What's In a Name?

Shelby stood and stretched. It had been a productive day of painting, and she was more than ready for a break. However, before leaving the quaint seaside studio, she took one last glance at her most recent piece of work. Overall, she was pleased with the progression of the painting of enormous, blue hydrangeas that sat upon the table, so she cleaned her brushes and put away the multi-colored paint palette and paints she had used.

She stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water as she headed to the bedroom where she took a long, hot shower before she began to dress for her planned evening out. Phoebe, a dear friend, had arranged a blind date for Shelby tonight, but she was still unsure as to the wisdom in accepting the invitation despite Phoebe’s assurances to the contrary that she would adore her date. She had finally acquiesced and decided to go on the date based solely on the fact that the man’s name was Atticus. Ever since she had been a very young girl, she had been in love with the character of Atticus Finch in the book, To Kill a Mockingbird. No, she did not secretly long for tall men in three-piece suits with horn-rimmed spectacles adorning their faces as they sweltered in the heat of the Southern summer, but she did long for a strong-minded man who was not afraid to stand up for well-founded ideals and beliefs, and she was not at all secretive about her desire for such. Indeed, her closest friends had often remarked on how particular she could be when it came to men and dating.

Standing before the vanity now, she applied a few touches of makeup to enhance her sun-kissed complexion. Living so close to the beach this summer had been a superb move, relaxing while it had provided creative inspiration for her paintings. She was fortunate that she was an established artist and able to reap the benefits of her work, allowing her to indulge in the hot summer on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean that Charleston’s climate provided. There were few who would not long for such an indulgence. It was sheer perfection and truly heaven.

Shelby pulled her long, auburn hair into a loose ponytail. Highlights of blonde hair, encouraged solely by time spent in the sun, ran like rivulets through it. The ponytail was an ideal solution this evening; it was far too hot and humid to consider another hairstyle, especially if she and her date would be eating outside. Donning a sleeveless, pale pink dress and heeled sandals, she gave herself one last glance in the mirror before she grabbed her purse and headed out the door. Climbing inside a little blue Volkswagen, she began the short trip across the lengthy bridge crossing the Cooper River. Smooth waves moved beneath the expanse of the bridge. The night was decidedly calm, hanging in the humid air, and let the laziness of the warm evening seep into her hoping it would help to relax her. Despite protestations, she was a bit anxious about meeting someone whom she did not know, even if his name was Atticus. However, she was also looking forward to an excellent meal at Garibaldi’s, a lovely little Italian restaurant situated on Market Street. She sighed, hoping that Atticus lived up to his name and provided some genuinely interesting conversation.

It was not the weekend, but Market Street was still crowded with throngs of tourists, so it took a bit of circling the parameter to find a nearby parking spot. It was fortunate that she had chosen to arrive a little early, suspecting that such would be the case. Eventually, she was able to pull into a small space in a lot just off the Market. It was a beautiful evening, so she did not mind the short walk to the the restaurant.

Arriving at Garibaldi’s, Shelby entered, amazed that the restaurant was not more crowded, but she reminded herself that it was a weeknight, after all, and not the busy weekend. As the host approached, she indicated that she was meeting a man named Atticus. Was he here already? Frowning slightly, the host advised her that no one by that name had arrived as of yet. Smiling, Shelby asked the host to go ahead and seat her, and then show Atticus to her table when he arrived.

“Splendid,” the host said as he picked up two menus and headed to the small, outdoor balcony on the second floor of the establishment. Once Shelby took her seat at the intimate table for two, the host assured her someone would be over in a moment to take her drink order. True to his word, it was a only a second before the waiter approached.

“Buonasera, signorina. What will you be drinking tonight?” he asked.

After reviewing the wine list, Shelby took the liberty of ordering a bottle of Tuscan Merlot. She hoped Atticus enjoyed a fine glass of wine, too. As the waiter left, she checked her watch and reminded herself she had been a bit early. Looking around, she noticed that the small bar on the second floor had only four patrons seated at high top stools. Despite the hour, the place had not yet filled with customers. Looking out from the balcony, she focused on the Italian music that she heard drifting through the restaurant. Was that the smooth, crooning voice of Dean Martin she heard singing? Yes, and he was singing, “That’s Amore”? Her mother had listened to Martin’s music for years, and despite the fact that Shelby was only twenty-five, she adored it nearly as much as her mother did. Moreover, “That’s Amore” was a favorite for her.

Returning moments later, the waiter opened the bottle of wine and poured a small amount into a beautiful, crystal glass for Shelby to sample. Inhaling first of its sweet, fruity aroma, Shelby then swirled the wine a bit in the lovely, long stemmed glass before taking a small sip. It was a rich, yet mildly spicy, burgundy Merlot. She could taste the blackcurrants and cherries. The wine was warm as it rested in her mouth for mere seconds before it traveled down the length of her throat. It was decidedly delicious, and she eagerly gestured for the waiter to fill her glass.

As the waiter left, she checked her watch again and learned that it was precisely five minutes past eight o’clock. Pulling her phone from her purse, she looked for messages, but there was nothing to indicate Atticus might be running a bit late. Anxiously glancing toward the doorway and finding no one, Shelby decided to concentrate on the menu instead. One of tonight’s specials was the fresh grouper. Growing up on the coast, she loved seafood and was certain that the grouper would be her first choice for dinner this evening.

What seemed like just a few minutes passed before Shelby finished the first glass of Merlot. Glancing at her watch again, she realized that it was now drawing closer to the half past eight mark. She smiled to herself and mused that it would be quite interesting if a man with such a dependable name as Atticus stood her up on a blind date this evening. Maybe it was not all necessarily in the name.

The waiter returned. Did she wish to order? Shelby hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. Yes. Yes, she did wish to order. The grouper please with a side salad. Now that she had finished a glass and a half of the wonderfully smooth Merlot, she needed some food on her stomach, and she was not about to let an inconsiderate louse of a man who happened to be named Atticus keep it from her. She would stay and eat the grouper alone if necessary. This was certainly not her typical evening out, but she did not need a man – or any companion for that matter – to define her in any capacity. She was an independent and self-assured woman, who was fully capable of eating and enjoying a meal all by herself in addition to being able to pay for it as well.

An hour later, Shelby sat, still very much alone, a single glass of the Tuscan Merlot before her on the table. It was now nine-thirty. If she stayed longer and finished the entire bottle of Merlot, she might have to call a taxi or walk around the city for an hour or so, but it very well might be worth it. The wine was soothing, delicious, and calming. Its essence filled her, relaxing her to a point of self-assuredness combined with determination. Its fruitiness was nearly like a dessert, filling her and completing the night’s meal without need of anything additional.

As Shelby glanced up from the glass of wine, a man approached and stopped at her table.

“Atticus?” she asked, sheer disbelief clearly etched across her stunned face.

“No, I’m afraid not,” the man shook his head and smiled ruefully. “I’m David. Might I join you? I couldn’t help but notice from across the room that you, like me, may have been left with greater expectations this evening.”

Shelby managed a faint laugh and returned the stranger’s smile, quickly gesturing for him to take a seat across from her. “You are most observant, David,” she laughed despite the situation. “My name is Shelby, and I must admit that it’s not the first time I've been stood up, but hopefully, it will be the last. Who would have possibly thought it from a man with a dependable name like Atticus?”

David’s smile grew in response to her words. “Atticus? Well, therein lies your problem,” he said. “Who’s named Atticus these days? He was likely eighty years old, walking with a cane anyway, and far too old for you! Of course, I can’t really say much since my intended date’s name was Pippy.” He grimaced.

In response, Shelby laughed and smiled even larger than before. “Pippy? As in Pippy Longstocking? My date may have been eighty years old with a walking cane, but it sounds as if you would have been babysitting yours and pulling bubble gum out of her braids before the night was over!”

The two laughed, true mirth easing the night’s disappointments and circumstances as well as the newness of their acquaintance.

“Would you like a glass of Merlot, David?” Shelby asked, giving him her biggest and most amused smile. “I assure you that I have more than enough to share.”

“Please. I would love a glass.”

After the waiter poured a glass of Merlot for David, he remarked on the wine. He noted that he thought it enticing and elegant in color, while also embodying a velvet like quality. He was quite sure that it had gone sublimely well with the dinner she had eaten since it was a wine well suited to most meals. She nodded and surmised that he had just summed up exactly why she preferred Merlot.

As the conversation ensued further, Shelby learned that David was a Pro Bono and Civil Rights’ lawyer, who had been practicing in the city of Charleston for four years. Shelby nearly choked on her wine at his disclosure as to what he did for a living.

“You cannot be serious?” Shelby said in disbelief.

Nevertheless, David assured her that he was absolutely and utterly serious, and that she could call him Atticus if she liked. Shelby laughed until she thought she could laugh no more. Could one demonstrate pure, unadulterated irony in any stronger shape or fashion than this obviously predestined meeting?

As the night progressed, and even though they were new acquaintances, it was very easy for Shelby to see that David was someone with whom she would easily strike up a conversation and immediately share common interests. Maybe this night was not a lost cause after all, she mused, because this man had immediately piqued her interest and made her laugh when she had otherwise considered the night a dismally lost cause.

An hour later, and though David had offered, after Shelby had insisted upon paying her own bill, the newly acquainted couple left to walk around the busy streets, stopping by a local pub, The Battery’s Bawdy Bear, for another glass of wine. The conversation had not once lagged between them, and Shelby was amazed at how similar their interests were. Unbelievably, the two had both attended the same university, with David graduating two years before she had completed her studies.

Much later, while walking Shelby to her parked car, David commented that despite the circumstances, what he considered to be tonight ‘s ‘first date’ had been fortuitous, and he would very much love to see her again. Pleased and happy beyond compare with how her evening had turned out, Shelby eagerly agreed, and the two exchanged contact information.

Driving home across the long bridge over the Cooper River and back to her beachfront rental property, Shelby wore a huge smile upon her sun-kissed face. In her wildest dreams, she would have never guessed that a blind date named Atticus would turn out to be such a disastrous flop, while a man with an average name like David would turn out to be so enchanting and amazing. One could certainly say that such propensities had likely encouraged the famous Bard, Shakespeare, to pen one of his most famous quotes:

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Yes, the Bard had been very wise and the same was very true right about now. A man named David smelled far sweeter than a man named Atticus ever could!