Chapter 2

The next Sunday found me at the Asian grocery once again. In the past I would come in on a whim or when I was in the mood for some ramen noodles. Now the place had a different draw for me.

Mae was running the register. “Hi,” I said to her.

“Hi, Len. Are you here for more noodles?”

“I came to see you.”

“Len -- I’m busy. I have customers.”

“Maybe you’d like to do something afterward?”

“I’ve been on my feet all day,” she replied. “I’d just like to put my feet up.”

“You can put your feet up at my place.” I looked into her big eyes, almond-shaped and dark brown. I knew I was rapidly falling for her.

“Customers,” she said. An older Asian woman started unloading a cart and Mae began ringing up her order. A young couple stood in line behind her.

I made a survey of Korean candies on an end-cap near the register. Mae’s last customer picked up her bag of groceries and headed out the door. I stood by the register and she looked up at me with her beautiful brown eyes. “I really don’t think it would be a good idea tonight, Len.”

“During the week?” I asked. “Mae -- if you don’t want to go out with me, tell me.”

“I don’t, don’t want to go out with you,” she replied. “Just not tonight.”

“During the week, then?”

“Maybe. I need to look at my calendar.”

“I’d give you a call if I knew your number.”

“I don’t have a phone. Only at the lab.”

“You don’t have a cell?”

“I do.” She turned to the cash register and pressed a button to spool out a length of register tape. She tore it off, jotted down a number and handed it to me. “I have your number from your card.”

“Right. What hours do you work at your lab?”

“Eight to four-thirty. Give me a call after six, tomorrow. We can talk then.”

“Mae -- I’d rather we could talk in person. I don’t like talking on the phone. How about I pick you up at six and we can go out for dinner? Then, maybe we can come back to my place and talk. How does that sound?”

“All right, Len. Tomorrow at six.”

“I’ll pick you up at Mama’s.”

“Fine, Len. I’ll see you then.” She looked up at a man pushing a shopping cart. “I have more customers.”

I pulled up to the curb by Mama’s green house. Mae was waiting for me on the porch. She wore a brown, knee-length skirt, dark brown tights and a puffy gray jacket. She saw me and bounded down the path. I leaned over and swung open the passenger door.

She sat beside me, pulled closed the door and hooked up her belt. I put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. “I thought it would be crass,” I said, “to take you to a Thai or other Asian place.”

“I wouldn’t have minded. It’s a meal I didn’t have to prepare.”

“I made reservations at Leon’s. They serve Italian food there -- gourmet Italian. It’s not your average spaghetti joint. Do you like Italian?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had Italian.”

“Really? You’ve had pizza.”

“I’m not sure pizza counts as Italian,” she replied.

“You must not get out much, Mae.”

“I don’t.”

I reached for and took her hand. She glanced at me and then we locked fingers. I regarded her yellow-brown fingers interlaced with my pasty ones. “You have large hands for such a little girl,” I remarked.

“I guess I do,” she replied. She let go of mine and placed hers in her lap.

“Mae -- I’m sorry. I wasn’t making fun of you. I have big hands, too, and I like how yours fits in mine.” I reached for hers again but she kept it in her lap. “Please, Mae -- I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t, Len,” she replied.

“Here we are.” I parked in the lot and escorted her into the restaurant.

Mae slipped out of her puffy jacket and draped it on the back of her chair. Underneath she wore a pale pink blouse. We sat at the table and Mae reviewed the menu. “You might try one of the risotto dishes,” I remarked. “You might enjoy seeing how the Italians deal with rice.”

“Len -- this place is expensive.”

“Actually, it’s what I’d consider moderate,” I replied. “Club 1990 is expensive. There’s nothing on the menu here over thirty bucks, and there you won’t find anything under it.”

“So much for a meal...”

“It’s not a meal, it’s an experience,” I replied. “I don’t do this very often. It’s in my budget, so go ahead and order whatever you want.”

Mae chewed her lip as she scanned the menu. “I’ll take your advice and order the seafood risotto,” she said.

“That’s a good choice. I’m going with the mixed grill.”

Our server approached the table. “Would you like anything to drink?” she asked.

“Why don’t you put a bottle of Prosecco on ice?” I asked. “We can open it with the entree.”

“Very good. Are you ready to order?”

“The seafood risotto for the lady and the mixed grill.”

“Any appetizers?”

Mae gave her head a little shake. “I think we’ll pass,” I replied.

“Very good, sir.”

I reached across the table. Mae looked at my hand and then grasped it. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

She smiled and nodded. “I am, Len. I like being with you.”

“And, I like being with you.”

Our order arrived and the server set Mae’s plate before her. She picked up her fork. “You do know how to eat with a knife and fork,” I remarked.

“Of course I do.” She scooped a mouthful.

“I was only kidding.”

“This is very good, Len.”

“I like this place. The chef here does good work.”

Our server then brought an ice bucket with a bottle sticking out of it. She removed the foil, popped the cork and poured two glasses. I picked up mine and held it toward Mae. “To friends,” I said.

She picked hers up. We clinked rims and she sipped from hers. “Oh, my -- the bubbles tickle,” she remarked.

“Tiny bubbles. You’ve never had prosecco?”

She shook her head. “Is it like Champagne?”

“Similar.”

“I’ve never had that, either.”

“You’ve led a sheltered life, Mae.”

“I have.” She sipped more of her wine. “This is very good. I could develop a taste for this.”

“I think some proseccos are as good as some Champagnes. They’re about a third as expensive, though.”

I finished the last of my mixed grill and saw Mae scooping the last of her risotto. “There’s a little prosecco left,” I said. “Split it?”

“Sure.”

I poured some into her glass and emptied the bottle into mine. “Dessert and coffee?” I asked.

“I’m too full for dessert,” she replied, “and I don’t care for coffee.”

“I’d like one of their demitasse espressos,” I replied. “How about some tea?”

“Tea would be good.”

I drove out of Leon’s parking lot with Mae sitting in the passenger seat. “The evening’s young,” I remarked. “Would you care to go back to my place? We could have some after-dinner drinks ... put on some music. Or, just talk.”

“I’d like that,” she replied.

I headed in the direction of my house and parked in the drive. Mae accompanied me inside. I took her coat and then escorted her into the living room. “What sort of music do you like?” I asked.

“I’m not particular.”

“Do you listen to Thai music? Traditional or modern?”

“Not so much. Anything you want to put on will be fine, Len.”

I picked out a CD and put it in the player. “Would you like a drink? I have some ruby port that’s nice after dinner.”

“All right, if that’s what you’re having.”

I poured a couple of short sherry glasses and handed her one. Then I sat beside her.

Mae sat, her legs crossed, and sipped her port. I mustered enough courage to lean toward her and kiss her cheek. She turned to face me and I planted another quick kiss on her face close to her lips.

She gave me a look I couldn’t interpret. I didn’t know if it was surprise, shock, anger or outrage. She lifted her hand and I thought she might slap me. Instead, she placed it behind my neck and drew my face to hers. This time we kissed each other’s lips.

Stroking her cheek with my finger I kissed her again, this time gently stroking her lips with my tongue. We kissed again. She relaxed her jaw and the tips of our tongues touched.

I put my hand on her knee. “Please, Len,” she said. “Nothing physical.”

“You don’t consider kissing physical?”

“No...”

“Good. Then I don’t consider it physical, either.” I embraced her and we kissed a long and tender one. “Mae -- I am falling in love with you.”

“I was afraid you were.”

“I sense ... I sense something from you in return. Are you falling for me?”