It was late and my red snapper had gone cold.
Ben, John's friend from high school, was in town from New York, and in addition to reconnecting with a childhood buddy, John was insistent on introducing me. Presently, John was supposedly at the airport picking up Ben, then the two were supposed to come to my place for dinner. However, his plane had been scheduled to arrive at seven; it was after eleven with no update from either of them.
Impressing Ben was obviously important to John, so I put on my Giada-pants to cook dinner. After obsessing over recipes, I'd spent the evening preparing lemon herb red snapper and mushroom risotto, and toasted bruschetta with a tomato and mozzarella salad for an app. I'd set three plates for dinner at eight thirty; three glasses sat empty beside an opened bottle of grenache blanc. The floating candles in the water-filled centerpiece had burned down below half-length, and the bruschetta had gotten cold and limp. Sipping a glass of water, I scrunched my nose and frowned at the advancing clock.
I paced restlessly to the bedroom. Nervously stopping to check my appearance in the full-length mirror, I tidied my bright red lipstick, then smoothed the thin, powder blue button-up cardigan to my stomach. Arranging the sides of the deep V-neck that met just above the swell of my D-cups, I fidgeted anxiously with the buttons of the sweater. Flattening the thin fabric as it rounded the dramatic curves of my bust, I readjusted the inter-button gaps to stop the hints of my black lace bra from peeking through. My short black skirt flirted playfully at the middle of my thighs, its pleats leading the eye down to the black nylons that encased my legs. Whirling abruptly at the sound of my front door opening, my shiny black high heels clicked smartly on the wood floor as I swept out of the bedroom and down the hall to the entry.
The smell of Jameson wafted from the doorway ahead of the two men. John wobbled visibly as he grappled with his overcoat. Ben watched him without offering assistance, holding his own coat folded in the crook of his elbow, as though expecting someone to appear to take it from him. He was good looking, several inches taller than John and still stood with a jock's cocky posture. His hair looked like he'd walked into a Manhattan salon and simply told them "Give me the Patrick Bateman." Under his quarter-zip sweater, his body had the look of a former athlete; sharp lines of youthful muscle, papered over with an accumulation of expense account lunches and late nights at the bar.
As I watched from a few paces down the hall, Ben finally noticed my presence and thrust his jacket at me with a silent, arrogant grin. His teeth were uniformly straight and stunningly white, a predator's smile. Before I could respond, John, freed from his own coat, rushed forward and snatched the jacket from his friend. Blotting a hasty, whiskey-tasting kiss on my lips, John slipped an arm around my waist and turned toward our guest.
"Sarah," he extended the arm holding the coats toward the other man, "this is Ben. He was my best friend in high school. When I switched from public school to St. Mark's halfway through freshman year, he took me under his wing when I didn't know who to hang out with, and showed me how to fit in."
I smiled at John's affinity for his friend, mulling that I might have misjudged him on my flash-first impression. My aggravation at the wasted dinner passed; they hadn't been deliberately inconsiderate, they had simply lost track of time while catching up. "Well, it's wonderful that you two have stayed in touch. Welcome back to town, Ben."
I stepped forward and extended my hand to shake, and found it eclipsed in Ben's large mitt. He stooped and planted a wet, lingering kiss on the back of my hand; his lips pressed against my skin long enough that I cleared my throat to get John's attention.
"Hey now... that's enough, you ol' smoothie." John reluctantly intervened. Ben straightened, finally releasing my hand from his grip as he blatantly looked me over from head to toe.
"Holy shit, John!" He exclaimed; his gaze fixated on my rack. "Where'd a dud like you pick up a prime piece like her?!" Smiling uneasily, I retreated a hasty step back and retracted my arm, holding it crooked at my side as I rubbed the slick of drool from the back of my hand with my other palm. John laughed nervously as his friend advanced to close the distance I had gained, continuing his teasing.
"No, seriously, are her rates reasonable and does she have any available dates later in the week?" I shot a glance at John to see if he'd step in, but he smiled yieldingly. Ben turned to direct his joke-maker right at me. "Do you take Black Card? How will this show up on my expense report; something discreet, right?" He guffawed at his own hilarity.
John laughed along as he casually tried to intervene. "Okay, that's about enough of tha-" but Ben wasn't done with his comedy routine.
"Hey, are you guys having a meeting while I'm in town? I'd love to meet some of the other members." His eyes were still buried in my rack, but I was confused and misdirected by his question.
"Meeting... what meeting?" I asked, immediately regretting it.
"A meeting of The Tig Ol' Bitty Society! You must be president of the local chapter!" Another roar of laughter blasted from his mouth, while his eyes kept drooling at my chest. My face flushed in mortification as I crossed my arms defensively over my bust. John tried to grab his elbow to guide him into the living room, but Ben shook him off. "Come on, you don't have to be such a killjoy! Just introduce me... a-round!" His hands outlined twin globes in the air between us.
Ben finally relented and allowed John to guide him down the hall to sit down. Avoiding my eye contact as they passed, John draped the coats over my arm without comment as he shepherded his friend.
Pausing to catch my breath after the boorish display, I allowed the two of them to pass into the living room. From down the hall, I heard Ben loudly reacting to my well-appointed apartment. "Man, a nice set of milkbags can buy you a fancy place in this town." The oaf joked. I rolled my eyes in contempt as I opened the closet and hung their coats. I delayed another moment, then relented and returned to my guests.
The guys were slumped lazily at either end of my navy-blue sofa, talking and laughing loudly. I paused upon entering the room, clasping my hands uncertainly before my waist; the couch was built for three people, but it didn't look like there was enough space for me between their spreading knees. Settling into a chair perpendicular to them with my back to the kitchen, I crossed my legs primly, folded my arms across my tummy, and tried to follow the banter. Names I didn't know in places I'd never been doing things that were hilarious, but "you had to be there."
Sick of being sidelined in my own home and determined to show Ben that I wouldn't let a creep run roughshod over me, I forced myself into the conversation.
