Crashing dinner

Victoria drives us to her favorite restaurant in her Maserati. She likes the speed and handing of her car, driving confidently, making me appreciate how the seats hug you in the turns. Her dress is pulled up to mid thigh, showing off her defined legs. I enjoy watching her move, operating the pedals and shifting gears.

She pulls to the curb and opens her door. The valet takes her keys, eyes falling out of his head when she stands up in her blue dress. She walks past him, meeting me at the curb. I take another gamble, extending my elbow to her. She takes it, causing the buzz to start in my head again. Am I in fucking middle school again? Just having this woman willingly wrap her wrist and and fingers around my bicep has me full of butterflies.

“Have you been here before?” She asks, looking slightly down to me because of her tall heels.

“Never, but I’ve always wanted to.”

“You are in for a treat.” Her eyes smile at me. I am again taken by how deep and dark they are.

{if pill_intellectual = true}“Never, but I’ve always wanted to.” Just then Victoria stumbles, but I brace her and she recovers without incident. Is this the second time today that she seemed uncoordinated? That is so strange.{endif}

We enter the tall double doors. An impeccable host greets us, then leads us straight to our table. By the time we are seated, every head in the restaurant has turned to check out the bombshell walking through the room. I can’t help but swell with pride. That’s right, the most gorgeous woman I can imagine is at the nicest restaurant in town, with me. Every straight man here is jealous of me. OF ME! The revelation of it crashes over me like a tidal wave. I’ve jumped up at least two rungs on the social ladder, if only for one night.

I settle in. Victoria gives me a nice smile and picks up the wine menu. “I’m excited for you. Food will never seem the same again.”

“I hope so! I think everything about tonight is going to be memorable.” A give her a sly smile that leaves a hint of innuendo floating between us. She notices and a little eyebrow shift seems to say, ‘Oh, you think so?’

The room is dimly lit, with intimate pendant lighting above our white-clothed table. Victoria looks engrossed in reading the menu. I take the moment to appreciate her beauty. Her full lips, her defined neck, her toned arms, the curves in her wrists... The host returns, interrupting my gaze. He removes the extra place settings. A busser fills waters and presents a handmade cutting board with two tiny loaves of bread and a cup of hand churned butter. I haven't eaten much all day, so I help myself. As I chew on the bread, I see Penelope enter the restaurant. I set down the bread and finish chewing. Crap, she really came. My heart sinks a little, my dream night is about to go sideways.

I wait until Penelope is halfway to us before saying anything. “Hey, isn’t that your mother?” Victoria’s eyes go wide and she turns to see for herself.

“Victoria! I thought I saw your car outside! My goodness! That is a revealing dress.”

“Hello, mother.” Victoria stands halfway to give a **** hug, then sits back down. “I’m in the middle of a meeting with my assistant, Warren.” Clearly, she wants Penelope to butt out.

“Oh, the young man that delivered the late birthday present.” Victoria rolls her eyes. “My, you look dashing when you are dressed up. Victoria always does find handsome assistants, though.” The comment gives me pause... Were they all men? Does she pick men that she is personally attracted to? Did she sleep with any of them? I am thrilled and terrified at what that could mean for me, if true. Penelope is still standing there.

“Oh—please, Mrs. Hartley, take a seat and join us. We haven’t ordered yet.” I purposely don’t look at Victoria, but can still feel her burning gaze.

“Why thank you, Warren. You can call me Penelope.”

“Mother, my assistant and I do have some things to discuss.”

Penelope waves dismissively. “Of course, dear. I won’t stay to eat, it is way to late for me, anyway. I’ll buy a bottle of wine for the table.” Just then our server arrives. Penelope takes the initiative. “Just wine for me tonight, no need for a place setting. A bottle of Pouilly-Fumé right away. They still need a few minutes with the menu.” The server leaves with a nod. I don’t know what kind of wine that is, but I’m eager to try it.

“So, what’s this meeting about? Must be important to be dressed...like this,” she says, looking at her daughter’s scandalous dress. I am about to answer, but remember that I know next to nothing about it.

The wine arrives. No sooner is it poured and Victoria scoops it up and takes a couple gulps. Since she is busy, I answer anyway. “We are filling gift bags after dinner for an upcoming charity gala... And Victoria is trying out her gala dress.”

“Oh! That sounds like fun. You must have someone to impress if that is the dress you plan on wearing.” That hadn’t occurred to me, that my swooning compliments over her might have her exited for reasons that aren’t about me. I sip the wine to focus on something else. It is very good, maybe a sauvignon blanc? Victoria is still not answering questions, instead is studying the menu. Penelope takes off her white gloves—her birthday gloves, I realize—and sips the wine. {if victoria_altergift = true}I wonder if she is also wearing comically oversized white panties then almost snort into my glass.{endif}

I open the dinner menu. There are a lot of French words... Then, some of the words are Spanish, some Italian? My eyes start to scramble across the pages, not finding much that I can definitely say that I can confidently say what the food is, or how it’s prepared. In my fatigued state, I can’t make sense of it. And with the third wheel here, and Victoria’s stress levels rising, I decide to set the menu aside and just order whatever she does.

I need to help get Victoria into the conversation if the two of them are ever going to make any progress. I wait until she has put the food menu down and refilled her glass. “Victoria, I never asked—which charity is the event for?”

She barely squeezes an answer out in the second it takes to get the glass to her mouth. “Cancer.” That was...terse, but it is a start.

I turn to Penelope. “Apparently we will be helping cancer.” She howled at that and slapped my arm from across the table.

“Oh, he is funny, too,” she whispered to Victoria.

“Mother.”

“What, dear?”

“We really need to get back to business.”

“You will have all of dinner, let me finish my wine, then I’ll leave you two alone.” Victoria stared at her until Penelope finally took her second sip. Then Victoria poured the rest of the bottle into her own and my glasses to prevent her from even thinking about getting more.

The server returns. Victoria is using a lot of French words. It is turning into a verbose conversation. Penelope stopped her glass an inch short of her mouth and said, “Just pick one, Vikki.” Then she turns to me, saying under her breath, “If you don’t stop her, you will be waiting for an hour for her to pick a wine.” Victoria looks offended at being rushed, but finally does just pick something, staring at her mother while doing so.

The server comes around to me. I tell him to give me exactly what Victoria ordered and return to my drink. Penelope is still prying hard, and Vikki is starting to fatigue. “Mother! If you finish your wine right now, I’ll have brunch with you on Sunday.”

“Oh, that would be delightful! That is all you had to say, dear.” She slides the mostly full glass to the middle of the table. She puts her gloves back on and stands up. “It was a pleasure, Warren.”

I stand as well. “Mine, too, Penelope.” I shake her hand. It gives me a little jolt of excitement when I realize we just completed part of our deal, right in front of Victoria.

“Finally!” Victoria groans after Penelope is gone, then gives me a stern look. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“What?”

“Talk to my mother about me.“

“Oh...was anything I said...bad?”

“The woman is a meddler. It might seem innocuous, but every detail gets put to use to try to control my life.”

The next bottle of wine arrives and when our glasses are filled, with a red this time. Victoria is about to drink, but pauses when I raise my glass for a toast. Victoria listens expectantly.

“In that case: May prying questions from meddling mothers yield nothing more about the lives of others.”

Victoria gives me a nod of approval. “Cheers to that.”