Fuzzy Memories and Drug-Induced Flashbacks - Part IV

Special Valentine's Day Edition

It's a Thursday evening in February of 2002. I'm about to settle into my usual weekly routine of watching CSI while eating a Hot Pocket when I get a call from Silver.

Silver's actual name is Chris Smith, and he is an incredibly talented painter. He started going by Silver back in his pretentious goth days, and I guess the name just sort of stuck. Anyway, he's one of the few single friends I have left.

So Silver has just rolled in from a business trip to Boston (he works for Verizon Superpages) and he wants to know if I feel like grabbing supper.

(That's a point of contention between us, by the way. Silver's family is from Mississippi, so they refer to the three meals as breakfast, dinner, and supper. Whereas I stubbornly insist that it's breakfast, lunch, and dinner. "There is no supper," I have informed him many times. "Jesus ate the last supper." But I digress...)

He swings by to pick me up, and we decide to hit the Cheesecake Factory. But when we arrive, it turns out the place is packed and there's an hour-long wait. It seems the two of us have forgotten that it's Valentine's Day.

Well, we've both got our hearts set on eating there, so I put my name on the list and we spend the next hour wandering around the mall, waiting for our beeper to go off.

Finally, our table is ready. The hostess is a cute, bubbly girl who smiles knowingly at us. "We've got a nice, quiet little table for you," she tells us as she takes us to be seated. "It's perfect."

The foodserver, another cute and bubbly girl, comes to take our order. She suggests several entrees that we can share, if we want. She also asks if we'd care for any wine or Champagne, making sure to mention that she can bring a bottle to the table if we like.

When she leaves, I tell Silver, "Okay, they totally think we're a couple."

Silver, who worries about that sort of thing much more than I do, sort of blusters. "What? No! No way! They do not!"

"I don't know why you're upset," I say. "You should be flattered. Personally, I think I could do a lot better..."

"Stop it," he says, his voice a whisper. "We should tell her that we're not... you know..."

"Why? I'd rather she think I'm gay than think I couldn't get a date on Valentine's Day."

All through the meal, the foodserver keeps dropping little comments about our "special Valentine's Day dinner." Silver orders dessert, and she brings two spoons. "Just in case you want to nibble off his," she says, with a wink.

The check comes, and I lay my cash down on the table. Silver decides he needs the cash, so he picks it up and puts the whole dinner on his Visa. The foodserver comes to pick it up, smiles, and says, "Ooh, big spender" as she walks away.

"Well," I say, "that ought to put an end to the rumors."

Our foodserver returns with the credit card slip. She pats Silver on the shoulder and says in a voice laden with innuendo, "Happy Valentine's Day, you two!"

We're on our way out the door, and I say to Silver, "Thanks for dinner, honey."

"Stop it," he mutters.

"If you like, we can cap off the evening by making out in the parking lot."

"I should have said something," Silver says. "I should have told her we weren't on a date."

"Why didn't you?"

He shrugs. "I didn't want to sound homophobic."