I laughed nervously. “I just got on the site a few weeks ago and haven’t had much time to really get to know anyone. You know, work takes up so much of my time.”
“Yeah, yeah. What is it you do again?”
“Management of housekeeping and director of recreational activities,” I answer. He nods and begins to glance around the restaurant as if looking for someone.
Uh-oh, he’s losing interest and the date just started, I think. “And on the side, I write a column,” I blurt out, “about social issues.” Well, I did back in college. I suppose you can classify campus club activities as social situations with issues.
“Mm,” Wesley acknowledges with a glance.
“And I volunteer my time to help the homeless,” I add to make myself appear more interesting. I cringe inwardly at the exaggeration. I didn’t really think of Cat as a project to whom I was volunteering my time and felt badly for twisting our relationship for my own selfish gain.
“Awesome,” says Wesley without enthusiasm. “Where’s that wine?”
On cue, Anatole appears with a tray with the wine and appetizer and sets it on the empty table next to us. He deftly pours us two glasses of Shiraz and sets them down with a flourish. “Just leave the bottle,” Wesley orders. Anatole places the hummus and pita bread on the table and with another slight bow, leaves us alone again.
“Homeless, you say?” Wesley asks as he dips the pita in the hummus and shoves it in his mouth.
“Yes,” I reply, but am saved from having to elaborate. A buzzing sound interrupts me. Unbelievable! Wesley pulls out his cell phone.
“Sorry, gotta get this,” he apologizes, reads the message, texts something back, and places the phone next to his elbow.
“So you play golf?” I steer the conversation away from my lie.
“Twice a week. Last week my buddy and I met Todd Blackadder at the ninth hole. You know who he is, coach of the Crusaders? Yeah, he’s a really nice guy and we had a drink with him at the club afterward. He bought everyone a round. Not that I’m starry-eyed over his celebrity. I can care less about that. It’s just nice to learn that someone who is a celebrity doesn’t let it go to his head, you know what I’m saying?”
I start to reply when his phone buzzes again. He picks it up, makes an annoyed sound and begins texting. “It’s Michelle, my ex. She won’t stop bothering me. Can’t get it through her thick skull that we’re done with.”
“You can always block her calls or just turn off your phone,” I point out the obvious, hoping he’ll take the hint that his phone was ruining our date.
Wesley glances at me like I had suggested he cut off his manhood. “I can’t just turn off my phone. I’m a businessman, got client and suppliers calling at all hours.” He turns his attention back to the phone. I sit there, politely waiting for him to finish. I can’t stand hummus but pick up a piece of pita bread and nibble on it. It’s tasteless. Rather like Wesley, it turns out.