A Meal Ticket (Date #3)

As I sit here to compose this latest blog entry, I am smiling, laughing, and fresh from Date #3 with the Dashing Litigator. After our incredibly romantic second date we exchanged emails trying to coordinate when we'd see each other again. It was decided (mostly due to my crazy and hectic rehearsal/performance schedule) that we would meet for lunch some day this week. That day was today. Today is Wednesday, which makes it not only our third date, but also our third Wednesday date. *cue Twilight Zone music*

What I had pictured in my mind for this lunch date was a typical, casual affair. I'd walk a few blocks from my office, he'd walk a few blocks from his, and we'd meet in the middle somewhere in the loop, at a Potbelly's or Corner Bakery. We'd dine on sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper, or salads with plastic forks, talking over the din of the lunch rush with all the other skirts and suits. Then we'd part with a casual hug and go our separate ways.

But there is nothing typical about the Dashing Litigator.

At 11:30 he picks me up from work looking gorgeous in a black suit with pale blue pressed shirt and bold yellow tie. He whisks me away to Chicago's Little Italy neighborhood. There we drive around for a bit looking for parking, nearly knocking off his passenger side mirror when he zips down a narrow alley. I laugh hysterically, while he is nonplussed, saying it will 'add character' to his trusty Chevy truck. His driver's side door also 'has character' in that every once in a while he must open it part way and then slam it shut again, to secure it. Each time he does this, I momentarily panic, thinking he is trying to escape the date. He laughs.

He takes me to Tufano's, an authentic Italian restaurant that has been around for more than 60 years and only accepts cash. The specials are scrawled on a chalkboard that runs along one wall, and the walls have that Tuscany feel, plastered, painted a dry mustard color and with intermittent patches of exposed brick. We choose a table near the window and the place is virtually empty, save for a couple of small parties.

The time absolutely flies by. We talk about (in no particular order) my show, my career, lesbian gym teachers, taking naps, his upcoming trip to Florida to buy a unit on Marco Island, and weddings - or rather, things we know that we want and don't want for our wedding. Well, not 'our' wedding...but, well, I mean it could be...but no, it's just the third date people, geez! I wouldn't want to assume anything and - ok. Shutting up now.

We order bruschetta. He orders meatballs and sausage (cutting them up to share with me when they arrive) and pasta. I order the eggplant lasagna. We share everything and can't understand people who don't like to share their food. All too soon it is time to go. I glance at my watch and realize I am officially 2 minutes late for work.

We hop back into his truck and make tracks for the south loop. We're making great time when suddenly I'm aware of a police car, lights flashing, about a block behind us. He continues through two green lights before making a left hand turn. "I think that police car is chasing us!" I shriek, clapping my hands. He isn't so sure, but just then we see the blue lights round the corner slowly gaining on us. He pulls to the side of the road and sure enough, so does the police car.

He is completely cool and calm. He turns to me, winks and says, "I told you. Never boring, right?" According to Grumpy Officer Murphy, my date made a turn in a lane that was not designated for turning. And for that, in Chicago, they fine you $75. He handles the whole situation, which could've been quite embarrassing, with ease. I am smiling and laughing and enjoying this adventure with him, even though it has now made me nearly a half hour late to work. He assures me that he will contest the ticket - and being a lawyer, how could he not?

Soon we are back on the road. As we drive down Jackson, one whole side of the street is lined with a red carpet. I tell him to let me out - that I can walk the rest of the way on the red carpet and appease the paparazzi. He puts on his best Golden Globe announcer voice and says, "And now coming down the red carpet, Tim Robbins...oooh, and look at who's just stepped out, folks. You can tell by her gams, it's Carrie Wickert!" I collapse in hysterics and I'm smiling so hard my cheeks hurt and now I really don't want to go back to work.

We pull up to my building and begin the arduous task of figuring out when we can see each other again. With my show opening and his trip to Florida - that next date would have to be Thursday. Of next week. I lean in and give him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek and cross up to my building, turning to wave at him before I disappear thru the revolving door.

Minutes later I'm back at my desk, smiling and sighing and wishing next Thursday were already here. I go to the copier to run some things off and when I return there is an email from him - thanking me for meeting him for lunch and confirming that we are on for next Thursday, (actually he wrote he would "...love to get together Thursday") and that he will most definitely 'torment me' via email in the time between.

I must admit, even with our mutual hatred for cats, I am slowly turning into one smitten kitten.

Me. Ow.

To be continued...