“Waiter what would you recommend? The swordfish or the tuna?” the redhead on table twenty three asks me.
“The swordfish is excellent tonight,” I offer.
“How thick is the swordfish?” Red asks looking up.
Our eyes meet. There’s a spark of electricity between us. We both like what we see.
I measure a space three quarters of an inch between my thumb and forefinger. “About that thick madam,” I say.
Smiling broadly, Red mimics my gesture, “Anything a little thicker?” she says playfully.
“I can ask the kitchen,” I reply grinning.
“And how big is the filet?” Red asks, her voice dropping an octave.
“Is it this big?” she says, measuring a space between her two hands.
“Oh it’s bigger,” I say making the same movement – but wider.
“Really?” Red says delightedly.
God I love when this happens.
“Really,” I say.
“I like it big,” Red says.
“I believe it will be enough to satisfy you madam.”
Never taking her eyes off me Red purrs, “I’m sure it will.”
Red’s companions, including her husband, are oblivious to the subtext of our culinary discussion.
“Then swordfish it is,” I say.
Order in hand I go over to the POS computer. As I’m entering the entrees Red gets up and walks towards me.
I look at her. She looks at me. She smiles. I smile back.
Now beautiful women in my business are a dime a dozen. But Red is different. She has something. A quality that is rare and wonderful.
Red has smolder.
“I’m know I’m going to like the swordfish,” Red whispers as she wiggles past me on her way to the ladies room.
A palpable heat radiates off of her. I’m afraid loose paper objects might spontaneously combust.
“Indeed you will,” I reply.
A short while later I deliver the order and the table tucks into it with gusto. After an appropriate interval I return and ask how everything is.
“Great, great,” Red’s husband says between mouthfuls.
“And Madam how is your swordfish?” I ask.
Red spears a small piece of fish and brings it too her mouth. Lips closing around the fork she looks up at me. Sliding the utensil out languorously – she smiles.
I wait for her to swallow.
“Delicious,” she replies huskily.
Goddamn. I love this job.
“I’m glad you like it,” I say
Red is married. Nothing will happen. But there’s no law against looking at the menu is there?
“So good,” Red says winking. I feel like I need a cigarette.
“Waiter, can I get a martini?” another table beckons interrupting my fun.
“Right away sir,” I say reluctantly.
Departing the table to fetch the man’s drink I transmit a “high five” to the Creator for making women like Red.
But as I’m walk the length of the restaurant towards the bar I become aware I’m should be grateful for something else.
I utter a silent prayer…..
Thank God I’m wearing an apron.