Don’t Eat Peter’s Tomatoes

He walked in looking like George Clooney and smelling like George Costanza. He was a smorgas-George. She closed her eyes and gripped the stem of her wine glass. Then again, she was a total Betty. Bettie Page, Betty White and Betty Rubble but maybe Georgie-boy liked older women. She was certainly about to find out.

He approached her table right away, her blue-black hair and navy and white sailor dress giving her away immediately. His smile seemed genuine as his eyes took in his dinner partner.

“I’m hoping you’re Wendy?” His voice was mellow and smooth, his complexion buttery soft. She had a tough time imagining why he needed a set-up when the scent of pumpernickel hit her nose, followed by a hit of dill. Her stomach rumbled and her cheeks turned just the slightest bit pink.

She nodded and went to stand but he shook his head in deference and walked over to where she was sitting. He bent down and gave her half an embrace, his voice tickling her cheek as he spoke.

“I’m Basil.” He moved away, not overstaying his welcome nor too put-off to get close. So far, he was making things interesting. He took a seat across from her and nodded towards her glass.

“Merlot,” she replied.

He nodded. “I’m a gin man, myself.” Then, a smile and shrug. Before she had a chance to reply, a server appeared.

“What can I get’cha?” She was in snug jeans and a knotted Bowie t-shirt but Basil only smiled politely and met the young woman’s eyes.

“Bombay gimlet, thanks.” He turned towards his date. “Would you like another?”

She took about three seconds and then conceded.

“The Bright Cellars, right?”

She tilted her glass as a nod. “That’s me.”

The server disappeared into the din of the bar and they were alone once again. She picked up her glass and took a sip.

“I’ve never met a Basil before.”

“Let me know if you need me to sign off on your ‘names I never thought I’d hear’ Bingo card.”

She cringed in response. “Sorry. You must get that all the time.”

“No,” he corrected. “I’m sorry. Traffic was a pain in the ass. I had the same Audi cut me off three times and I’m just being a dick. It’s a family name,” he explained. “My dad was Basil and his dad and, you guessed it, his dad.”

She smiled. “Oh, just the four of you?”

“Well, they were gonna name my uncle Basil originally but it was too specific. They just ended up naming him Herb.”

One sharp laugh directly from her belly rushed out of her mouth and she immediately clapped her hand over her lips, embarrassed.

He grinned widely. “No, please.” He brought his hand out to gesture at her but then brought it back to his lap. “Wow. I don’t even know what to do, here. I never expected that joke to work.”

She opened her mouth to respond but instead a hiccup came out. “Oh, fuck!”

He barked out several sharp laughs and leaned back in his chair as the server returned to their table. She looked from one to the other and smiled awkwardly before setting each of their glasses down appropriately.

“Would you guys like more time or,” she trailed off as she nodded towards the menus sitting on their table.

Basil looked towards Wendy, who shrugged. “I’m so sorry, I haven’t looked at all.”

Basil turned to the server and admitted the same then followed up. “Do you guys have any charcuterie board, plate, thing... at all?”

She nodded. “Yeah, yeah. We’ve got a board with like, meats and cheeses and dried fruits. That kinda thing.”

He turned to Wendy again. “Would that work for you? At least while we figure things out?”

She straightened up and scooted her chair further into the table. “Sounds great; I am getting a little peckish.”

He smiled. “Perfect. We’ll peck at that for now.”

She nodded and turned away from the table as Basil returned his attention to Wendy. “It’s really nice to finally meet you. Alex and Aaron talk about you all the time.”

She finished off her initial glass of merlot and set it to the side. “Wonderful! I know where they’ve buried the bodies, so I’m confident they sang my praises.” She winked at him and he smiled.

He took a drink of his gimlet and nodded. “That’s good. Nice and cold.” He looked up at her. “That they did.” Then, he paused. “Is it in the garden, cause those tomatoes always look and taste terrific.” He lifted his hand, as if grasping the fruit. “I always wondered what Aaron’s secret was.”

She nodded. “It’s his ex.”

Basil laughed heartily. “Oh, shit! I hope not Evan. I really liked him.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “Oh God, no. He’s lovely. No, no. Evan lives in Greece, now. He and his husband have goats.”

He shook his head, as if to clear it out. “Goats?”

“Well, they have a goat farm. They make cheese and milk. Well, technically, I guess the goats do.”

“The goats would appreciate that, I think.”

“It’s the least I can do; the cheese was delicious.”

“Well, now I’m just jealous. Delicious cheese and,” he gestured “you’ve clearly kept in touch with Evan. I haven’t heard from him since the break-up. I thought we were friends.”

She laughed, even slapping her knee lightly, then took a drink of her fresh merlot. “Evan didn’t stand a chance. I showed up on his doorstep after a respectful two weeks and declared that he was stuck with me.” She took another drink. “You don’t let someone that good at trivia go easily. He’s a phenomenal game player and not in the mental warfare way.” She paused and cocked her head. “Actually, some of it really was mental warfare but only in the good name of game nights.”

“Wow.”

She nodded as she sipped. “Yeah, I’m a handful.”

“Doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he returned.

“It’s all about perspective.”

“Indeed.” He smiled again, all the way to his eyes. He really did remind her a lot of George Clooney. Seemingly out of nowhere, or perhaps her attention was just directed elsewhere, the server stepped up to the table.

“Here we are,” she said with the slightest bit of a flourish, as she placed the food on the table along with two small plates. “Can I get you anything else for right now?”

The two looked at each other, speaking with their eyes. Basil shook his head. “We’re fine for now, thanks.” She nodded and disappeared into the room.

Silence fell for two or three seconds before her continued their conversation. “You know who I didn’t like? Peter.”

“Dear god, no. But I wouldn’t want to eat his tomatoes, either.”

Now is was his turn to whoop with laughter. “Absolutely fair point,” he said as he passed her a plate and then grabbed the second for himself. “This looks pretty great.”

She nodded. “Smells good, too.”

“That it does.” He took a few cubes of cheese, some olives and a nice, thin piece of prosciutto. “So, remind me what you do again. I’m not sure that I’ve ever been told.”

She took from the plate herself, as she spoke. “Well, in my past life—before I retired, I was a dance teacher.”

“Oh, wow.”

“The little ones all the way up,” she said gesturing with her hand.

“You must miss it.”

“Well, I do but I can’t miss it too much. My daughter runs the dance studio now, so I get to keep my hands in the mix. Now, though, cause I get bored too easily, I work a few days a week at one of those thrift stores that specializes in old Hollywood costumes and vintage pieces. It’s a gas.”

She began to nibble on a slice of pear with a sprinkle of bleu cheese. Then, when she realized how much she’d been talking, smiled sheepishly and asked, “you?”

“I’m surprised you can’t tell. Most people can.”

“I—“ she let herself trail off, more than a little confused. Okay, he might remind her of George Clooney but he was kidding himself if he thought he could impersonate the guy. If people still did that, at least.

“I own a deli. The charcuterie must be hiding it,” he finished, looking down at the spread. “No matter what soap I try or what cologne I go with, I always just end up smelling like pastrami and baba ghanoush.

Ahhhhhhh. Light bulbs went off in her head.

“Oh!” The word slipped out before she could stop it and her hand automatically shot up and covered her mouth.

“I knew it,” he declared pointing and then banging his hand lightly on the table.

“Oh fuck, Basil. I’m so sorry. Am I just the world’s worst actress?”

He chuckled. “No, not at all. There was an accident at work. Nothing bad, just, hummus everywhere. Literally, everywhere.” He gestured with his hands but couldn’t seem to get the shape big or awkward enough. He paused, then repeated. “Everywhere.”

His eyes met hers and he gave her a raise of his eyebrow and a slight dip to his head. She finally giggled.

“I showered twice and stuffed two coffee beans up my nose for twenty minutes and still the only thing I can smell is hummus.”

“I love hummus,” she shared as she popped a queen olive into her mouth. She paused and then popped another.

He looked into her eyes again. “I’ll be the judge of that.” With these words, she blushed. He noticed, his hazel eyes deepening in color, and winked at her. Her blush deepened and she swatted at him from across the table.

“You stop,” she teased.

“Making you blush? Nah, I don’t think so. Looks too good on ya; makes me feel too good watching it.”

She rolled her eyes but still continued to rouge, then tried to form a rejoinder and instead found herself tongue-tied. She closed her eyes momentarily and tossed her napkin into her lap.

“Well, fuck,” she said.

“No retort,” he asked, smiling.

She shook her head. “Nope. I got nothing.”

His smile widened as he lifted his glass in a toast. She joined him, her wine in the air.

“To the ever versatile chickpea,” he said.

“To the chickpea,” she laughed, echoing him and finishing her drink.

“And to another glass of merlot,” he asked. She smiled into his eyes. This was going well.

“Definitely. To another glass of merlot.”