(Page 2)
Mary [Ekholm] Francis
(c) 1997
Colleen wasn�t sure what to say. Her gain was another woman�s loss, and she would have gone out with Steve tonight even if he hadn�t had tickets for Showboat; yet, she wondered if there was more to the story of Sandra and the tickets than Steve was telling. She didn�t know Steve very well yet. They had been introduced at a party a month ago and had met for lunch a few times, but this was the first time they had planned to spend an evening together. Steve had picked Colleen up at her apartment. She frowned as she remembered his arrival.
�Hey, Colleen. Nice place--even a doorman downstairs.� He looked at his watch, then slid his left arm out of his overcoat. �The restaurant is just across the street from the theater.� He draped his coat across the back of the sofa. �Our dinner reservation is for 6:30, so we�ve got time for a drink before dinner.�
�Tea, soft drinks, and cooking sherry are all I have to offer.�
�Oops.� He picked up his overcoat. �I was going to stop for a bottle, but didn�t take the time because I was in a hurry to see you. We can have a drink in the bar at the restaurant while we wait for our table.� He smiled at Colleen and slipped into his coat. Then he stepped forward to take her coat from her and help her put it on.
Colleen thought she caught a whiff of alcohol on Steve�s breath and wondered if he had already stopped for a drink on his way to her place. She couldn�t imagine any man needing to have a drink before he picked her up. She reasoned that, since Steve was sober when he asked her out, he wouldn�t need to have a drink in order to get the courage to pick her up. And besides, they had already met downtown for lunch a few times, so the awkwardness of first conversations was behind them. She decided that her sense of smell was playing tricks on her.
Now she realized that her nose had been doing just fine. Steve must have stopped somewhere on his way to her apartment. His words were too fast and his actions were too loose for a man who was consuming a second drink. Colleen looked at Steve. His face was flushed, and he gestured broadly as he told a captured waitress about the depth of the water and the size of his catch on his last fly-fishing trip out west. When he paused to take a breath, the waitress escaped. He turned back to Colleen.
�People think all fishing is just plain fishing. They don�t realize what practice and talent it takes to be a good fly-fisherman.� He raised an imaginary rod and flicked the tip toward the bartender. When the man raised his eyebrows, Steve grinned and began to reel him in. The bartender returned the grin and nodded. �See?� Steve leaned toward Colleen, �Practice and talent. Shall I catch one for you, too?�
In spite of her discomfort, Colleen laughed. �No, thanks. My tolerance for alcohol is so low that, if I have another one before dinner, you�ll have to carry me into the theater, and, if I have a third, I�ll fall asleep during the show.�
�Practice, my dear.�
�What?� Colleen wasn�t sure if she was responding to his endearment or if she was following up on his statement that she could build up her tolerance with practice. She thought it might be a good time to change the subject, but Steve didn�t give her time to come up with a new topic.
�You don�t build up a tolerance to alcohol by refusing to drink. Your body needs to deal with liquor in order to get used to it. Look at me. This is my third drink,� he said as he picked up the fresh drink that had just been set in front of him, �But nobody would guess it from the way I act.�
�Practice, my dear.�
�What?� Colleen wasn�t sure if she was responding to his endearment or if she was following up on his statement that she could build up her tolerance with practice. She thought it might be a good time to change the subject, but Steve didn�t give her time to come up with a new topic.
�You don�t build up a tolerance to alcohol by refusing to drink. Your body needs to deal with liquor in order to get used to it. Look at me. This is my third drink,� he said as he picked up the fresh drink that had just been set in front of him, �But nobody would guess it from the way I act.�
�Third?�
�We-ell, third here.� Steve shrugged his shoulders. �I had one or two at home while I was getting ready for tonight.�
�You couldn�t face me sober?� Colleen raised her eyebrows. �I didn�t know I was such an intimidating date.�
Before Steve could respond, the dining-room hostess called his name. �Well, it�s about time.� He stood up. Colleen noticed that he kept one hand on the back of his chair while he steadied himself for the walk to the dining room. She crossed in front of him, and he put his hand on the small of her back as if he were guiding her to their table. She was afraid he might stumble or stagger, but he surprised her by walking steadily across the room. She wondered how long--and hard--he had been working on building up his tolerance to alcohol.
[Go to Page 3]