Heady with a Bitter Finish

There are date stories and there are date stories. This one is beyond. Grab a glass of Merlot and settle in. Actually, grab the bottle, this may take a while.

Typical Thursday night. I’m sure of it because Thursday was the one night of the week that both Jen’s ex and my ex had the kids. We’d go to North Beach straight from work and hit happy hour that usually morphed into late night. North Beach is the only neighborhood in San Francisco that reminds me of New York — people on the street, lights, noise. A far cry from my little apartment in Noe Valley, with its family neighborhood streets deserted after dark. Sometimes I just needed the noise and the action to remind me that I was part of something bigger.

Jen and I had worked our way from Comstock Saloon to Vesuvio and were headed for 15 Romolo when a really cute guy — I mean Mario Lopez cute with dimples and everything — stopped us on the sidewalk. He was with another guy and the four of us chatted for a few. It was fun and flirty and ended up with him asking if I wanted to have dinner the next night.

As a divorced mom with a 6 year-old, I didn't get too caught up in the Bay Area dating scene. I knew I would never introduce a guy to my kid until there was a reason to introduce him to my kid and so far, nobody had met her.

Thursday nights with Jen were a throwback gift I gave myself. A night to let loose, feel sexy, and have a few laughs before returning to the rhythm and structure of being a responsible mom. Which was exactly what I wanted to do most of the time. But you know how you can eat salad every day for lunch and then get the biggest craving for queso and chips? Thursday nights were my queso and chips.

Sometimes Thursday nights led to dates but meeting guys in bars is not exactly a productive find-a-stepdad strategy so it was mostly just for kicks. Having this cute dimpled guy stop me was a rush though, I have to admit. He said his name was Peter Cowden and to meet at Foreign Cinema tomorrow night at seven. Hmmm… didn’t look like a Peter Cowden but what do I know?

The next day I felt positively giddy. Couldn’t concentrate on work. The whole mind-wandering, being a 15-year-old again thing. Jen was nice enough to go for a drink with me before dinner but she had to get home since it was her weekend with her daughter. As it happened, it was my exes’s weekend to have our daughter so I didn’t have to negotiate anything. That was always more work than it was worth.

My father trained me well so I arrived at Foreign Cinema at 6:50. He always said if we were 5 minutes early we were late so I got used to being the first one anywhere. Apparently most people’s dads don’t know that rule. I told the hostess I was meeting Peter Cowden and she told me I could wait in the bar. I’d already had one drink with Jen so I decided to hold off and see how things went.

About 15 minutes later, the hostess comes over with some guy a little older than me.

“I’ll show you both to your table,” she said in that smooth hostess voice.

The guy motioned for me to go ahead with a grander gesture than was necessary. As I followed the hostess I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Who the hell was this guy? Where was the cute Mario Lopez Peter?

We sat down and he smiled in an odd, smug way.

“I’m sure this is a little confusing but let me explain,” he said with a paternal tone. “I’m incredibly busy so I have my assistant do some weeding out for me. Find the right type. Ask a few questions. Like a dating service really.”

“Why doesn't he say that?” I piped back.

“I figure it doesn’t matter how we meet, just that we meet,” he replied, and motioned the waiter over.

I was dumbstruck. Literally couldn’t get words out of my mouth. Clearly he’s successful, not bad looking. More Bill Gates than Mario Lopez but hey, Bill Gates is cool. But there was something so arrogant and deceitful and just plain wrong that I couldn’t get past it.

The waiter approached our table.

“Can I get you started on anything?”

The real Peter, pointed to the wine list, “We’ll have a bottle of Gary Farrell Pinot. 2015.”

“Excellent choice,” said the waiter.

As he turned, I couldn’t help myself.

“I’ll have a glass of house Merlot.”

Remember when Thomas Hayden Church’s character Jack says, “If they wanna drink Merlot, we’re drinking Merlot,” in the movie Sideways? I had just watched i and somewhere in my subconscious the snobbery and lies were blended with the Pinot Noir so ordering Merlot seemed empowering.

Peter looked disappointed in me, like I wasn’t going to appreciate all of his intelligence and enlightenment. He was right. Though I did take a certain payback pleasure in thoroughly enjoying a perfectly cooked duck breast with French lentil puree and fennel and endive salad. I even had a second glass of Merlot. Peter instructed me that the Pinot is a much better pairing with duck and perhaps he was right, but in that moment, the Merlot was perfection.

By the time we had finished our entrees Peter was already talking up the woman at the table beside us. I looked at my watch in mock horror, “Whoa it’s later than I thought. I need to pick up my 4 kids! Thanks so much for dinner and such an interesting evening.” Yes, I made up the 4 kids thing just to see the look on his face.

I scurried out the door with no desire to leave behind a glass slipper. Once home, I was able to fully absorb what had happened in the last 24 hours and laughed at the absurdity of it all. I’ve replayed it in my head a few times and it still makes me laugh. Hell, someday I may even write about it.