Midlife Mercedes

The wind scratched his face as he made his way from the parking lot to the Quays. Whoever thought it a good idea to build a shopping complex on the seafront forgot to think about the bitter winter winds on a cold January evening.

Shivering in his slightly worn out parka, John made his way through the subway under the railway, passing underneath the sign saying ‘Gunwharf Quays’. The streetlights cast a dull glow over the pedestrian street ahead. He hadn’t been to the Quays since he frequented the cinema in his twenties, half his life ago.

She was meant to meet him in Zizzi, an Italian restaurant of her choosing. He had to let her choose as he didn’t have a clue what outlets were in business down here, or anywhere. He had been single since… well always. He hadn’t been close to a woman since Mary, and that was decades ago.

The warmth of the restaurant greeted him mercifully as he paused inside the door. An ornate clock on the wall behind the empty bar told him it was about ten minutes to eight, ten minutes early as planned. He ought to be more nervous, he thought. He wanted someone to share what was left of his life with, and time was running out. A decade ago, he had started thinking it was too late for him. Nonetheless, when his flatmate had suggested internet dating, he had despondently given it a try.

A waitress was walking among the tables. She was wearing a neat white blouse and a black skirt, almost down to her knees, hair in cheeky pigtails. She was gorgeous, John thought, too young for him though. The waitress had spotted him. She appeared behind the bar with a professional smile.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“I’m waiting for someone,” John explained, inadvertently smiling back at her.

She continued to smile as she walked back out among the tables, checking in with the small number of dinners still in the room, most of whom were eating desert by now. John noticed how hungry he was and wished he had arranged the date for earlier in the evening.

It was eight o’clock now. He glanced at the door often, worrying slightly whether she was even going to show up. He was slyly following the waitress around the room with his eyes when a draft of icy wind alerted him to the arrival of someone.

A middle-aged woman stepped through the door. Her hair was wavy and fell to her shoulders, she was wearing white fluffy earmuffs and a white duffle coat with a long red scarf, which she was unravelling on her way over to the bar.

“Hello,” she said nervously, approaching him.

“Charlotte?” He said, pleased as she removed her earmuffs and coat.

“Cold out there, isn’t it? You’re John, right?”

“Yes,” he said, thinking it covered both questions. “You look lovely. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” He had planned to say that, even if she had been disappointing in real life, but clearly, she had made an effort. He was not disappointed.

The waitress was approaching again. “Table for two?” She said, grabbing two menus of the bar and gesturing them to follow her.

They tensely sat down at a table at the back of the restaurant and started perusing the menus.

“Are you hungry?” John asked, finding the nerves were getting worse now.

She nodded nervously. “I love this place; the food is delicious. I already know what I’m having.” She put the menu down. “Salsiccia Con Cima Di Rapa.”

“Bless you,” John said chortling, “Do you speak Italian?”

She giggled, “No, I have no idea if I pronounced that correctly.”

“Maybe I’ll have the same as you - avoid having to pronounce two long complicated phrases in Italian,” John stated, thinking he’d probably go for the lasagne, it being the only thing on the menu he understood.

The Waitress was approaching the table with a little notepad. John couldn’t help noticing the poised, attractive way she walked, pigtails and breasts bobbing slightly, charming smile still lighting up the room.

“What would you like to drink?” John asked his date, hoping to have an answer ready for the young girl.

“Oh, just water,” Charlotte replied.

“Are you sure? Do you mind if I drink something a little stronger?” John quizzed.

“Of course not,” said Charlotte with a serious smile.

“What wines have you got?” He asked the waitress as she arrived, pen hovering over the notepad.

“They're listed in the menu,” she said, still smiling, “I recommend the 2015 Feudi di San Gregorio Patrimo Rosso Irpinia, it’s one of the finest Merlots out of southern Italy.”

“I’m not going to try and pronouns that,” said John, impressed, “if you recommend it, can I have a glass of that then please, and water for the lady.”

The waitress scribbled on her pad, “are you ready to order food?” she probed.

“Yes, can I have the Lasagne, and that one for her.” With a nod at Charlotte, he pointed to the Salsiccia Con Cima Di Rapa.

“Red wine,” said Charlotte with her eyebrows raised. “I didn’t have you down as a red wine sort of man.”

“What kind of man did you have me down as?” John asked, curiously.

“More of a beer kind of man,” Charlotte replied awkwardly. “Aren’t you driving home?”

“Yes,” said John, “It’s only one glass. Do you require a lift home?”

“That’s not necessary, I’m driving too.”

John was slightly put out by this, as it robbed him of the opportunity to show off his Mercedes. He had washed and polished it especially.

“So why are you still single? A beautiful woman, like you?” John asked.

The waitress brought over their drinks, just as John finished his sentence. He looked up and met her deep brown eyes. She put the glass of Merlot in front of him, smirking as if she’d overheard.

“If the wine isn’t to your taste, we have the slightly more expensive 2009 San Giusto a Rentennano La Ricolma, it’s a favourite from Tuscany.” She continued to watch him as he sipped his wine.

“I’m sure the… erm, this one will be fine,” he said, unable to remember the name of the wine he was drinking. “Are you Italian, or just a wine expert?”

“Neither,” she said, seemingly amused. “Your food should be along in a minute.” The server glanced at Charlotte, before her eyes playfully returned to John, or was he imagining it? Confused, he stared after her as she walked away.

“Enchanting!” Came Charlotte's voice across his reverie.

“Huh, what is?” Said John, turning his attention back to his date.

Charlotte's eyebrows were somewhat raised. Her grey eyes knowingly boring into his. She had wrinkles around her eyes, but it didn’t make her unattractive. She looked intelligent, if presently somewhat reproachful.

“So how come you haven’t got a girlfriend?” She said, leaning forwards interestedly.

“I’m too old,” John replied, “Wasted my youth chasing ghosts.”

“Who says you’re too old?” Said Charlotte, incredulously. “Men only get more attractive as they age. And you’re a handsome looking man.”

John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He felt himself blushing. No one had told him he was handsome for several decade, which had led to him assuming that he was not.

“There was a girl once,” he said, unsure whether it was a good idea to bring it up. “She was… well, it’s the only serious relationship I’ve had. I guess I’m not… I’ve not really…”

“What happened to her?” Charlotte said, reading between the lines. “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” She added.

John was amazed at her perceptiveness. Not having dated since late puberty, he had never realised how kind and understanding grown women could be. “Car crash,” he said softly.

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said gently. “Ah look, our dinner! I’m famished, aren’t you?”

The waitress placed plates in front of each of them, delectably pronouncing the long Italian names of the dishes. Realising he had been pronouncing ‘Lasagne’ wrong his entire life, John hungrily dug into his food.

Charlotte did most of the talking as they ate, which explained why she had barely touched her food when John’s plate was empty. Wishing he’d ordered beer instead, he picked up his wineglass and nodded along at her monologue. She was a manager in a local supermarket, had a son at university, and had been married but was now divorced. He shared his life story too, at least the generic bits. He left out the history of homelessness and addiction. He enjoyed conversing with her, but throughout their encounter no feelings or urges were stirred in him. It felt like chatting to a work colleague in the workplace canteen, or a relative at a family gathering.

“Shall we split the bill fifty-fifty, or calculate the exact amount we each owe?” Charlotte said.

“It’s fine, I’ll get it,” said John, taken aback. Perhaps he was old-fashioned, but he found it somewhat embarrassing that she would even suggest getting her purse out.

“I can’t let you pay,” she said, “I’d feel terrible.”

“Well, perhaps you can get it next time,” John said.

“That’s why I can’t let you pay,” she was looking awkward as she said it, “I had a lovely time, but ...”

“Oh, OK then.” John tried not to look too disappointed. The waitress was approaching the table with their bill.

Quickly, he stood up and intercepted her. “How much is it? Can I pay by card?”

The waitress looked over his shoulder to the table, then showed him the bill and said: “Sure! Do you want to come to the bar and pay, or shall I get the card reader and bring it over?”

John followed her to the bar. He wasn’t short of money. He worked full time and paid only half the rent on the flat he shared with a workmate. There was no way he was going to let Charlotte pay.

“Thank you,” said Charlotte, when they were out on the cold, windy promenade.

“You’re welcome.” He tried to smile, but it probably didn’t come across quite right. Charlotte went on her way towards to Quay’s nearest exit.

John didn’t feel cold. Perhaps it was the Merlot, but he felt like walking along the waterfront for a while. He walked for ages under the impressively illuminated shape of the Spinnaker Tower. The sound of the waves mingled with the noise of the city and the growling of the wind. He walked back towards the subway. There was no one around, perhaps it was even later than he thought. He didn’t notice her, until she was about a meter from him. Then he jumped and immediately panicked, worried that he had frightened her.

“Hello,” she said carelessly and unafraid. “Got lost on the way to your car?”

It was the waitress from Zizzi. She was wearing a thick fur lined parka and had a rucksack over one shoulder.

“I just walked for a bit,” he explained, “I didn’t mean to scare you … wasn’t looking …”

“Don’t worry,” she laughed, “I bumped into you on purpose.”

She was looking rather mischievous now. John blurted out: “How old are you?”

“29, and this is for you,” she stated. “I’ve got to go!” She gave him an edgy smile and then practically ran towards the subway and disappeared.

John was left dumbfoundedly starring at the note she had just given him. On it was scribbled a name and a phone number. He was still holding it in his hand when he got into his grey Mercedes, which his flatmate had called his midlife crisis. He placed the note deliberately in the passenger seat. She was too young for him, surely. Alternating between excitement and alarm, he released the handbrake and started his car.