusive dance of pretended and stolen glances quickly commenced and escalated, becoming mutually more brazen after each extended lock into each others eyes. I kept trying to ascertain whether I was just one of tonight’s creep or someone whose fancy had gotten entangled with her chemistry. I’m not sure how long this went on but at some point I could see a shift in her face, dare I say a wistful abandon. Then, as if with hive-mind, we both telepathically said to each other that we have got to come up for air. The glances all but ceased, at least mine did. Despite the evidence of the last fifteen minutes, was I creep or chemistry?

Then another notion hit me, I’m going to compliment her on her smile when we get up to leave. She would close her eyes and strike the most beautiful smile. it was as wide as a Cheshire Cat’s, for the lack of a better image, but it was very lovely.

She has many options in avoiding creeps as they leave. That will surely answer my question, I thought. I calculated, based on where she might be, how I would execute my complement. She seemed now to be spending more time parking herself in front of our table, with me to her extreme right. She just stood there looking out into the offing of the moon-drenched sea, where I could inconspicuously gaze at that Siamese contour. At this point I became nothing more than a sodden pile of goo.

Our time came to leave. Simultaneously, as Gisele stood up, I saw her heading straight for our table. She came and stood almost within arms reach of me. Perhaps this is standard customer service protocol, it wouldn’t surprise me. What I do know is that there were at least three other wait stall that could’ve done it. But no, she created the perfect setting for me to just naturally roll into my compliment. “I have to compliment you on your smile, it’s very lovely”, smiling back at her and extending my right arm as if to touch her left elbow with two fingers. My one regret is that I didn’t go the extra two inches.

I tell you, I left with a hook in my chest. The notion that it could've happened entirely between my ears seems unlikely but yes, I’ll volunteer that. Should I hand her my business card next time I’m there and write “text me” on the back, or should I just let her pass by, like scarlet begonias? Either way, there wasn’t a thing wrong with the look in her eyes that night, and it reminded me that it’s still a hell of a lot of fun to trifle with the pretty ones.

I have no idea how old she was, other than young, nor how young I was feeling that evening. In an age where perception is reality, the prison bars of age need not (yet) apply here. Illusion or not, any older man would hold such an evening close to his bosom and nurse it in silent reverie many times, for as many years as he has left to expend on chemistry.