A 1950's Love

The Cortana

It was a girls night on the town. Town is a big word for what we had to work with though. We had a coffee shop on the corner, a Mexican restaurant next to a dark alley and a family-owned Italian restaurant on the main boulevard, called The Cortana. It was Sinatra night at the restaurant and we thought it would be a good place to meet a few guys, have some drinks and remember walking in, but not out. Jannie and Lorie went to the hostess and asked for a table for three. The hostess took three menus and put them under her arm and led us to a round table booth. The dance floor was shiny and in between the mass amount of feet, you could see a drop or two of red wine being spread more and more around until it became a slipping hazard. The girls ordered a drink after schmoozing with the band in order to try and meet Frank. I wasn't much into that and preferred enjoying the configuration of notes from afar. Besides, I had never been in a relationship and I certainly wasn't going to give it up for some schmuck who uses his bass playing as a chick magnet. That just wasn't my style.

I told the girls that I was going to the bathroom. They offered to come, but I mentioned that I could use the air. I walked to the narrow alley way beyond the bar. Beside me there were black and white pictures of women, mainly Marilyn Monroe. In the middle of two doors was a dark wooden table with a rotary phone and some carnations. Red ones. Oh how I love carnations. I walked into the room that was titled "ladies' ' and proceeded to the sink. I checked my undergarments because they had been bothering me a bit. I looked in the mirror to see that my nose was powdered nicely, but my lipstick was becoming pale. I heard footsteps coming down the hall. It sounded like a pair of men's dress shoes and I didn't think much of it. The footsteps continued until he reached the end of the hall and was facing the rotary phone. Instead of going right, towards the men's room, he came this way. I could see in the mirror, a blurred face of a man who looked a bit lost. He peeked in and saw that there were no urinals and flinched in slight embarrassment.

He scuffled away a couple paces. Perhaps back to the men's room. He stopped however. I heard a glass knock against wood, then water dripping on the ground, preceded by the words "damn it". I assumed the man was drunk and probably caught the vase of carnations on his tuxedo. There were murmurs from those sitting at the bar, but no one cared to assist with clean up. About five seconds later, I saw the man again. This time I got a good look at him. He appeared to be 5 '10", but the tailoring of his tuxedo made his legs look longer and thus, him taller. He wore a ring on his pinky finger, but that was the only ring. His cufflinks looked expensive, but in a cheap way. Like he wanted to show that he had money, but not to gloat. To be more elegant, perhaps. His face was longer and his jawline was soft and wasn't exactly pronounced, but he didn't have a double chin either. His eyes were a dark brown that looked warm and inviting while being secretive and reserved. His hair was thick, almost jet black and the sides were greased back. His hairline was a bit strange in that the left side went further back than the right. The top of his head was fluffy, but lightly greased and about an inch and a half long with the slightest curl. His eyes looked a bit tired and had slightly noticeable eye bags underneath. His nose was certainly larger, but was proportional to the rest of his face. His teeth were perfect. Almost too perfect. I immediately suspected that he had veneers or crowns in, but they looked nice. He was also incredibly tan and it looked natural. Not like he had paid to look darker. I moved my eyes down to the base of his neck and noticed his bowtie. Well tied, but a bit off-centered. I then glanced at his left chest.

It was at that moment that I realized I was looking at Dean Martin. And the handkerchief in his chest pocket was as red as the carnations in his hand.

He really was a handsome man. Every bit as charming as the movies depicted. He walked up to me after noticing that I saw him. Unsure if I recognized him or not, he introduced himself. "Hi, my name is Dean." I knew his name, hell I knew every song that he ever sang. I acted coy and said "Well, hello Dean. My name is Francis''. Though the ladies room was dimly lit and had the theme of dark Italian wood, his eyes twinkled. He said "My friend has the same name". "Who is that?" I asked. Dean said "his name is Francis, but we all just call him Frank ''. I was stunned. For two reasons; 1. Because frank wasn't actually his name and 2. Because he was so casually talking about Frank Sinatra. I still acted like I was disinterested in hopes of him finding it charming that I was obsolete from his superstardom. "Say," he said. "I got these flowers from another friend of mine whose girlfriend just broke up with him. You're the only girl I've seen in this place that's got enough self-respect left to appreciate 'em. You want 'em?" "Sure", I said. Knowing that they were the flowers next to the rotary phone, I passively said "Aww, I liked them better in the vase". He gave me a sly half smile because he knew that I knew.