Thursday, June 08, 2006 by Ospite.


A reasonably busy night but I find myself puttering around the trattoria front to back of the house. Nothing major is going on, a couple of parties and a reasonably full floor, but there's no sense of urgency. As I wander towards the front door, a woman walks in. Early 30s, medium build, white skirt, black tank (stylish, not casual), and a black jacket... and unbelievably large breasts making her cleavage start much higher than you'd expect. The outfit she's wearing in no way attemps to cover them, nor does it act as if they aren't there. On the contrary, "the girls" are on full display tonight.

She approaches my hostess and asks to be sat with the "well dressed man who arrived in a Mercedes convertable." The hostess looks at me and then at the woman.

Hostess: "I don't have any gentlemen sat alone waiting for anyone."
Large Breasted Woman: "Are you sure? Because I'm a little late, and he should certainly be here."
Me: "You're more than welcome to do a lap around the restaurant and see if he's here."
LBW: "Well, I've never met him before. I don't know what he looks like."
M: "Ok, well, I'll wander around. If I see a man alone, I'll ask for whom he's waiting and see if her name matches yours."
LBW: "OK. Thanks."

I do the lap around and find no such well dressed single male.

M: "Ma'am, I didn't see him. Would you like to have a seat and wait for him?"
LBW: "No, I'd prefer to meet him at the door. If I sit down it'll seem like a date. I don't want to give the wrong impression. He's a lawyer and this is strictly business."

All of me was screaming, "Really? Then you should have worn a shirt." but I kept my mouth shut.

Sure enough, a Mercedes convertable drives up at far too great a speed. Out hops a mid-30s male in a particularly fabulous charcoal suit, white shirt and remarkably shiny shoes. I gauge the outfit at c. $1800. This does not take into account the $45 he spent baking his skin in a lightbulb tube, pretending he's been in the Bahamas. He saunters in with the biggest swagger I've seen in the past year. Striding directly towards the Woman on Display, puts his hand on the small of her back, and kisses her on the cheek. Not that "Hi, it's pleasant to see you again" but that slimy "I'm trying to be more suave than I am, check me out, I'm amazing" kiss on the cheek. She turned to him startled. Now I understand why she did not want to give the wrong impression. She may not know what he looks like, but he obviously has a reputation.

I seat them toward the back so they may have a bit of privacy, but still in a place where I can keep my eye on them throughout the meal. He pulled papers out and laid them across the table and she was signing things left and right. As the meal progressed, he was less and less subtle about staring at her cleavage and soon began touching her hand, arm, and shoulder to get her attention or for emphasis. Smooth. It was the "let's see how comfortable you are with me touching you" routine. Her response, she took off her jacket and leaned forward. It was such a display that two waiters and three tables became momentarily distracted, pausing mid-stride, and mid-bite. So much for the professional appearance. But hey, it worked for Charlotte York, who am I to argue?

1 Comments:

Blogger Ellie said...

You conjured up an image of George Hamilton meeting up with Anna Nicole Smith.

11:32 PM  

« Home | Post a Comment »

At your service, Ospite

I am not in the restaurant business, I am in the people business. I use every opportunity to people watch, because to me, even the most mundane is fascinating.

lackluster profile

Powered by Blogger |