Spiced lamb and Greek salad protested as she tilted the last of the wine into her mouth. Bean flirted with the handsome twenty-something waiter; with dark curls, brown eyes and a smile that melted her heart, the young waiter reminded her of Peter Giros, a college boyfriend she'd never really gotten over. Harmless fun, that's all it was. When he filled her wine glass Bean blushed like a teenager and giggled uncontrollably, then covering her mouth she blurted, "Oh my God" more than once.
Lynn, her best friend, herself sucking down a fifth glass of wine, encouraged Bean with a sly wink and a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. "I think that's one's a keeper, Bean," she said, nearly falling from her chair. "You better grab him before I do." She gestured for the waiter. He came over with a confident gait, putting his hand on the table next to Lynn. With a wine induced slur Lynn batted her eyelids and asked for his name.
"Tony," he replied with a boyish grin. With the top button of his rumpled shirt open, the gap exposed a brass medallion that dangled from his neck.
"Well Tony," Lynn said, letting hair brush against his arm in a flirtatious whirl of brown. "This here is my bestest friend in the whole wide world, Bean. She's been dying to ask you something all night."
"No, I haven't," Bean protested with a nervous laugh. The things Lynn might say sober made Bean petrified of what she might say drunk. Unexpected words slipped from Lynn's mouth, usually with a mischievous grin.
"Now stop that Bean. You know it's true." Lynn rolled her blue eyes, and stroking Tony's arm with her hand she turned to him. "She's been wondering what's on that medallion around your neck."
"This?" Tony replied, pulling the medallion out where light glinted off its shiny surface. "This is my Saint Jude medallion."
He leaned over Bean and held it out close to her face, allowing Bean a clear view down his shirt. Bean gripped it between her finger and thumb, to study the image of a man in robes holding a staff. But looking down his shirt Bean thought about Peter and the sweet smell of nutmeg. Bean flushed and her fingers shook nervously.
"And who is Saint Jude?" Bean whispered coyly, flirting with a man, a boy really, for the first time in years.
"He's the patron saint of lost causes." Tony gripped Bean's hand in his, and when he squeezed her fingers she felt weak at her knees. The wine made her snort a laugh through her nose, that sounded like a wild boar crashing through the grass. Embarrassed by her strange laugh and the craving she felt for Tony, Bean nodded and pulled her hand loose.
By ten p.m. Bean danced with Tony on hardwood floors, where the staff had cleared tables to make room in the middle of the restaurant. Sipping ouzo shooters, generously poured by a smiling bartender, Bean felt carefree for the first time in years. Stress slipped from her arms and shoulders, loosening up her joints so that she might kick up her heels all night. The room swayed as Bean swooned in Tony's strong arms. He moved well for his age, guiding her along on a string with sure hands and firm fingers. Giddiness filled her up even as the wine and ouzo worked their magic, making her head light as pillows under a starry sky. When she was eight she danced in her night gowned in her bedroom, feeling the room spin around and around while the spot light of the moon lit the floor. To feel that sensation of wind and light against her face again was worth the hangover that would surely follow.
Shortly before midnight, with the make-up and lipstick faded from her face, Bean smiled and laughed like a school girl. She unbuckled the strap to her wristwatch and tossed it to the floor, crushing the glass with the end of her heel. "Opa!" she screamed with joy, thrust her fists into the air. The crowd around her cheered.
The following morning soft sunlight filtered through a bay window. Bean awoke sprawled out on Lynn's couch, face down with her hair dangling over her face and her arm tossed over the side. A patchwork quilt spread over her back, though her feet stuck out the end. Outside the muted chirp of birds greeted the day as Bean fluttered her eyes open and, rolling to one side, she sat up and brushed her flattened hair to the side. Still dressed from the night before, Bean tossed the quilt to the side and yawned.
"Good morning, sunshine," said Lynn, rummaging around in the cupboard for a cup. She wore a lime green bathrobe, tied at the waist, which matched her slippers. "Bit of a rough one. How's your head?"
"Not good," Bean mumbled, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. The words struggled out of her mouth. Lynn handed her a hot mug of fresh coffee. Bean sipped on it gingerly, feeling the soothing liquid wet her mouth, lubricating it enough for her to speak. "I don't think ouzo was a good idea."
"Ouzo's never a good idea." Lynn laughed and poured herself a cup of coffee, before scratching at her wet hair. "I don't know what brought that on. Wait, I know. It was your birthday last night."
"I didn't do anything really stupid, did I?" Bean moaned, burying herself into the cushions. Around Bean's neck dangled a Saint Jude medallion.
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