BEN AND FREDDIE

I managed to get a decent pair of pants and a shirt together to get my self ready for dinner. As I navigated the potholed downtown roads toward the restaurant where Ben and his friend were meeting me I noticed that I was going deeper and deeper into the city’s most expensive plots of real estate. My pulse sped up. Any restaurant in this area would definitely mean a bill of at least seventy-five dollars per person. I considered backing out but I didn’t have to guts to think up the lie that would be required to get me a pass on the dinner invitation. I’m getting soft, I thought to myself. There was a time when I wouldn’t hesitate to lay a bald-face lie over a commitment like morning dew gently settling on a quiet field of grass.

I pulled up in front of the restaurant and observed people striding happily toward the entrance. As I passed the restaurant looking for a place to park, I peaked inside. It was one of those chic restaurant decorated with panels of brushed metal and blue with exotic light fixtures that dipped down from exposed rafters where everybody was somebody and the appetizers cost as much as a main dish. I truly couldn’t afford a place like that right now. Every space on the street was taken and the closet parking lot was too far. Reluctantly, I pulled up to the valet stand in front of the restaurant. I handed over my keys and paid the valet. Each dollar that left my hand sent pangs of anxiety through me like bolts of lightening. The valet smiled content to do his job and wait for a tip upon my departure. I dropped my keys into his open hand and rushed toward the doors. When Ben saw me he leapt to his feet, all smiles and excitement. I couldn’t help but be buoyed by the energy that he emanated. “Hey Hank. How are you?” “I’m great,” I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster hoping that my feigned happiness would fool him. “It’s really great to see you. Come on over. I want you to meet Freddie.” I thought he was bringing a female friend. I followed him over to where he had been sitting next to a person who was clearly a woman. “Freddie, Hank, Hank Freddie.” I extended my hand toward a beautiful woman with smooth, dark brown skin. She wore her hair in shoulder-length dreadlocks that were styled in an upswept twist, but a few dangled gently on her face partially covering one of her almond shaped eyes. Her eyes were encircled with long lashes that made them look like she was always squinting. We reached for each other’s hand and shook. Her hand shake was firm, professional. We sat down for dinner.