“Is that better?” he asked.
I continued to cover my nose and nodded. “Just give me a minute to get myself together,” I said, my words muffled by the Kleenex. “Make yourself at home. I’ll only be a second.”
I hurried into the bathroom and cringed when I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy. My nose was as red as fucking Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’s. I blew my nose and found some antihistamines in the medicine cabinet.
I tried to fix my makeup but there wasn’t a whole lot I could do. I thought briefly about calling the night a wash but I knew I had already given Theo enough of a runaround.
I came out of the bathroom, a smile plastered to my face. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Theo jumped up from the couch and like the gentleman he was, he didn’t make any comment about my red face and swollen eyes.
“Are you sure?” he asked, peering at me.
I nodded. “I’ve taken something so this,” I indicated my messed up face, “should be fine in no time.”
“If you’re okay, we should get going. I made us reservations for eight.”
I followed Theo out to his Hummer, making sure to hold my breath as we walked past the discarded flowers.
Theo and I had always enjoyed an easy banter. However, tonight was different. Maybe it was my psychotic sneezing fit or perhaps it had to do with the fact that this was an official date, but conversation was a lot more stilted than usual.
We ended up talking shop for most of the ride to the restaurant, which I found to be incredibly boring. The last thing I really wanted to talk about on a date was my job. But it was the only thing that truly connected us.
The restaurant Theo had picked was called Bistro Margot and it was packed. It was a good thing that Theo had made reservations. We were seated right away at a dimly lit booth near the back. It was private and intimate, with a candle that flickered madly. The atmosphere was very romantic if not a little try too hard.
I opened the menu and my eyes bulged as I took in the prices of the meals. Holy cow! $30 for an entrée?
“The food looks fantastic,” Theo enthused, smiling at me. I wish I could share his excitement. Because nothing seemed remotely appetizing. My experience with French food was limited. Okay, it was non-existent. But I didn’t want to look like an ignoramus so I pretended to study the menu seriously. I could pretend that I knew what Porc a la Dijonnaise meant. But even the descriptions weren’t very helpful.
When the waitress came to take our order I pointed to the only word I recognized. Steak Tartar. Theo looked surprised by my selection.
“You like Steak Tartar?” he asked. I waved my hand indifferently.
“I love it,” I responded as though it was something I ate all the time.
“Wow, you’re hardcore, Viv,” he said and I wondered what the hell I had just ordered.
We sipped on our wine and smiled at each other with a strained stretching of lips.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Theo said.
“That’s a pretty general question, Theo,” I teased, drinking my wine a little faster.
Why was I feeling so lightheaded all of a sudden? I was by no means a cheap drunk. And I should definitely not be feeling the effects of wine after one glass.
But I stupidly decided to pour myself another glass.
“Well, how about your family? Tell me what growing up as Vivian Baily was like,” Theo prompted, eating some of the hors d’oeuvres he had ordered. Something called Assiette de Fruits et Fondue de Brie, which was only fruit and baked cheese with crackers. Sounded a lot fancier than it actually was.