“Hard to believe it’s been forty years,”
she said, smiling over her Chardonnay.
“And you haven’t changed a bit,” I
said. She just laughed and asked if my
contacts were in. I was kidding of
course but she was still a beautiful woman.
A few lines here and there, a little slackness in the jawline and a bit
of color to hide the gray but that twenty-year-old is still easy to find.
We had come to one of our old haunts
overlooking the city. Its name had
changed and the surroundings were entirely different but the open deck, with its
view of the river, had drawn us back.
“You remember where we first met?” she
asked, picking at her salad.
“It was at Ted’s, wasn’t it?” I clearly recalled meeting her at an outdoor
cookout during my third year in college.
“Yes, it was,” she said. “You guys spent all afternoon drinking beer
and playing whiffle ball.”
“And you gals sipped punch in the shade, I
presume.”
“No, we just drank the beer and watched
you guys make fools of yourselves.”
Our college flashback was interrupted by a
waiter who brought the entrees.
“Your lasagna, madam, and your grilled
salmon. Can I get anything else at this
point?”
“I’ll have another Corona,” I said. “Jess, you want another glass of wine?”
“Why not,” she said, launching into her
meal.
Early enough to avoid the prime time
crowd, we ate silently for a while and enjoyed the cool afternoon breeze.
“Those were the days, alright,” I said,
referring to our previous discussion.
“College was a fun time,” she agreed. “But it wasn’t as great as we sometimes think
it was.”
“That’s true,” I said, recalling the exams,
the heartaches and the ever-present threat of Vietnam. “But we had more energy back then.”
“That was before kids, Jack. Kids are great but they drain life of its
spontaneity.”
“Right, again,” I said, sipping my beer
and thinking of David out in Seattle, with kids of his own, and Rachel up at
NYU. “But change is the spice of life,
Jess, remember?”
She shrugged and reached for the bread,
slathering on more butter than I had consumed in the past month. Another couple was seated two tables away and
the impeccably dressed husband was conducting business on his cell phone. His wife looked bored and glanced over with
an apologetic expression on her face.
“So how are things at the office,” Jessica
asked, brushing a strand of blond hair from her forehead.
“Fine.
Dull. The usual.”
“Sounds like fun,” she said. “Still sorry you changed companies?”
“Not really. Insurance is insurance. What can I say? If only I had your talent, we could have
worked together in a rustic studio, back in the hill country.”
“And miss this great city life?” she
said. “The gallery parties and fund
raisers? Not a chance.” A sardonic smile crossed her face.
The waiter returned to collect our plates
and brought a palate of fake desserts for our inspection, describing each in
excessive detail.
“Did you save room for dessert?” he asked.
“No thanks,” I said, patting my middle age
paunch.
“I’ll try the double-fudge brownie,” she
said. “Does that come with a scoop of
ice cream?”
“Vanilla or chocolate chip?” he asked.
“Vanilla.”
“Whip cream and a cherry on top?”
“Why not,” she said, pushing her empty
wine glass toward the waiter.
When he left I rolled my eyes and smiled.
“What?” she said. “You’re the one with the cholesterol problem,
not me.”
“If I knew you ran it off every day I
wouldn’t feel so bad,” I said.
“Don’t need to,” she said. “Good genes.”
For someone who packs away the food and
limits her exercise to long hours of painting, she had somehow managed to keep
her college figure.
“Speaking of families,” I said, “Do you
remember meeting my folks at Carson’s wedding?”
“How could I forget?” she said. “In their mind, ours would be the next
wedding on their social calendar.”
“They did like you,” I said, draining my
second Corona.
“As I recall, Fred wasn’t terribly
thrilled with my career choice.”
“Perhaps.
They were fairly simple people, not much interested in the art world.”
“Or films, or plays or novels.” Jessica smiled and checked her I-phone.”
“An important email?” I asked.
“Just the gallery, reminding me of our
summer gala next Friday.”
Jessica’s desert arrived and I accepted
the check, sending it off with my credit card as she devoured the sweet mound
of calories. When we left the deck, the
sun was just dipping behind the city skyline.
“Want to take a short walk through the
park,” I asked, hoping to extend our evening in town. “It is our anniversary, after all.”
“I’d love to but I’ve got an early meeting
tomorrow.” She gave me a hug and a peck
on the cheek.
“Til next time, then.” A wave a sadness almost brought tears to my
eyes.
“You bet,” she said. “Better get home to your wife.”
