Page 4 of Lovebug
“Cyndi!” I say with glee.
I make a beeline to hug her.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” she practically screams back at me with her hands held out in front of her.
“Whoa! Why are you yelling at me? And what are you doing here? I thought you and Stuart were going to the Sixers game tonight!”
“Um. We are. I mean, we were. I mean, we’re still going, but he was hungry. He’s paying the check and—”
“So Stu is here too?” I say excitedly. “Great! I miss him!”
“No,” she blurts. “He’s not.”
“But you just said—”
“Why are you interrogating me?” she snaps as she rushes to the sink.
Wow. Cyndi is usually the epitome of cool, calm, and collected. Not tonight, apparently.
“I’m not interrogating you, Cyn,” I say slowly. “I’m just surprised to see you. This is the restaurant Bert and his mom chose for tonight’s ‘Sunday Family Dinner’ and—
“I yelled at you because you were about to touch me before I washed my hands,” she says as she scrubs her hands vigorously. “Did I tell you I read a scene in a romance novel once where the guy goes into the ladies’ room, finds the girl right as she’s coming out of the stall—beforeshe washes her hands—and they proceed to get it on immediately?”
“Yes. You tell me this story often.”
“Well, it scarred me! Had to turn the page and skip the sex scene! A total heartbreaker!” Cyndi shouts over the hand dryer, which is now blowing full-blast.
“For the record, I wasn’t going to ‘get it on with you,’” I say. “I just wanted to hug you.”
“Noted.” She finishes with the hand dryer. “Okay. Bye. You never saw me,” she says on a puff of air, then bolts out the door.
“Wait! Cyndi, what are you…?”
And… she’s gone.
Why is everyone acting crazy tonight? Is it me? Maybe it’s me.
When I return to the table, Bert and Doreen are finished with their appetizers and deep into their entrees.
“Sit, babe, quick,” Bert says. “Your soup is getting cold. Your lasagna with extra rigot is too. I took a bite. It’s delizios.”
Just then, our waiter breezes past, drops another breadbasket on our table, and whispers, “Delizioso!”—emphasizing the “o,”—then continues on his way.
I glance down at my entrée and see that Bert’s taken way more than just a bite. Looks like half the meal is gone. I internally coach myself.
It’s okay. He can eat my food. After all, I’m not that hungry. Actually… I’m ravenous.
“Are we in a hurry tonight or something?” I ask sweetly as I resume my place at the table next to Doreen.
“No, dear,” she says between mouthfuls of her chicken piccata. “Why?”
“You’re both eating pretty quickly and seem a little… I dunno, distracted?”
“Distracted? No dear, no one is distracted. What we are is incredibly focused. As you should be. That is exactly the point we want to make tonight.”
She finishes her last bite, refolds her napkin, and places it neatly beside her plate.
“Right. The Business. You wanted to talk about The Business. Okay, I know I haven’t brought as many people into my downline as I should. I’m just having a hard time finding—”
