Chapter 4
OK, now the whole truth. I had developed a devastating crush on this waitress at work. Actually, crush doesn't begin to describe it. She was beautiful and perfect. An angel. A goddess. Naomi--a lean, willowy blonde with all the trimmings. Our paths had crossed briefly a few times and I quickly identified her as a flat-out killer, but I really didn't get all droolly over her until we worked a late-night, closing shift together.
After 9pm or so, the dinner crowd would start to thin out enough that only a couple of waiters are needed to cover the whole floor. With all that space to operate in, Naomi, graceful as a gazelle in tight quarters, promenaded about like a divine, immaculate gull, soaring on the ethereal substance of the universe. That is, the universe as bounded my senses--and my genitals. The sight of her lithe, auspicious figure dancing through the room hit me like bus from a Jackie Chan film. Her sensuality gave the landscape a soft, steamy blur. She swirled and caromed among the tables, taking my libido along for the ride. Her recitation of the daily specials rang with all the heat and floral passion of a Shakespearean sonnet. The hang of her loose fitting khakis and the motion of her legs inside them could have sent the entire erotic film industry into bankruptcy. On her tiptoes, reaching to a high shelf, her shirt would pull slightly out of her pants revealing a sliver of the most heavenly flesh imaginable. Maybe it was just the contrast to the dreary anti-eros of Sarah, but I was way beyond any plateau of desire I had previously known. Spiritual and sexual ecstasy were converging to an apex before me, and I yearned to grasp and envelop it.
But I had tables to wait on. And I had a duty to Sarah. And I wouldn't know what to say. And I was only an engineering geek with dweeby roommates. And she probably thought I was just another awkward Asian.
Having transformed myself into a metaphorical eunuch, I started screwing up in deadly earnest. Whenever she was around, my ego would register eye contact, compelling me to devote a portion of my limited allotment of rationality to keeping myself in the real world. I freely admit to being a bad waiter, but her presence pushed me over the line into total incompetence. At one point I placed a dry martini in front of an eight-year-old, but only after delivering Moo Shoo Pork to a table of Hasidic Jews.
This theme continued for the next couple of shifts that we worked together. Then, one deathly fateful night, she spoke to me.
It was in the middle of dinner rush, an event that, due to my perpetual ineptitude, always causes me dire stress. K.J. is good at it. To him each new table is an opportunity to express some sort of wryly absurd observation. Back in the kitchen, he generally keeps up steady patter of lighthearted facetiousness that ingratiates him to everyone. My first few times at dinner rush, I actually broke into a nervous sweat. My first two weeks worth of tips went toward replacing pit-stained white waiter shirts. I got over that, but never completely exorcised my uneasiness, probably because I have such a pronounced ability to mangle anything at anytime. But that night, in one of the all-time great historical examples of a blunder turning into a major victory, I picked up one of Naomi's orders by mistake. I was out on the floor before I realized it, so rather than return it to the kitchen I just delivered it to her table and made a mad dash back to get my own order delivered. Later, K.J. and I were jawing.
"Tonight. Same time. Same place. K.J. vs. Alex. Uno mas," he said, referring to MFG.
"I shouldn't."
"You should. There is nothing more important than our ongoing ultimate battle for truth, justice and the American Way."
"I should see Sarah," I moped.
"Such enthusiasm."
"I'm getting really close to breaking up with her."
"Are you crazy? Break up with a woman who says OK to everything. You're betraying the entirety of your sex."
"You know better."
"So break up with her. What's the problem?"
"It's like taking a puppy to be put to sleep."
"Do this: Make your move. None of this namby-pamby sneaking your arm around her or holding hands. Put your tongue down her throat. Feel her up. Either she'll give in to your savage desires like you know she's wanted to or she'll be so disgusted she'll kick you in the pistachios and throw you out. Either way, problem solved."
"I'm beginning to understand why you have such success with women."
Naomi reached between us for something, her shoulder lightly grazing mine. My heart stopped. She absent-mindedly brushed her hair back behind her exquisite, pink and perfect ear and I had to turn away. When she moved off, K.J. started rambling on about his latest romantic misadventure, but I didn't hear him. I was putting every ounce of energy I had into not becoming a blubbering mass of protoplasm. No sooner did I begin to gather myself than she returned and reached in between us again. This time she looked right at me and spoke.
"That was very nice of you to deliver that order for me."
"Well, I like to help out when I can," I think I said, although it may have actually come out, "Ahh foo uh wha gaaa." I consoled myself that I didn't actually slobber.
She moved on again, leaving K.J. looking at me with a blue ribbon grin of mockery.
"Just don't say a word," I warned.
The atmosphere changed when Bruce, the prissy little whiffenpoof of a manager, approached.
"Isn't it great how people come in off the streets and pay money just so we can have lengthy conversations in the back?" he sneered, his ribbon thin mustache quivering.
K.J. would have none of it. "Do I detect sarcasm, Bruce?" he retorted, looking at Bruce's nametag "...if that is your real name."
"Too bad you can't detect that there are tables that need to be cleared."
"Well, I came back here to chase a mouse and...Oh, there it is, on your upper lip."
K.J. stalked off in an overly dramatic huff. He could get away with that. I was chuckling at his little routine, but Bruce glared at me over his pointy little vole-like nose.
"As for you, I don't suppose you would condescend to wait on that table," he sniffed, gesturing to a rather sour-looking middle-aged couple.
"Uh-oh. Have they been waiting long?"
"They were teenagers when they arrived."
What a dick.
When I looked out at the table again Naomi was already taking their order. She looked up at me and winked. At least I think it was a wink. Maybe.