Chapter 3

Much to his surprise, the entry way to the restaurant did not open into the main dining area. It was a long set of red-carpeted stairs that descended below them. The faint sound of a string quartet emanated upwards. He paused, his menacing figure looming at the top of the stair case. She turned around, giving him a questioning look.

“It’s just,” he stammered, feeling the need to explain himself. “I’m not very good with stairs. These are kind of steep. It might take me a while.”

“There is an elevator if you would rather take it.”

He nodded vigorously. Despite his ability to walk the half a block a day to and from work, stairs were a hassle he seldom encountered. When he did he chose to avoid them at all costs. Not only did they wear his legs out, but he was also concerned about falling down and injuring himself. It was not a risk worth taking.

As the golden elevator doors slid open, the mirrored walls inside allowed Peter to view himself standing next to Heather for the first time. He dwarfed her by a great deal. She seemed like a tiny red dot next to a large black blob. Once they were in the elevator, she reached over and pressed the button to go down, gently grazing the side of his belly as she did so. He wondered if she hadn’t done it on purpose. Regardless of whether or not his suspicion was true, she seemed to derive great pleasure out of it.

The old elevator shook violently as it hit the bottom level of the restaurant and opened to reveal a candle-lit dining room. The entire area appeared to be an underground cave with a waterfall at the front where the string quartet played. The plethora of candelabras and chandeliers with their beaming flames gave La Grotta a glowing ambience. There weren’t too many other patrons in the place. It was still early.

The maître d’ scrambled over to them from his stand by the staircase and led them to a table that was situated next to the waterfall. The steady, flowing stream of water was a nice contrast to the sound of the strings, and he feared that if he became too lost in their serene melody that it might lull him to sleep. He was bad about nodding off, especially after a big meal. He pulled Heather’s chair out for her before taking a seat.

“This place is amazing.”

“I thought it would be a nice restaurant for our first date. I’m glad you like it. Wait until you try the food. It is out of this world.”

He wondered how they had achieved the cave-like rock look of the walls as he perused the entrees. She lowered the menu gingerly from his line of vision with her hand to draw his attention towards her.

“Do you mind if I order for us?”

“I guess that’s alright. Just make sure you get enough.”

“Oh, believe me, it will be plenty. I have seen other people here order the Pietanza Italiano and it is a lot of food. I was kind of hoping you would dazzle me with that ravenous appetite of yours the same way you did this morning.”

Her request seemed a little out of sorts, but he was more than up for a challenge. He was starting to sense that she was way more into his size than he first realized. It was relieving that he could let his guard down and eat as much as he desired. He flipped through the menu until he found the page that described the “Italian meal” she intended to order. His eyes squinted fiercely in bewilderment as he read just exactly what it was that the Pietanza Italiano entailed. It actually translated to Italian feast, as indicated in parentheses above the long list of items. He was regretfully reminded that his limited ability to speak Italian was rather rusty.

When the waiter arrived to take their order, he filled up their water glasses and placed a basket of warm garlic and parmesan bread on the table. The delectable smell of the garlic and cheese was too much for him to withstand. He immediately peeled back the white cloth it was enclosed in and began to pop the bread into his mouth while she placed their order. It wasn’t long before the entire contents of the basket had been consumed, and he ashamedly realized that she had yet to have one piece. She sensed his panic, and dismissed it by placing a hand on his wrist.

“It’s fine, Peter. That appetite of yours is a huge turn on. The waiter will bring us some more soon.”

As if on cue, the short, swarthy waiter who reeked of designer imitation cologne reappeared with a replacement serving of the delicious garlic bread, in addition to a large glass serving bowl in which he prepared fresh chicken Caesar salad at their tableside. It was not exactly traditional Italian fare, but it was the choice his dinner date had made from a selection of four different types of salads. By some uncanny coincidence she had managed to choose the one that was his perennial favorite.

Peter piled a tremendous helping of salad on the small plate he had been provided and began to eat it quickly. Heather opted for a much smaller portion of salad and picked at it with her fork, taking bites of bread in between. Once he was done with his second plate of salad, he realized that his attention was focused more on what he was eating than on his date. He wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted or not. She seemed to be paying more attention to the rapidly disappearing food on his plate, so it was hard to say.

“Would you like to share a bottle of wine?” he asked in an attempt to spark a new vein of conversation.

“Sure,” she obliged. “Are you a red man or white?” She tapped her finger against her chin in mock consternation. “I’m thinking red.”

“You’re thinking right. We should get a wine list. I’m partial to cabernet myself, but a place like this probably has a good Chianti. It pairs better with pasta.” He had developed quite a refined palate for the sophisticated bouquet of a fine quality Chianti during his studies in Tuscany.

“Maybe we should just have some beer.”

A dour expression crossed his face. The thought of beer with pasta made him cringe.

“Seriously?” he said half-jokingly. He couldn’t imagine a girl as smart as Heather would bring a trained chef to a five-star Italian restaurant and expect him to drink beer with their dinner.

Her smile tipped him off that she was fooling with him.

“Oh, very funny!”

“Come on,” she joked. “You had to know I was just kidding.”

“I was hoping you were, but you had me scared there for a second. Let’s try the house Chianti.”



Eeerily enough, their waiter appeared at just the right moment and disappeared again to retrieve their order. The waiter returned swiftly with it and two wine glasses balanced in his other hand. Peter had finished the remaining salad by this time, even going so far as to dig out abandoned pieces of chicken that had been left in the bottom of the bowl with his fork. He savored every bite.