On the way home, I stop by one of my bars for a cocktail and a light meal. Here, locals frequent happy hour, some of them salty dogs from the nearby marina. Once the waitress sees me, she begins to prepare a margarita, with lots of love, as she likes to describe it.
Scanning the bar for a seat, I see a young woman interacting with the regulars. She's attractive: blonde, blue eyes, soft facial features, petite and fit, and elegantly dressed, a rarity in this Marina del Rey dive. She has a disarming smile and, as I soon discover, is funny and a good storyteller.
I sit next to him and, between sips and bites, I learn a few things. He grew up in Los Angeles and now lives abroad and is visiting to check on his mother. She had plans for a girls' night out, but that changed when her friend had to attend to a last-minute emergency.
“Well, how's the ceviche?” she asks.
“Sort of. Rib tacos are tastier,” I say, taking a bite.
“How was the margarita?”
“Boozy. I make them better,” I say.
“Hmm.”
Watching your quiet chat with the bartender over drinks is fun, as I appreciate people who are curious about options and details.
A daisy arrives soon. “Being drunk is good,” he says.
I laugh.
We continue chatting and little by little we reach a moment where our stories are easy and fun. He's curious about my accent. I tell him about my formative years in Lima, Peru, and my family's adventures moving 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 bill arrives.
“Well, it’s been fun and now I’m taking the show on tour!” I tell him.
She looks at me flirtatiously and asks, “Can I come?”
“I'm going home.”
With a wink, he says, “I've heard daisies are killers.”
Laughing, we get into our cars and she follows me home.
In my loft, everything catches your attention: books, art, paintings, CDs, bar cabinets, furniture, the colors of the walls. She's having fun, but the thought crosses my mind that maybe she's scouting the place to steal.
While I'm making our drinks, she asks me about my life.
I am a lucky man, I had a fulfilling and challenging career as an audio engineer. I traveled the world recording music, supported the 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 broadcast on public radio.
Today I enjoy “full-time life” (my nickname for retirement): playing golf, tennis, hiking, traveling, reading, writing, cooking, listening to music, and enjoying happy hour.
With the drinks ready, we toasted our chance encounter.
“Delicious. This is the tastiest margarita,” he says after his first sip.
We move into the living room and, looking through my eclectic CD collection, we talk about the music we like. For fun, we started DJing and listened to carefully curated selections on the couch. When Tina Turner's “What's Love Got to Do With It” plays, she takes my hand and asks, “Do you want to dance with me?”
We rise and sway to the beat and as we get closer our eyes meet. Then he says, “Be sweet to me.”
We kiss long and hard, and when my hand touches her back, I hear a sigh.
“Wake up, sailor,” he says, caressing my belly.
“Wow! You're a delicious problem,” I say, half awake.
“I think we broke a record,” he tells me, smiling and playing with his hair.
Bringing her closer, we hug each other, her head rests on my chest and, in silence, we breathe in our scent and listen to the beating of our hearts.
It's midnight and he has to go. We get up and I start making an omelette while she gets ready.
She joins me in the kitchen and, as we eat, she talks about her life: her mother, her job, and a love relationship that needs contemplation. “A work in progress,” he says of overcoming some difficulties with his partner.
Looking at it, listening, loving the moment, being grateful that we live it and trust it comfortably.
Now it's time to leave and, laughing at nothing, we walk to his car.
I ask him to text me when he gets to his mom's house. She gives me a thumbs up and with a kiss and a warm hug we say goodbye. Then I watch her walk up the exit ramp into the night.
I turn around and feel alive! So much so that I return to my house.
Now, sitting on the couch with my eyes closed, my thoughts take me back 45 years to 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 flirtatious 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 ever since.
Tonight, out of nowhere, that magical feeling from long ago returns with this lovely woman! A gift: from my lucky star and Father Time.
My cell phone rings: “Delicious Problems registering. Home safe.”
“How fun and special to have met you xo,” I reply.
The author is a retired audio engineer living in Los Angeles.
Los Angeles Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the Los Angeles area, and we want to hear your true story. We paid $400 for a published essay. Email [email protected]. You can find shipping guidelines. here. You can find previous columns. here.
