Extracurricular Affairs (Closed for Remec)

Danielle straightened her hair and sighed as the phone rang for the hundredth time, it seemed. She looked at it and noticed it was once again her boyfriend Barrett.

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"You know I'm working," she said in the direction of the phone, not moving to answer it. "Why do you keep calling?" Her tone was matter of fact and rhetorical. She was certain he wanted to go to dinner or to a game of some sort and, at times, he expected her to drop anything she was doing to be with him. Having spent the night at his apartment two nights earlier, she figured he could make do for a few hours. She finished getting ready and pulled on some tall, strappy boots. She modeled them in front of her floor length mirror and wondered if her feet would hurt if she wore them. Tonight, she was assigned only a four hour shift at the waitress stand of Cutterly's, a rather upscale steakhouse with a loungey vibe about thirty minutes outside of campus. The restaurant featured an expensive menu, but also a club level bar where many of the city's elite gathered, often to avoid their wives, their significant other-than-their-wives, or any number of other responsibilities. It was not the priciest, or richest crowd, but the people that came and went did well enough that when Danielle waited tables, she could take home a couple hundred a night. As hostess, it might be forty dollars at most.

When she was satisfied she looked ready, she took a selfie and sent it to Barrett, for the first time responding to the calls he'd been making for the past hour. He was a great guy, but a bit needy and a bit needy for her taste, but they had dated consistently, if not exclusively, for the better part of their freshman year and some over the summer. She had gone home to Texas for the break, and now returned to the more temperate beach and party city where campus was. Only two weeks into the semester of her sophomore year, she wondered if maybe she should look for a different boyfriend. However, she seemed to be unable to think of anyone on her horizon.

How do I look? Her text said. Working until ten. Will call you after.

Moments later she left the confines of her condo apartment, headed to her car, and made her way to work.

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The kitchen staff hooted and made comments until the manager calmed them down and put an end to their harassment. However, Danielle never minded such things and would not dress like she did if it bothered her. Once she checked in, she made her way to the hostess stand and relieved the little girl who had the day shift. The girl could not have been over seventeen. Probably a rookie. Dany had been waiting tables since she was 16 and felt this to be a demotion.

"I got it," she told the girl, saying nothing more in her dismissal. She proceeded to seat three couples in the next forty five minutes before sighing and expecting it to be a slow night. There were a few scattered groups of men in the bar, but the bartender didn't seem to need any help. She looked over the table chart to see the restaurant nearly empty. She texted Barrett again, annoyed that he never responded the first time she texted.

I may get cut early tonight. She waited several minutes and got no response, stuffing her phone under the stand. She was bored already. She hated Monday night shifts.

Raymond Foss got up from the easy comfort of the leather recliner he'd bought himself for Christmas umpteen years ago. It was one of those deluxe ones with the little pocket on the side to hold magazines or books, a cup holder, spot to tuck in the remote control for the tv/DVR/TiVo, and one of those massaging units built into it as well. He didn't like to leave it once he was home from work unless he was going to the table for dinner, to the john to take care of business, or off to bed. Tonight, however, was different.

The normally quiet household was abnormally so tonight. His son was a shadow passing occasionally through the room as he worked his smartphone, and his wife had left him a note on the door of the fridge saying she's had some exercise class or something and he'd find some leftovers ready to be plated up and reheated inside the freezer. Fuck this. Raymond thought as he shook his head when he stood.

He went to the closet in the main hallway and retrieved his keys from his jacket pocket, and left the house. As he pulled out, he used the navigator in the car to look for recommendations for local restaurants and nodded to himself when Cutterly's appeared on the list. It was a bit more than he might normally have considered for a Monday night out, and could be a touch trendy and hipsterish, but he was sort of in that kind of mood. His mood shifted a touch towards something else entirely as he stepped into the place and saw how the hostess was dressed for the night.

Noticing her appearance made his pause just briefly as he passed a mirrored surface along the wall of the restaurant's foyer. His greying black hair needed a touch of his hand to put things back into place--he sighed just a bit as he always seemed to spot more thinning of said hair anytime he paid attention to it. He brushed some lint and dust that had found holds on his suit and adjusted his tie a little, then smoothed the jacket and shirt down over his broad chest (and slight belly, he made a mental note to his the gym more often), then crossed to where the young woman was standing.

Raymond cleared his throat as he approached the hostess stand. "Hi there. Table for one...no reservation...that going to be okay tonight?"

Danielle made a few marks on the table chart with a wax pencil as she tried to kill time. It wasn't long, however, until her mind wandered and she sighed once more, bored through and through. She seated another older couple and turned them loose on one of the new servers, then found her post once more. She could tell it was getting dark outside from the way the low flung sun dimmed the natural light from the windows and set the building in a dark glow, bringing the ambiance up as the lights went down. She flirted briefly with her manager out of sheer seeking something to do, and had just turned back around when she noticed the foyer door open, prompting her to straighten up and look alive.

"Hi there, how many?" She asked the man, rather handsome if a bit older and seeming out of place. He had what he no doubt thought was a hip, trendy suit on, and in years past it might have looked sleek, but it seemed a bit worn and just slightly dull in the way that sharp fabric gets after a few years of wear and washing. Nevertheless, he was appealing in a gentlemanly sense, and he looked, to her, rugged, as if he had probably seen a lot of fun times in his younger days.

"Hi there," the man said, his voice low, but direct. "Table for one....no reservation. That going to be okay tonight?" He asked. Danielle gave a curt nod and grinned a tight, pursed lipped grin.

"Right this way," she said, turning on her heel and stepping, one long, prominent leg and then the other, into the heart of the restaurant. She led the man to a large table, normally reserved for four, but no doubt likely to be unnecessary on the slow night. She placed a menu in a place where his back would be to the wall and he could see the remainder of the room all the way to the hostess stand and door from which he had just entered. She waited for him to be seated and removed the extra table settings. "Darren will be your waiter tonight," she said. "He'll be right with you." She smiled, then turned once more and sauntered back to the hostess stand. She took a couple of phone calls for reservations in the coming days, and then looked back over the restaurant. After a few minutes, she stepped through the restaurant once more, catching the eye of the man who she had just seated, giving him another, normal smile as she would any customer, before retrieving a tub of silverware and cloth napkins. In moments, she set up shop at the end of the bar not eight feet away from her stand so that she could still see the door if anyone came in, as well as keep an eye on the room. She asked the bartender for a water with lemon, and she began to roll silverware, hoping to reset the tables early and get out at a reasonable hour if she did have to close. She looked at the clock and it was only 7:15. It was going to be a boring night.

Darren was a decent enough server. Attentive to details, knew the evening's specials without having to refer to any sort of cheat sheet, and had Raymon'd drink order to him quickly enough that the beads of sweat from the chill of the glass and the ice within it had not had time to begin sliding down the outside of to the coaster Darren had placed on the tabletop before Raymond. Raymond barely noticed, however, since his eyes were firmly focused beyond Darren to where Danielle sat doing her closing work.

"That hostess," Raymond interjected in a pause during the ordering process, "she new here? Something about her..."

"Danielle? No, she's been here, like, forever," Darren answered. "Usually waits tables, though."

That must be it. Raymond thought. I've probably seen here working different sections of the restaurant. To the waiting Darren, Raymond just nodded and then ordered a fairly standard steak and shrimp platter with fries and seasoned veggies. He ordered a Coke to come with the meal, but told Darren to bring him another whiskey while he waited.

"Sure thing, that platter also comes with a trip to the salad bar, if you're interested."

"Sounds good."

Once Darren had left him alone to put in the orders and get the new drink from the lounge, Raymond got up and walked to the salad bar. He picked up a plate and then stepped away to approach the still seated hostess. "Um, Danielle, is it? Darren said my meal came with salad and I was wondering if any the premade selections--the pasta salad or macaroni or whatever that yellow one is--were things you'd recommend or should I just stick with a bed of greens and make my own concoction?"

He flashed her a big smile while waiting on an answer and did his best to keep his eyes on her face, instead of lingering over those lovely legs or the way her outfit for the night hugged every curve of her body. As a last thought occurred to him, he extended his right hand to her. "Oh, I'm Ray, by the way, figured only fair you know my name since yours is right out for everyone to see," he said with a light laugh.

Danielle had not been seated long when the man she sat in Darren's section was standing by her spot at the bar. She felt him out of her periphery, and turned when he began speaking to her.

"Um, Danielle, is it?" He asked. She raised her eyebrows a bit, finding it interesting he knew her name, figuring instantly that he had asked and Darren had told him. The hair on the back of her neck stood up slightly, her interest piqued that she had perhaps interested him, a welcome distraction to a boring night. The man continued. "Darren said my meal came with salad and I was wondering if any the premade selections--the pasta salad or macaroni or whatever that yellow one is--were things you'd recommend or should I just stick with a bed of greens and make my own concoction?"

"Ahh," she began, her eyes darting to the salad bar itself, then back to the man standing before her. She thought it was endearing that he was acting as if he had any interest in her thoughts about sprouts versus potato salad. It was like any salad bar in any restaurant you might find. She smiled politely when she gave her response, not wishing to convey any interest or emotion, for even now she had none. "The pasta salad is really good. I usually just have a regular salad though." While the man seemed satisfied with her answer, she then found his hand extended toward her.

"Oh, I'm Ray, by the way, figured only fair you know my name since yours is right out for everyone to see," he chuckled a bit.

Of course, she thought. I'm wearing my name tag. She touched the little nameplate she wore every night at work, then reached forward and shook his hand.

"Hi Ray," she said, returning her hands both to the task at hand, rolling silverware. She thought he looked familiar, but could not place him, and she noticed the wedding ring on his finger, chalking him up as just another dirty old man, unsatisfied in his relationship, who probably simply enjoyed chatting up someone her age. Just then her phone warbled and she reached across the bar and picked it up. "Sorry," she said, then put the phone away after seeing the message. "My boyfriend," she said, putting the phone away, certain her message that she was taken had been sent.

Instincts are what they are. When he heard the chirp of a message text, Ray immediately went to his hip where his phone lived for close to ten hours a day or more, only to realize a moment later that it had been Danielle's phone. He watched as she paused in wrapping silverware to grab it. She looked it over, but instead of answering just put it away, and returned to her seat.

"My boyfriend," she explained, and Ray got the feeling of polite dismissal in the explanation. Move along, old man, I'm already spoken for, and aren't you as well? He nodded in understanding and hefted his plate as he turned back towards the salad bar.

"Not a problem," he told her, then Ray gave Dani another big smile and added, "does he know you're in the habit of ignoring him to chat with your customers? Or am I a special case?" He gave her a wink, then slipped away before she could respond.

"Hmm...let's see...I think we'll make out own, but have some pasta salad on the side, yes?" he muttered to himself as he fixed his plate. Glancing back towards where Danielle was seated as he added some dressing to the greens, peppers, cucumbers, olives, and shredded cheese, Ray took a last lingering look at those long, exposed legs before heading back to his table where he found the rest of his meal already arrived. And his whiskey rather watered down.

"Darren?" Ray called to his server. "New whiskey, if you would, please? Thanks."

He began eating slowly and quietly, sometimes grooving to the pumped in music, and occasionally looking towards the hostess. Definitely something about her.

Danielle grinned when the man asked if he was special, winked, and then headed to the salad bar. She continued prepping the place for tomorrow's shift and thought little else of him as her shift continued, though each time she glanced across the room she did make a note that she thought he was rather handsome, though it made her no less ready to get off work and go home. A moment later the phone nearby warbled again. She had forgotten to respond earlier and Barrett was perhaps a bit impatient. She looked at his prior message, sent earlier when she was talking to the guy across the restaurant.....was it...Ray?

Don't change out of that when you get home She smirked at the message, half-amused and half-annoyed. Barrett was a year older than she was. They had met her first semester of college when she was waiting tables at a campus corner restaurant. There, the outfit was simple khaki shorts and a university t-shirt or jersey of your choice. At first, while she had connected with Barrett, she didn't make much of any proclivity he had, thinking he just liked her, and no doubt he did. But when she took the higher paying job at Cutterly's, the boy had commented how hot their waitstaff was and how he hoped she got assigned to the bar for happy hour. Of course he did, she had thought. The happy hour catered to oil executives and professionals with a lot of money who liked their whiskey neat and their women bare. The attire for Cutterly's happy hour was about a yard of fabric, strategically placed in any location, so long as the important parts, and not much else, were covered, and the fabric had to be black. Since that time, she had learned that waitresses were just sort of Barrett's thing, and she was happy to play the part. His message was his simple way of telling her he intended to fuck her later, and she had best be ready to play the role of his favorite hostess, which she always was. At the same time, he had been a pushy and rather impatient jerk the last couple weeks and she didn't feel she necessarily owed him anything. She had sent him a picture earlier and should have known what that would do. Nevertheless, perhaps she could keep him at arm's length.

I'm covering a double shift now. She lied in her response. I won't be home until probably 3am. She sighed, putting away the phone, certain he would complain and whine about it the next time they hung out. He would probably even accuse her of cheating or some nonsense. At times, she thought that if she was going to be accused, then perhaps she should just do the deed for which she was accused. Maybe a relationship with Barrett wouldn't work out and if not, maybe she was missing out on something, though she couldn't be sure what. She once again glanced across the restaurant.

"Ray is handsome," she thought again, a moment before returning to her task at hand, figuring the night would see her simply return home and go to sleep.

"Got that closing prep sorted out?"

Danielle knew what George, the general manager on duty that night would be saying next; he was predictable almost to a fault. "Well, it's awfully slow. So if you've finished, I'll go ahead and close up and you can take the rest of the night--such as there is--off, eh?"

As she was gathering her things, Danielle felt a light touch at her elbow. Ray, the older customer who had been eyeing her all night was standing there. "On your way out as well?" he asked. "Need a lift?"

He flashed her a rather disarmingly suave smile, and offered one arm to her. Ray really wasn't so sure she'd be interested, having a boyfriend and all; but he figured he'd played the part of pursuer through most of the evening (albeit, cautiously and extremely low-key), why not let his whiskey talk him into saying or doing something that might be silly and risk getting told off and/or slapped?

And, who knows, maybe I'll be surprised and have the chance to give her a real lift later on?