Erika & Evelyn

Erika

My friend, Dana, boyfriend Garett, and I are walking down 16th Street in Denver on a cool Spring afternoon, looking for a place to eat lunch. Garett is bummed and cranky because he's really hungry and the place he wanted to try (some little sandwich place which serves Italian beefs--a Chicago favorite which is a rare gem in Colorado) is closed on weekends. All three of us German Midwesterners love the creamy taste of a fresh slice of cheesecake, so we decide to try the Cheesecake Factory for lunch.

The interior tempts us with its golden wallpaper, tropical fake plants, and thick furniture. The waitress brings us to our booth and we settle in with our menus. Garett orders a surprise--the navajo chicken, Dana orders a salad (minus the bacon bits--she's mostly a vegetarian who only eats chicken), and I order a garlic chicken pizza. Garett runs to the bathroom and Dana and I discuss how cranky he is the moment he leaves. We also talk about how he was criticizing my driving the whole way down to Wheatridge and Dana's driving on the way to Denver. Slowly, the woman in the booth to the right of me comes into view.

Immediately, the name Evelyn enters my head. A big pearl necklace ornaments her neck, a black and white floral print curtain covers her body, and her nails are chipped pink. At least three empty wine glasses lay on the table before her, while she sips on a fourth, laughing with her head back, eyes closed and mouth hugging the lip of the glass. The food arrives: Garett's navajo chicken is too bready, Dana's salad has bacon bits in it, and my pizza is too garlicky. I hear a voice to the right of me. Evelyn is talking to someone next to her. But there is no one there. "How are you today, ma'am?" I ask. She looks at me as though I've interrupted her conversation with an invisible man. She responds coldly, "Fine." Her eyes fall on the picture of Billie Holiday on my black t-shirt. Then she turns her gaze to a fresh cup of coffee. She leaves a ring of hot pink lip stick on the ceramic mug. Despite the meal, we decide to follow our main purpose for attending the Cheesecake Factory and order cheesecake. We each order a slice, not realizing that one slice is large enough to feed three. Between bites, I hear soft sobs from Evelyn. Her early laughter has turned to loneliness, as if a great love had been taken from her. We leave the Cheesecake Factory with a bad taste in our mouths, but at least I am inspired by Evelyn to write a story.

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Evelyn

The golden walls warm by body on this cool, Spring afternoon. I can hear the click of my heels on the marble as I enter the restaurant--Our place. I quickly pad my new 'do, recently permed for this special occasion, before Evan, Our waiter, promptly greets me. "Why Ms. Bordeaux, you look beautiful as ever," I catch his little wink. "You must have a very important date this afternoon. Shall I escort you to your favorite booth?" I look at the massive clock on the wall behind Evan--nearly one. He will be here any minute. My hand flies to the pearls around my neck, and I roll my fingers over their roundness (I always do this when I'm nervous). "Yes, dear," I say to Evan. "Charles will be arriving shortly to accompany me." Evan leads me to Our familar booth, which faces the giant clock. Good, I slip onto the soft, brown leather, there's no other customers in close proximity, no one to bother us with their rude conversation and table manners. And I sit and wait.

Charles arrives on the wing of an angel. His crisp, navy blue suit accentuates the sparkle in his eyes. His salt and pepper hair shines underneath his dark blue hat. My heart immediately flutters from its cage. God, it has been so long--so long since those soft, kind hands have encircled this body. So long since those soft, kind lips have embraced my own. Charles glides into the booth across from me with the grace of an airplane pilot landing a plane. His eyes capture mine, his smile captures my heart. All I feel is light. "Why Evelyn Bordeaux, you look wonderful. I'm surprised I'm the only man sitting in this booth with you," he says. I want to punch him for breaking my heart, for stringing me along, for leaving me and Our son behind, but all I can do is reach across the table and grab him with all my life--to eat up all the love that we hold inside for each other. Even when someone goes away for a really long time, that doesn't mean that Our love goes away, too.

We are sitting next to each other, like two doves in a nest, sipping our second glasses of Pinot Grigio. Charles is talking about how his flight nearly escaped from the earthquake in the exotic land he just returned from as he plays with the pearl beads around my neck--the pearls he gave me. It tickles and I giggle. It seems like Charles and I are the only ones here, as if we are suspended in time, in a world of our own, a world that cannot be penetrated. . .except for that girl who I just notice in the booth next to us. She has turned to me, completely overlooking Charles. "How are you today, ma'am?" she asks. She is wearing a black t-shirt with Billie Holiday on it--what does she know about Billie? What does she know about music? What does she know about love? How dare she interrupt us? "Fine," I say, then bring my lips to a warm cup of coffee that Charles has ordered. Charles is looking at the giant clock behind me. The hour hand stabs at the number four. Warmth dissipates as Charles slides from the booth. "Evelyn, my dear, I'm sorry, but I promised my wife and son that I would be home by five. . .can we meet again, tomorrow evening?" My heart returns to its cage. "What about our son, Charlie--he asks about you every day--he's never even met his own father. I thought you were going to leave Janice, what happened to that promise?" I ask. Charles gathers my hands in this own. "Give me two more years, Evelyn. Just until Daniel graduates from high school. Then we can be together. Then I can take you with me on my travels and Jacob will know his real father," he says. I tear my hands from his. "Just go, I say. This is how it will always be, I will always be waiting. . ." I put my mouth to the warm ceramic mug as I see the flash of navy turn the corner to leave. He has left me with nothing again, nothing but these sobs. . . .