Awakenings: The Greek, The Russian and Me

Chapter 9

My stomach is growling by the time I get on the Grand Central Parkway headed to Astoria. I'm doing good time; maybe I should stop somewhere and get a quick slice of pizza or a Jamaican beef patty? As if in reply, my stomach grumbles loudly. Laughing, feeling relaxed and excited at the same time, I tell myself, "Yes, Pam was right; I do need a little excitement in my life." Knowing parking in Astoria can be difficult, I head toward Broadway and Steinway Street and begin to look for a parking spot in one of the side streets so I don't have to feed the meter. Thankfully I find a spot pretty quickly. I take a second look at myself in the rearview mirror and can't help but smile. Wow! I really do look like a different person.

As I'm walking down Broadway, I see a pizza place and venture in. I notice that the decor is similar to the diner I went to with Conn. A guy in his mid to late twenties asks me in a slightly accented voice, "How can I help you this evening?"

The way he phrases the question, the twinkle in his eye as he speaks, throw me completely off, and I stand there for a moment without uttering a word. His smile deepens as I automatically smile back and then say, "One slice, please, not too hot, and a Diet Coke." I fumble for my wallet.

"So you no want it too hot? I can do that. Is it to stay or to go?" he asks, winking at me.

At this, nerves take over, and I begin to laugh. "To stay, please." I hand him the money.

Waiting for my change, I notice that there're two guys with their backs to me tossing and making pizza as they talk to each other in what I now know is Greek. "We take it out to you. Have a seat anywhere," the guy who takes the order says, and he hollers something in Greek in the direction of the other guys. As I take my soda cup, one of the guys turns around, and I can't help but recognize him. Our eyes meet briefly, and I'm speechless. He raises an eyebrow while he looks me over slowly. Then, turning, he grabs a slice a pizza and places it in the oven. I'm frozen in my place for a second. Coming to my senses, I turn and head for the soda machine. Thoughts are racing through my mind. Shit, of all places and of all days to run into him, it had to be today? I give myself a quick look-over and nervously walk toward a table in the back. As I fiddle with my car keys in an effort to keep myself calm, I notice that he is walking toward me with tray holding a slice of pizza. His eyes are looking straight at me, and I feel as if I'm squirming in my seat. What in the world is wrong with me? I ask myself. He places the tray quietly on the table and says in a low voice, "Would you like anything else?"

Looking back at him, I quickly reply, "No, thank you," and look down at my slice. He just stands there for a few seconds; then he turns and walks away slowly.

I'm halfway done with my slice, and I see him walking toward me with a cup of soda in his hand. Sitting at my table, he asks, "Are you following me? What are you doing in Astoria?"

Dumbstruck by his attitude, I'm silent for a moment; then, coming to my senses, angered by his questions and tone, I reply, "Why would I want to follow you? I didn't even know you worked here."

With a questioning look, he says, "So how did you end up picking this place for pizza?"

My anger is growing; how dare he! "If you must know, it was a pure coincidence. I'm meeting some friends at the pool place near Steinway Street, but I just got off work and was hungry, and pizza is the quickest thing to get around here. But I've lost my appetite."

His face transforms to amusement "Fran, don't be so sensitive. I was just playing with you. What friends are you meeting?" he asks calmly as he sips his soda.

"Some friends from school. You know, the ones you saw me speaking to the other day," I reply.

He doesn't look amused any longer, and as he takes another very slow sip of his drink, he is looking me over. I feel his gaze searing my skin as he stops at my breast. My heart starts pounding, and the ache between my legs is slowly awakening, beginning to pulse. My body might be betraying me, but I'm still in full control of my mind. "I better get going, or I'm going to be late," I say as I take a last sip of my drink and prepare to stand up.