The Boy from the Band

Dinner and a Date

Dinner? He wants to take me to dinner? I'm caught off guard by a twenty-five-year-old, I don't think that's ever happened.

Dinner is serious, dinner means maybe sex. Coffee, lunch, they're harmless, dinner is fraught with danger. He slips his hand over mine, caressing it gently and I want to pull it away but I feel almost hypnotized by his touch.

It's been a long time since Rick took me to dinner, the last person was Bob Weir. Now Bill is smiling at me, turning on the charm like he did to the girl in the registrar's office and I'm starting to melt.

"Okay," I say, "As long as it's just dinner I'll go with you—what time?" I glance at my watch: three-thirty, restaurants won't be open just yet.

"I'll pick you up at seven. Wear a dress if you have one—that's just in case you're wondering what you should wear. Oh, by the way, I'm not making any promises." He gives me a wicked smile and I realize I'm smitten. I haven't fallen in love with him or out of love with Rick, a nine-year relationship doesn't end just because of a tempting smile. After all, I'm rather smitten with Bob Weir too.

He picks me up a little after seven as I put the finishing touches on my makeup. He's dressed in wool blazer and slacks because the night is cold. When he sees me. he gives me an appreciative smile; I'm wearing a black dress with a gold belt and a paisley scarf around my neck. My boot heels make me taller than him, but he doesn't seem to mind. "You look nice," he says as he helps me with my coat and I warm to him a little.

His old Cutlass is in spotless condition. He tells me to go through his tapes and pick out something that I like. That's a very smart move on his part, most guys don't bother to ask. I see the "Brown Album" and put it in the cassette player—I'm safe because he doesn't know that the bass player is my lover of nine years. If he likes "The Band" that's a good sign, I think that having the same taste in music is important.

"Have you ever been to Albany"? he asks and I shake my head. My familiarity with New York consists of the immediate area around Woodstock. Stoneridge is as far as I've been. "You'll like it, I think, there's a nice restaurant I'm going to take you to. It only takes an hour and it's quit snowing, it's a nice night for a drive." He pauses, "I didn't realize you lived in Kingston, I do too, we're not very far from each other."

"Oh, what a coincidence," I say, smiling, trying to hide the fact that it's closer than I want. I don't mind going out with him, maybe I won't even mind going to bed with him but I don't want him in such close proximity.

Will I go to bed with him tonight? I'm not sure but when he reaches over and holds my hand it feels like a caress even through his glove. I make up my mind to enjoy myself and not think about the "what ifs"? I know he'd like me to move over and sit next to him on the seat but I'm not ready for that. Maybe after dinner?

We don't talk much during the drive but it's not an uncomfortable silence, more like a companionable one. He sings along to "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down" in a nice tenor voice. During "Jemima" he sings the line, "Jemima surrender, I'm gonna give it to you," and looks at me and smiles. Oh, really, I think, well maybe I'll let you.

I expected to feel awkward, I don't, maybe since the drive is only about an hour there's no time. He pulls in front of an Italian restaurant and hands the valet the keys, then helps me out.

"We don't have much in the way of Thai or Mexican restaurants," he says, "I thought Italian might be a good compromise."

"It is," I say as he takes my hand and we go in. This place is nice, but not too formal, which I like. The waiter gives us our menus and he orders a carafe of Chianti.

"Don't know how much you want to drink, but splitting a carafe shouldn't get us too drunk," he teases and I smile. I can drink quite a bit, but I don't like to. It drives Rick crazy that I don't try harder to keep up with him.