On the way home, I stop by one of my watering holes for cocktails and a light meal. At this one, happy hour is frequented by local folks — a few of them salty dogs from the marina nearby. Once the bartender spots me, she starts preparing a margarita — with lots of love, as she likes to describe it.
Scanning the bar for a seat, I see a young woman engaging with the regulars. She is attractive: blond, blue eyes, soft facial features, petite and in good physical shape, and smartly dressed, a rarity at this Marina del Rey joint. She has a captivating smile and, as I soon find out, she’s funny and a good storyteller.
I sit next to her, and in between sips and bites, I learn a few things. She grew up in Los Angeles, and now lives abroad and is on a visit, checking up on her mom. She had plans for a ladies’ night out but that changed when her friend had to attend to a last-minute emergency.
“Well, how’s the ceviche?” she asks.
“So-so. The short rib tacos are tastier,” I say, taking a bite.
“How about the margarita?”
“Boozy. I make them better,” I say.
“Hmm.”
Observing her easy chat with the bartender about drinks is fun, as I appreciate people who are curious about options and details.
Soon a margarita arrives. “Boozy is good,” she says.
I laugh.
We continue chatting and slowly reach a moment where our stories are easy and playful. She is curious about my accent. I tell her about my formative years in Lima, Peru, and my family’s adventures relocating to the U.S. We also talk about places we’ve been and favorite destinations we’d like to explore.
After I finish my second drink, the check arrives.
“Well, it’s been fun, and now I’m taking the show on the road!” I tell her.
She looks at me flirtatiously and asks: “Can I come along?”
“I’m just going home.”
With a wink, she says, “I hear the margaritas are killers.”
Giggling, we get into our cars, and she follows me home.
In my loft, everything catches her eye: books, art, pictures, CDs, liquor cabinet, furniture, the colors of the walls. She is having fun, but the thought that perhaps she is scoping the place for robbery crosses my mind.
As I prepare our drinks, she asks about my life.
A fortunate man, I had a fulfilling and challenging career as an audio engineer. I traveled the world recording music, supported coverage of news events and various cultural and scientific expeditions. I learned along the way and contributed to a better understanding of the human experience with reports and stories aired on public radio.
These days I enjoy “full-time living” (my moniker for retirement): golfing, tennis, hiking, travel, reading, writing, cooking, music and happy hour.
With drinks at the ready, we toast to our chance meeting.
“Yummy. This is the tastiest margarita,” she says after her first sip.
We move to the living area, and looking over my eclectic CD collection, we talk about music we like. For fun, we start playing DJ, listening to handpicked selections on the couch. When Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do With It” plays, she holds my hand and asks: “Would you join me for a dance?”
We get up and sway to the groove, and as we get closer, our eyes meet. Then she says: “Be sweet to me.”
We kiss long and hard, and when my hand touches her back, I hear a sigh.
“Wakey wakey, sailor,” she says, caressing my tummy.
“Wow! You’re delicious trouble,” I say, half-awaken.
“I think we broke a record,” she tells me, smiling and playing with her hair.
Pulling her closer, we embrace, her head resting on my chest, and in silence, we breathe our scent and hear the beating of our hearts.
It’s the middle of the night, and she has to go. We get up, and I start on an omelet as she gets ready.
She joins me in the kitchen, and as we eat, she talks about her life: about her mom, work and a love relationship needing contemplation. “A work in progress,” she says about sorting through some difficulties with her partner.
Looking at her, I’m listening, loving the moment, thankful we are living it and confiding comfortably.
Now it’s time to go, and giggling over nothing, we walk to her car.
I ask her to text me when she gets to her mom’s. She gives me a thumbs up, and with a kiss and a warm hug, we say goodbye. Then I watch her drive up the exit ramp into the night.
I turn around and feel alive! So much so that I skip back to my place.
Now, sitting on the couch with eyes closed, my thoughts take me back 45 years when I was at Georgetown University and met the woman who became my wife.
How magical it all had been: the way we smiled at each other, the coquettish small talk, and the tender sound of our voices. It led to lovemaking, courtship, falling in love, marriage and many years of growing up and building a life together. Unfortunately, we grew apart, and after 16 years, it ended in divorce. And I have remained single since.
Tonight, out of the blue, that magic feeling from long ago returns with this enchanting woman! A gift: from my lucky stars and Father Time.
My cell dings: “Delicious Trouble checking in. Home safe.”
“So fun and special to have met you xo,” I reply.
The author is a retired audio engineer who lives in Los Angeles.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email [email protected]. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
The post Our night together reminded me of what I’d been missing this entire time appeared first on Los Angeles Times.
