“Nothing bad,” he said, quickly backpedaling. “I remember how much the last jerk had hurt you when you found out he was married.”
“Well, my friend who set me up on this blind date has assured me he’s single, so that’s a check plus in my book.” On that note, I made a big gesture of looking down at my watch and telling Kirk that I needed to head home. “Gotta get ready for my date.”
“I sincerely hope this date is beyond your wildest dreams,” Kirk said. “I think the universe owes you.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you around,” I said, pulling the door closed behind me. I walked next door to my blue-painted door and let myself inside.
The warm water cascaded over me as I stepped into the shower. I wanted to wash my worries and fears away, but there wasn’t enough water in the Hudson River to do that these days. I picked up my loofa, squeezed a dollop of my favorite British Rose bath gel on it, and began the slow, methodical process of exfoliating my whole body. I scrubbed everything until it was nice and foamy without being crazy rough and causing my skin to pinken because of abrasion. I then used a nice tea tree shampoo and conditioner before using a seaweed and aloe face cleanser I’d picked up the last time I’d been home in Iowa. My mother had begged me to go to the mall with her and my sisters, so I had. Who’d have guessed that I’d find a product there that I fell in love with? Thankfully, the shop had a small web presence, and I could order more any time I needed. I probably could have had my mother pick it up for me and ship it, but I didn’t want to bother her with something like that. She had enough on her plate without catering to my facial cleanliness.
Once I rinsed off, I stepped out of the shower onto the plush shower mat, which absorbed any extra moisture. I reached over and grabbed a towel from the hanger and patted myself dry. I looked into the bedroom. Bootsy was lying on the front part of the bed, cleaning himself.
After brushing my teeth, I set about applying makeup. Now, I’d learned a long time ago how amazing makeup is. It can completely transform someone, but you must be careful because a little goes a long way when you’re sitting across a table from someone. You need more if you’re going to be on a television screen, and you’ll need a lot more to make sure someone in the back row of the 1926 seats of the Gershwin Theatre, whereWickedhas called home for forever and a day. I rubbed an excellent moisturizer onto my skin before applying a primer. I waited for a second for the primer to set before starting on my foundation. I still preferred to use my fingers when evening out my foundation, though I know a lot of women both on and off the stage that use foam wedges or brushes to lay it down. Foundation in place, I placed a little concealer under my eyes and over a couple of spots on my face that I wanted to hide. Post concealer, I pounded my face with powder to get the base to set and dry. I added highlights quickly to my nose and cheekbones to make them pop. Then it was all about the eyes. I’d chosen a blue sweater that hung low enough to show a little cleavage without giving the girls completely away, so I went with a simple black eyeliner, followed by cranberry eye shadow, and ended with a smoky mascara. I then lined my lip with a shade of cranberry before applying the lipstick to ensure I had nice, plump-looking lips. The cranberry color was still in the red family, so I liked it. Once I was happy with everything, I used a setting spray and waited for a minute before getting dressed. I took extra care to make sure my face didn’t touch the front part of the sweater. The last thing I needed was to turn my clothing into the Shroud of Turin.
I looked at my clock.7:15, I’m still on target. I picked up the phone and ordered an Uber, then I shimmied into my black pants and pulled on my black leather Laura Chelsea boots. I went into the kitchen and made sure Bootsy had fresh food before sitting down and reading a couple of text messages. Nothing important, so I figured I’d respond to them at a later point. For now, my goal was to go out and have a great date.
I transferred my essential belongings into a small black clutch that was considerably smaller than the regular, bulky purse I used when running around the city. I wanted to make sure I had my wallet, cash, credit cards, phone battery backup, charging cable, keys, and iPhone. I put on a black leather coat I had hanging next to the front door. I looked back to make sure Bootsy wasn’t about to try a runner, but he was more interested in the food I’d placed on the ground for him to care about what I was up to.
After opening the door, I closed it behind me and headed to the elevator. There was a couple in the elevator holding hands. I recognized one from a children’s television show, but I couldn’t remember his name or the show’s name. I knew his husband worked as a substitute pianist all over town. When someone needed a day off or went on vacation, they’d call him up. He’d show up and hang out in the pit to see how the show ran. If he was lucky, he sat in the pit twice before taking over. Mostly, he sat through the show once before taking over conducting the orchestra while playing a score he’d just learned. The technical skills substitutes have on Broadway amazes me. Their ability to sightread music with little to no rehearsal in front of a live audience was beyond impressive.
The elevator opened in the lobby right when I got a message from the Uber app letting me know my driver had arrived, along with the make and model of the car and my driver’s name. I stepped out of the black town car, walked over, and opened the door closest to the street before saying hello. He nodded and took off driving. We arrived at il Buco Alimentari & Vineria, located at Fifty-three Great Jones Street between Broadway and Lafayette Streets. The car pulled up to the curb, and I got out, double-checking to make sure I had everything I entered the car with.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said.
“Have a good evening,” the driver responded in broken English.
I looked around and found the tall Black man I was meeting for dinner standing to the side of the front door. His thumbs were moving at lightning speed over the face of his phone. I took a minute to take him in. He was as fine as Katherine had told me. He was probably 6‘3“ and looked like a cross between Tyson Beckford and Wentworth Miller. He finally looked up from his phone and caught me staring at him. What I had not expected were green eyes the shade of an emerald.
“Hi, I’m Darrin Becker. You must be Erika?” he asked as he extended his hand.
I lifted my hand into his. Cradling it gently, he shook my hand. “I’m Erika Saunders. It’s nice to meet you, Darrin.”
“Shall we?” he said, gesturing to the restaurant’s door.
We walked into the restaurant, and the maître d’ immediately said hello to Darrin, grabbed a couple of menus, and showed us to a back corner table where we were quasi-alone. The Italian restaurant was tiny and used all the space it had. Thankfully, the place was only half full, or I doubt we would have been able to hear each other.
“So, what’s good?” I asked, picking up the menu.
“Everything’s good,” Darrin said in response. His nose was buried in his menu, and he didn’t look up at me once.
The server soon approached, and Darrin took over almost immediately. “We will start with the fresh-baked bread and an olive oil tasting.” He then looked at me. “I hope you’re not one of those girls who avoids carbs or is allergic to olive oil. If you are, we’re in the wrong place.”
“Nope,” I responded lightly. “I love me a good carb.”
He looked at me with a quizzical look as he cocked his head. He then turned back to the server. “I’m going to have the spit-roasted Long Island duck. Erika?”
I hadn’t looked at the menu fully, so I glanced down and ordered the first thing on the menu. “How about the cavatelli with a side of the cast-iron roasted cauliflower?”
“Great choice,” Darrin said. “We’ll also take a bottle of Château des Rontets.”
“Great pairing choice,” the server said before leaving the table.
“I hope you like red wine,” Darrin said. “It’s a red wine from Beaujolais, France. Made from gamay grapes by Côte de Besset. They only have the 2016 vintage on the menu, but I prefer the 2019. That’s not to say that the 2016 isn’t a great blend of fruit, but it lacks something that the 2019 year had.”
“Wow, you know your wine,” I cut in.
“I know enough about wine to differentiate small nuances, but not enough to explain the complexities involved. In essence, I won’t join the Court of Master Sommeliers any time soon. I guess it’s a good thing I’m a lawyer.” He then chuckled at his own joke. I forced my lips into a smile.
“What type of law?” I asked, trying to break into the conversation he appeared to be having all by himself.
