Just Friends With Benefits (6 page)

Adam laughed. “I can’t stand wearing panty hose either.” Winking at me, he added, “But it’s okay for special occasions.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” I joked. Scrutinizing Adam as nonchalantly as possible, from his shiny black shoes through which I could almost see my reflection, his neatly pressed navy suit and pink tie, his clean-shaven face and his ring finger sans wedding ring, I questioned his sexual preferences.

Smiling warmly at me, he said, “Okay. Have fun.”

Figuring it was perfectly acceptable to flirt with a guy before going on a date with someone else if the first guy was gay, I offered an enthusiastic, “That’s the plan” and threw in a wink for good measure.

While waiting for the elevator, I took my phone out of my bag and called Hille. I told him I’d meet him at Del Frisco’s at 7:30 which meant I had at least two hours to get ready.

~ * ~

During my long, hot shower, such senseless thoughts as ‘the next time I shower, my night with Hille will be over,’ ‘the next time I shave my legs, I’ll know whether Hille shares my attraction’ and ‘the next time I flush this toilet, I might have finally hooked up with Hille in real life instead of in my imagination’ ran through my mind.

I wanted to look sexy but not skirt up to my crotch with-fishnet stockings and fuck me pumps sexy. After emptying my closet and most of my dresser drawers at home, I decided to wear a simple, black, linen, A-line dress. It fell to a little above my knees and was cinched at the waist with a skinny red patent leather belt. I wore it with red patent pumps for an additional pop of color. I also packed two pairs of jeans, black leggings and about five possible tops in the event I changed my mind at the last minute, but stuck to the original plan because the dress enhanced my best attributes and detracted from what I considered my worst. In other words, it showed off my small waist while hiding my ample tushy. And I had never tripped and fallen while wearing those particular shoes.

With shaky hands, I applied my makeup, using at least 30 Q-tips in the process. I practiced looking at Hille seductively from under my eyelashes and licking my lips without looking like I was auditioning for a Pearl Drops toothpaste commercial. And I smiled at myself to see how widely I could grin without showing too much gums.

Make-up finished, I removed the towel from my head, applied my favorite anti-frizz serum and patiently blow dried my thick head of hair until the spot on the back of my head that tended to stay wet even hours after showering was bone dry.

I turned my suitcase upside down and couldn’t find my flat iron. I stood up and circled the hotel room frantically. Where the hell was it? Realizing I must have unpacked it before I showered, I ran into the bathroom, relief washing over me, until I saw the only electronic appliance in the room besides the hotel-provided blow dryer was my cell phone. My heart palpitating, I sat on the toilet bowl and took deep breaths in and out. I refused to have a heart attack before I even got to kiss Hille. And then I remembered. I thanked God for small favors and ran back to my suitcase where I removed the flatiron from one of the shoe pockets I had shoved it in when the suitcase wouldn’t close with it on top.

I continued practicing facial expressions in the mirror until the flatiron heated up and I was at last able to continue my beautification process. But after all that, I wasn’t convinced I couldn’t look better. I always knew I needed a haircut when my hair didn’t look good even after I used my expensive ‘reserved-for-dates’ shampoo and conditioner. I was tempted to wear it up but most guys I surveyed preferred my hair down and, unless Hille was in the minority, he hopefully wouldn’t even notice that my long layers were a bit too long. And since it wasn’t raining out or humid, it was unlikely to look any worse as the night went on.

When I was ready to go, I stood up on the bed and checked out my body from all angles in the mirror. I couldn’t get a perfect view of my butt without risking breaking my neck but I felt pretty confident that I looked kind of hot. I smiled at myself in the mirror and sprayed some Binaca even though I had already brushed my teeth twice. Before I let the door close, I took one last look at the hotel room and wondered if Hille would be with me when I walked back in.

Upon entering the restaurant, I was bombarded by a group of men on their way out. They were dressed in corporate attire and carrying leather briefcases and I guessed they were either business executives or lawyers. All but one had salt and pepper hair and I had a feeling the other one probably used Just for Men. Middle-aged and probably too old for me, although my mother constantly told me to keep my options open with respect to men in their early 40s.

I accidentally brushed up against ‘Just for Men guy’ as we crossed paths.

Beaming at me, he said, “You’re going in the wrong direction! We’re headed over to Connelly’s around the corner.”

I gave him a wide grin and said, “No can do. On a date!”

Shaking his head, ‘Just for Men guy’ said, “Too bad for me!”

I smiled, said, “Thanks for the offer, though,” and walked into the restaurant. I couldn’t resist turning around to see if he was still looking at me. He was, and I took it as a sign that the extra care I took getting ready did not go unnoticed.

Still smiling and feeling pretty, I climbed the staircase up to the bar. At the top of the stairs, I scanned the crowded restaurant. Paul would call this place a ‘sausage fest,’ albeit an upscale one. Among the men of different ages but sporting the same basic uniform, I quickly spotted Hille sitting on one of the stools at the bar. He had a clear drink in front of him and was staring intently at his Blackberry. I wasn’t entirely convinced he received that many emails and wondered if the constant checking of his Blackberry was not just a nervous habit or a crutch for when he had nothing else to do. I took a deep breath as I walked toward him, tapped him on his back and said, “Jeez, Craig, do you
ever
put that thing down?”

He turned around, smiled at me and said, “I will now.” Then he stood up and kissed me on the cheek. “Wow. You look really nice, Steph.”

I hadn’t even noticed his eyes graze my body, which was more than I could say for most of the women sitting at the bar, but I said, “Thanks, Craig, I try.” Then I sat down on the stool he had saved for me and just smiled at him, searching for my personality. Where was a bartender when you needed one?

“I know you said dinner is on you, but can I at least buy you a drink first?” he asked.

“I’m expensing everything, remember? But, hey, if it makes you happy, sure, buy me a drink. What are you drinking”?

“Sprite,” he said.

I felt the blood drain from my face as I realized Hille would be sober all night. “Sprite? Wow, you’re living on the wild side tonight, Craig!”

“Just kidding. I’m drinking gin and tonic. What do you want?”

The blood returning to my face, I said, “Not gin and tonic!”

Looking amused at my strong reaction, Hille asked, “What, you don’t like gin?”

I cringed as I flashed back to the night I drank gin and tonics at a work function a few years back. My memory wasn’t entirely clear, but I recalled gushing at each attorney, telling him he was my favorite, and rubbing the belly of a senior partner as if he was the Buddha. And I had to wake my neighbor to let me into my apartment later that night when I couldn’t focus to fit the key into the lock. Grossest of all were the cornbread crumbs in my hair the next morning. I still had no idea how they got there. “Let’s just say the combination of me and gin is lethal,” I said.

“So, gin and tonic it is then?” Hille teased.

Hoping that meant he was looking forward to taking advantage of me later, I shifted my bar stool a bit closer to him and said, “Funny. No, I think I’ll go with vanilla vodka and ginger ale.” I had already put much thought into my drink of choice for the night. Beer was out because I didn’t want to get too full, red wine was out because I didn’t want my teeth to turn blue, and I was afraid a fancy martini would go straight to my head. I wanted to be seductive, not sloppy. After the bartender poured my drink, Hille asked, “So how was the closing?”

I turned my body sideways so I was leaning in towards him and said, “Totally exciting. I felt very important and all. I mean, it takes a very talented paralegal to take coffee orders. Aside from serving a light and sweet coffee to a guy who had asked for it black, I managed to stay out of trouble.”

Giving me a high five, Hille said, “Atta girl!”

I giggled but then admitted I actually liked being involved in closings. “It’s nice to witness the documents I prepare all day being signed. They might mean nothing to me when the day is through, but millions of dollars are exchanged upon signature of a document I drafted. Kind of cool in a geeky sort of way.”

“I understand. You’re talking to the king of geeks.”

“You’re not a geek, Craig. Just a brain!” I patted Hille’s knee but quickly removed my hand, fearing I was coming on too strong so early in the night. “What time is it?” I asked.

Hille glanced down at his Blackberry and said, “Just about 8:00. You think our table is ready?”

“I don’t know. I’ll check.” As I walked with my back to him towards the hostess, I wondered if Hille was watching me and tried very hard to walk normally as if I was not at all self-conscious that he might be looking at my butt. The hostess was a pale woman, probably in her late twenties. She wore her hair slicked back in a bun and with just red lipstick to add color to her face, reminded me of one of the girls from Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” video. After she handed two menus to a waiter and directed the men in front of me to follow him to a table, she smiled at me and said, “Can I help you?”

“Yes. I have an eight o’clock reservation for two. Cohen.”

The hostess looked down at her book and back up at me. She smiled again and, as if reading from a script, dryly asked, “Have both members of your party arrived?”

“Yes.” I pointed to where Hille was sitting at the bar. “My date is at the bar.”

The waitress nodded and motioned for another waiter. I waited for Hille to turn away from the bartender and look in my direction. When he did, I waved him over. As I admired his lean but athletic body approach me, the room got warmer and I knew it had nothing to do with the actual temperature in the restaurant.

After we were seated, I asked, “So, any vacations planned, Craig?”

“Unfortunately not, but I’m trying to round up the troops for a trip to New Orleans in early spring. You up for it?”

“I could be, although I’m not sure I’m wild enough to flash my boobs to collect beads!”

“C’mon. You’re way prettier than most of the girls who have no problem showing their skin.”

I flipped my hair, tried to smile demurely and said, “You think?”

“Of course! Don’t be silly.”

“Are you ready to order?”

I wiped the stupid grin off my face and turned my attention from Hille to the waiter, a gangly college-aged kid covered forehead to toenails in freckles, at least from what I could see peeking out of his tuxedo shirt and vest.

After listening to the specials, Hille motioned for me to go first and I said, “I’ll have the bone-in rib eye, rare, please.”

The waiter turned to Hille and said, “And you, sir?”

“I’ll have the rib eye as well, but well done. Wanna share the potatoes
au gratin
, Steph?”

Even though I’d heard the creamed spinach was to die for, I said, “Absolutely.”

After the waiter left, I turned to Hille and said, “Well done? How can you order steak well done? Rare or medium rare is the only way to go.”

Hille shrugged and said, “I don’t like any blood.”

“The blood is the best part!” I insisted.

“Cohen, how about you pay attention to your own dinner or I’ll tell the bartender to secretly replace your vodka with gin so you pass out?” Hille joked.

“Touché,” I said. “But it’s so much better rare.”

Hille reached over, grabbed my drink and motioned like he was going to spill it on me until I said, “You win! Let’s just agree to disagree.” Extending my hand across the table, I said, “Deal?”

Hille shook my hand and said, “Deal.”