Chapter 16

I checked the local events and found something I knew he would like: a concert called "The Fifths." Beethoven's Fifth Symphony for the first half, and Tchaikovsky's Fifth for the second.

He hadn't seemed all that enthused when I suggested we get together on Friday, but when I told him about the tickets he sounded like a little boy going to the circus.

He stopped by for me after dinner.

We shared a lovely kiss.

"Thank you so much for finding this concert. I know everybody knows Beethoven's Fifth, but I love the Tchaikovsky." He bubbled with excitement.

"I know how you can thank me."

A nice long kiss.

"Dinner at the dorm was vile tonight, but it is paid for."

"That's the curse of the food pass," I said

"I think they must have a special school to learn how to make food that bad. I've royally screwed up recipes that wound up tasting better than that."

"Well tomorrow we'll get you a respite."

"You sure know how to take care of a guy."

Yes, I did. I had no idea how I knew because I'd never gone out of my way to do it before. Maybe it's just instinct. Maybe I was finding a part of myself I never knew existed.

I got the tickets for Jeff. I knew he would love it, so I could endure it. I would be more inclined to go to a concert that featured metal instead of brass.

The Beethoven was familiar. I think it was made into some popular song a while ago. But the Tchaikovsky really got to me. It was passionate and energetic and every time I thought it was over, it kept on going. I hadn't the remotest idea I would like classical music.

Jeff was humming along and bouncing up and down in his seat. My friends, I gave in and used the closest word, would have found it worthy of ridicule. I found it endearing. I found it arousing. I took him home and had my way with him.

For the first time in my life, I had a man stay the night. I awoke to find him sleeping peacefully. I was assaulted by the intensity of the feelings I had for him.

This had to be infatuation. It was far too intense to be love.

I snuggled up against him and waited for him to wake up.

It didn't take long and I had my first encounter with what I had only been told about by the girls - early morning tumescence. I put it to good use.

I made us eggs and bacon. Wasn't I the little homemaker?

Jeff told me he had to go so he could study. He seemed uneasy, but I couldn't put my finger on what exactly it was I was feeling from him.

"See you later," I said.

"Yeah."

Enough with the "Yeah."

I picked him up at his dorm Saturday evening. God, he looked good.

No, he didn't. He didn't look bad but, objectively, he wasn't going to blow anyone away. But he looked good to me, and that was more than enough. Then again, maybe he did look good but suffered by comparison to the museum-quality specimens I had dated before.

We had reservations at The Brass Rail. It would have been quite expensive for Jeff. For me, it was cheaper than McDonald's.

"Nice place."

He was looking around as if he was a little surprised that a place like this existed in a college town and a little uncomfortable to be in it.

"Probably not what I would have picked" he said in a charming bit of understatement.

"That's the advantage of having different backgrounds. We get to share each other's knowledge and experience."

A waiter approached.

"Nice to see you, Miss Fine."

He put down a small Caesar Salad in front of each of us.

"Thank you, Arnault." He retreated.

"Do they give everybody a Caesar no matter what they order?"

"No. I took the liberty. I know your tastes so I would like you to give me the opportunity to take you through this experience the way you have taken me through, other experiences."

He smiled.

I smiled.

Arnault would have smiled had he still been here.

Most of the men, boys, I knew would not have smiled. They would not be content to let a woman take charge like that.

"It's very good Caesar Salad," said Jeff.

Arnault cleared and came back with orange sorbet.

Jeff giggled. This was clearly one of those times when no words were necessary. We just sat there and ate and enjoyed being together.

A busgirl cleared and Arnault returned with a soup.

"Roasted acorn squash soup with duck rillette and fried sage."

Jeff leaned in and whispered. "Do you think his name is really Arnault? His accent does sound French."

"I think his name is Harry and he went to French accent school."

Jeff didn't seem to realize I was joking.

"Do you really think so?"

I laughed.

"I have no idea."

"Aaaaah," Jeff said as he took his first spoonful.

"It's a good thing we're sitting across from each other or people would think I'm fondling you."

"You have a wicked sense of humor. I love it," he said.

I love you would have been better, but I was too happy to quibble.

"This is so good. I'm going to have to leave myself in your hands more often."

He bowed ever so slightly and lowered his head in a gesture of appreciation.

One busgirl later, Arnault returned with lemon sorbet.

Jeff didn't giggle this time, he laughed. People looked. I didn't care.

"You have to savor a good meal," I said. "You wouldn't want to rush through the appetizers so you could slam down the burger."

"Is that what I'm having, a burger?"

"Patience, young sir. Each course is to be savored. Fine dining is a journey, not a destination."