Megan
I’ve heard a lot about the Matterhorn. It’s a well-known spot that’s frequented by professionals of various industries. It’s supposed to be a high-class venue for after work drinks, and has a really different vibe from the dive bars and flashy clubs Mira and I typically seek out. For one, the restaurant is tucked into a quiet corner of the city making it feel like I’ve left New York altogether to arrive somewhere new: somewhere quiet and more peaceful. I bet this place would feel so romantic with the right person. But with Brian, it’s going to be bad, and I’m sure of that fact.
The building itself looks like a castle. It’s a sturdy deep red brick, intermixed with floor to ceiling windows. A large stone chimney protrudes just before the roof meets to form a point. There is a deck off to the side of the building where a few patrons are sitting, sipping on wine and other cordials of their choice. A pergola makes a faux ceiling over the deck with purple and white flowers hanging daintily from its wooden beams. Fruit trees border it on three sides, granting diners privacy as well as a sense of communing with nature.
I step inside the dimly lit restaurant and ask the hostess if Brian has arrived yet. He hasn’t, but she mentions that he’s reserved a table for us and invites me to sit down and order a drink while I wait. She walks me past a heavily stocked bar and into the main dining area. I am blown away by what I see. The interior of the restaurant is made from exotic wood, including the walls, ceiling, and the table tops themselves.
There’s a stage where two young musicians are setting up - a young Asian girl wearing white cloth overalls and sporting a half-shaved head which exposes a gauged ear, her silky black hair hanging to her chin on the other side. Her African-American partner wears a gray fedora to match his suit coat, paired with a casual undershirt and blue jeans. The stage has an array of instruments ready and I wonder if the two of them will be playing that many gizmos in one night.
We cut through the small dance area in front of the stage, past a game room where people are playing billiards and shuffleboard, to finally reach the table reserved for Brian and me. The hostess tells me he specifically requested this spot because it’s in front of a large window overlooking the river that rushes through the flower gardens out back.
She lights a candle on the table and tells me she will return with a glass of their finest wine. I start to protest, but she assures me that Brian will be okay with it.
“The Millers are some of our best customers at the Matterhorn. Mr. Miller always treats his guests to the finest items on the menu, and we deliver the finest service to him and his friends in return. I’ll be back with a decadent Italian Merlot and some French bread for you, Miss. Mr. Miller should be arriving shortly, and if there is anything else I can get you in the meantime, please let me know.”
I thank the waitress and sit admiring the view out the window. After a little while, the hipster duo begins to play music, drawing a few couples out to the floor to dance. This is definitely not like the dive bars I’m accustomed to because the patrons are quite a bit older, mostly in their thirties and forties from the looks of it. They’re well-dressed, the men in suits and the women in elegant work-appropriate dresses. Yeah, this is really different from the loud music and raucous beats at the places I usually frequent.
I’m beginning to grow impatient; it’s already ten to eight and still no sign of Brian. I hold off on pouring a second glass of wine. I’ll be damned if I make the same mistake I made two months ago.
Finally, I see my manager swaggering towards me. He’s dressed nicely, with his black locks brushed back casually. I suppose he looks good at first glance, when that raven hair and tall frame. However, I can’t help but notice how rail-thin he looks tonight. The suit really accentuates his body’s gaunt appearance.
He’s taking his time making his way back to our table, just as he took his sweet time arriving tonight. He’s stopping at every couple of tables to greet someone, patting them on the back or leaning in for a handshake, like he’s a Mafia don. The problem is that he’s way too young, and even from here, I can see a dot of red cystic acne on his chin.
Once he is finally close enough to the table to make direct eye contact with me, he decides to show off by swiveling around on his heels and doing a finger gun motion in my direction.
“Megan, you look ravishing tonight. Clearly, someone’s trying to impress me,” he says with a wink. I intentionally dressed as professionally as possible, trying to somehow spin this date into a work-related dinner. I should have known better because Brian’s floating in his own fantasy. This boy thinks he is hot shit, but he’s actually acting like a total tool. His navy blue fitted suit brings out the red tint flushing his face, signaling to me that he is already drunk. This explains his late arrival, not to mention his ridiculous demeanor. Unfortunately, pre-gaming is probably pretty standard for Brian.
“Oh, it’s just what I wore to work today. Thank you though,” I say tightly.
He sits down and pours us both a glass of wine. He holds his glass up gesturing that he would like to propose a toast.
“To finally getting back together.”
I smile politely, and clink my glass to his before taking a big gulp of wine. The alcohol does make me feel better at least.
The waitress comes back around and chats with Brian for a few minutes as if he is an old friend. He stares at her cleavage the whole time, and she has got to notice this happening. He must tip very well for her to not cover up every time he is seated in her section.
He orders us an appetizer platter: an assortment of meats, cheeses, crackers, fruit, and a variety of jams and other dipping sauces. I will say, while the date itself is not ideal, the wine and the food are fantastic at least.
Unfortunately, conversation between us feels forced, but does my date realize? No. Brian is explaining grand ideas to me such as successful business strategies, building diverse stock portfolios, and even the overall meaning and purpose of life, like he’s some kind of wise guru.
“You see, we must help drive the economy forward. If we aren’t contributing to the monetary flow that keeps our society afloat, what kind of world will we leave behind for our kids, not to mention our grandkids?”
“What about the environment?” I counter, thinking this an obvious point. He shoots me a pitiful, patronizing glance.
“Megan, what good is a beautiful backdrop if the people can’t eat?” He pauses for dramatic effect, giving me time to appreciate his grand statement. He continues on with the so-called facts of life.
“You see, with money, and through business, the problems of the world can be fixed. It’s called inherent capitalism. But, we’ll go nowhere without financial backing.”
Inherent capitalism? Is that something he just made up? But my date continues to talk with his nose pointed straight up in the air, counseling me as if I am but a simple and delicate woman, blind and lost in this world. Of course, there’s no consideration for the fact that I work in the same industry as him.
What the hell. What a pompous ass. This guy is twenty-five, the same age as me, and he doesn’t know his asshole from his feet. And from the way he carries himself, it’s safe to infer that he’s been coddled his entire life. I also sense that underneath all the swagger, he’s actually quite insecure. Brian has to spew bullshit and carry himself like a tough guy to make himself feel better about the things he actually lacks: personality, the ability to relate to others, integrity, and likability, just to name a few.
I smile tightly through the conversation, counting the minutes until this date is over. To be honest, I’m really only half-listening to what he’s saying, just enough to coherently respond here and there. I’m trying to focus on the sound of the jazz music playing in the background, the prickly yet sweet taste of the white wine, and the beautiful visual of water trickling through the garden out back. Basically, I’m grasping at anything that is not Brian right now.
Suddenly, my date stops mid-sentence. His body seems to lock up. His eyes open wide, hooked on something or someone across the room. The color drains from his face, and his jaw goes slack.
What in the world just happened?
I try to follow his gaze, twisting in my seat to see what could have so utterly shocked him. But there’s no obvious answer. There’s a man sitting across the way, but that doesn’t explain Brian’s shock.
Come to think of it, the man is ridiculously handsome. He’s quite a bit older, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He’s not looking at us, but I can see the flash of his gaze as he signals to a waiter. The strange man is well-dressed, with bronzed, tanned features. He’s gorgeous in a way that makes my mouth water; he’s a man’s man with rough-hewn features, and yet an exceptionally mobile mouth.
Is this what has Brian afraid? A simple man, sitting across the room? I turn back to my date, and see him fumbling with his jacket. He doesn’t look good. In fact, he looks quite ill and almost green.
“I forgot I was supposed to fax some files to corporate today at work and it’s important that they have it in by tomorrow morning. I’m sorry but I’m going to have to run, Megan. I’ll get you back for the bill tomorrow,” Brian says breathlessly, his voice climbing an octave with each sentence. Then, he wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead and bolts from the restaurant. I stare after him.
What in the world just happened? A work emergency? With a fax machine? Who even uses faxes anymore? Yeah, right.
But this is classic Brian. I finally agree to come on this date with him and he takes off halfway through, leaving me with the bill and some half-hearted promise to “pay me back later.” This is total bullshit. I am stunned, astonished, and even a bit furious with him.
Even more, I’m angry with myself for even coming. Now, I’m left sitting at the table, staring at an empty chair, with a check that’s going to be a few hundred dollars at least.
Well, I’m real glad the waitress insisted on getting us a bottle of their finest wine. Perfect, just perfect.
Seeing as I am sitting here alone, I decide to finish the bottle of wine, since I’m paying for it now anyways. Maybe I can take the rest of the appetizer tray back to my apartment where I can eat alone in peace. Is that too déclassé? I don’t even care anymore. I’m pondering whether I should get an entrée to go as well when all of a sudden, I feel a presence approaching behind me.
I turn. Did Brian come back? Is it someone I know? Is it the waitress telling me I need to leave now that my pain-in-the-ass date has ditched me? I bet she suspects I can’t afford the bill.
But my heart drops into my stomach when I see that it’s the gorgeous older man who spooked the bejesus out of Brian. His blue eyes penetrate me, and my cheeks flush at the attention. My nipples harden, and every cell in my body comes alert.
“Hello. Do you mind if I take a seat?” he says in a deep voice. Suddenly, the evening just took a turn for the unexpected.