I don’t know why in the world I said yes to her, but when Eve called me yesterday I agreed to meet her for dinner. She was coming back to Charleston to take Cookie to the doctor. Cookie couldn’t take a taxi? Somehow, I got through the day, checking my e-mail every ten minutes to see if there was anything from Eliza. Not one word. Now I was annoyed again. I mean, it might have been nice if she’d dropped me a line just to say she was there and safe or that she was finding what she went searching for in the first place. I drove home from the job site where I was currently working the biggest crews I’d ever hired, building another two hundred starter houses in Summerville for Carolina One Realty to sell to Boeing employees. Boeing was bringing a renaissance to our local economy. With all the new residents came housing needs, obviously, and a demand for other things like new restaurants, dry cleaners, bank branches, grocery stores, health clubs . . . the list was endless. Every builder in Charleston had all the business they could handle.
I was going to shower and change and meet Eve at Charleston Grill, at the Charleston Place Hotel. She’d made the reservation. Charleston Grill was a little fancy for my taste. I think I took Eliza there once for her birthday, and I remember that I nearly had a heart attack when the bill came. But I gave Eve no objection because it was sort of a momentous occasion, if you could call your wife of twenty-two years dumping you because of one tiny transgression a momentous occasion, and I guess you could.
I realized I wasn’t in the best humor as I went through my closet looking for a clean dress shirt. There were none to be found. Eliza usually picked up the dry cleaning on Saturdays. Well, that was the day she ran out on me, wasn’t it? Big deal. I’d pick them up myself. Wait, I thought, what dry cleaner did we use? Easy to find out. I’d have a look at the checkbook or maybe the Visa bill. I’d do that tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, it was pretty chilly for a February evening, so I pulled out one of the infamous sweaters from that Christmas of abundant knitwear and thought, okay, this doesn’t look too bad. It was just a pale blue lightweight cashmere pullover with a collar and a zipper. It looked pretty good with khaki pants and my navy blazer. I splashed on a little smell-swell and regretted it right away. Eve would take a sniff and think I got myself dolled up for her. I locked the house and left to meet her. But the devil in me would be sure to let her get a good whiff.
Why in the hell was I doing this? I was still playing with fire. What kind of expectations did Eve have of me? Men and women were wired so differently, and that had never been more clear to me than it was at that moment. I had given my marriage a lot of thought and I knew I could outlast Eliza. She would have her Greek adventure and eventually come crawling home. We would resume our respective roles in our life together and never speak of the incident again. But Eve? I didn’t have a clue, really.
I pulled into the circular driveway at Charleston Place and gave my keys to the valet.
“Checking in, sir?”
“No, just having dinner,” I said.
“Enjoy your evening,” he said.
I might have to remortgage the house, but thanks, I thought.
I walked through the lobby of the hotel toward the restaurant and spotted Eve at the bar. She looked more beautiful than ever. My resolve to keep the evening free of titillation started to waver. She was sipping on a glass of white wine. And her long legs were amazing as she perched on the barstool, rare and exquisite, wearing super high heels, making her legs look even sexier. And let me tell you, she was wearing something one would not wear to church.
“Hey, Eve. I don’t know if this was such a good idea,” I said, suddenly nervous.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said and kissed me lightly on my cheek. “You smell delicious. You worry too much!”
“Jesus, Eve. I only have so much willpower.”
The bartender said, “Can I get you something, sir?”
“Um, let’s see . . .”
A lawyer? I thought.
Just then the ma?tre d’ approached.
“Your table is ready,” he said.
“Oh, good,” I said.
“We can take the lady’s drink to the table if you’d like,” the bartender said.
“That’s fine,” I said and watched Eve slide down from her barstool.
It occurred to me then that this might not have been her first glass of wine that day. And Friday night she nearly put away a bottle by herself. What was going on with that? I thought Cookie was the one with the alcohol problem.
I followed her to the table and the ma?tre d’ pulled out her chair for her. They were very heavy chairs. He handed me a wine list and a menu.
“Have you dined with us before?”
“Yes,” I said, “but it’s been a while.”
“I’ve always wanted to come here,” Eve said to him.
The ma?tre d’ said, “Welcome!” to Eve and then, “Welcome back!” to me. He was one chipper fellow, I’d give him that.
“Well,” he continued, “when y’all are ready I can explain how the menu works.”
Our waiter came up to us and placed Eve’s glass of wine in front of her. She flashed him that million-dollar smile and he all but fainted. That smile had some megawatts.
“I think we’re ready,” I said.
“All right then. As you can see, we have four distinctive menus. This one is called the Cosmopolitan, because all of the dishes have exotic flavors from around the world. The next one is the Regional, because it includes updated versions of classic southern favorites. Third is the Pure offering, so named because the dishes are lighter, and the last one is Lush, because all the choices are more lavish. Feel free to mix and match. And, take your time. Sir, may I offer you a cocktail?”
“Sure. I’ll have a glass of red wine. Do you have a nice zinfandel by the glass?”
“Yes, of course. May I suggest the Turley?”
“That sounds fine,” I said, thinking, Who knows what that is?
I didn’t remember this place as being so formal, and then I realized it wasn’t any more formal than Cypress or Peninsula Grill. It was simply very polite and very professional. I began to relax a little.
“What looks good to you, Eve?” I was busy scanning the menu.
“You look good to me, Adam.”
“If you think you’re going to flirt with me like this and nothing will happen, you’re dead wrong.”
She narrowed her eyes and stared at me.
“Oh, Adam! Since when can’t you take a joke?”
“I can take a joke just fine.”
She wasn’t fooling with me. But dang, she was beautiful.
The waiter returned with my glass of zinfandel.
“Cheers!” I said to Eve.
“Cheers!” she said.
I thought about Eliza. If she were here she’d order the seared foie gras and the Thai fish. I’d have the sturgeon salad and the Norwegian ocean trout. We always ordered dishes she didn’t make at home and we’d share them. She would actually feed me with her fork. Let me make you the perfect bite, she’d say, and put a bit of glistening meat and a tiny bite of potato or vegetable together and lean across the table to me. Then she’d sit back smiling while I savored it. Eliza had such a healthy curiosity about food. She liked to try everything. Whenever we went to a new restaurant she always came away inspired, determined to re-create whatever crazy thing we had just eaten. There was a Thai restaurant near the Citadel Mall she loved. And a sushi bar downtown. Even the Mexican food in Charleston was an adventure. Eliza would have worshipped this menu.
“What are you thinking about?” Eve said. “Your eyebrows are all knitted together.”
“Hmm, Eliza used to say it was my furry brow.”
“Instead of furrowed?”
“Yeah. I think Luke started that when he was just a little boy.”
“You do know you just referred to her in past tense?”