Butterscotch - 15 - Pizza (Patreon)

“I don’t feel like I’m dressed right to be here,” I murmured to Rory as Dominick led us to an out of the way table.

Rory piffled that. “I’m wearing a Göthique Revölution t-shirt. Don’t worry about it, this is California. Chicks! Always worrying about if they’re dressed right.”

I giggled at that, a bit nervously, sure. “W—what is Gothic Revolution?”

“Please,” he said. “Göthique Revölution.”

Dominick held a chair out for me and I covered my awkwardness with more giggles. “Okay, Gerthick Reverlution. What is it?”

He waggled his bushy brows at me. “It’s a heavy metal band I’m in, when we get the chance to perform.”

I laughed out loud at that.

Dominick left menus behind but Rory didn’t touch them. “I know what we’re having if you’ll let me order for us?”

“Uh, sure. Um, what instrument do you play?” I asked.

“I’m a screamer,” he said with a straight face.

“A—uh—a vocalist?”

He made a face, like a mime discovering he has stepped in imaginary dog poo. “You don’t know much about heavy metal music, do you, Babe?”

Well, I didn’t. “Apparently not,” I admitted.

“Well, you have drummers, who play the drums, yeah? And guitar people who do guitar stuff.” He looked thoughtful while I struggled to control more giggles. “A keyboardist who stands at the keyboard and tries to look cool. The vocalist, who’s the one who’s supposed to know the words if the song has them. And then the screamers. Every band has to have at least one.”

“Do—they—do they—scream?” I asked between more giggles.

He nodded. “Yeah, well it’s what they do, what I do. The lead vocal sings the verse, then I come in and scream the hook. The chorus. And everyone screams along.”

It was a legit description of most of the heavy metal I had ever heard. Which made it very funny.

“Loogee!” said Rory as another waiter approached.

“It’s Luigi, Moonface,” said the waiter. Then they did one of those masculine things with the fist bumps.

“‘At’s what I said, Loogee.” Rory turned to me, “Kissy, my cousin Lou. Lou, my date Kissy.”

So, it is a date. My ears were roaring and I didn’t hear the next thing that anyone said. I thought, I’m on a date with a guy and I’m having a lot of fun. Which reminded me that a lot of what I had done with Marjorie had been fun, too. “N-nice to meet you, Lou,” I stammered at what I hoped was the approximate time.

“Is this kidnapper treating you right?” Lou asked.

“K-kidnapper?”

“Yeah, he kidnaps pretty girls and brings them here to see the sunset.” He gestured in that direction and I gasped as I got another look at technicolor glory. “It impresses them so much they forget they’ve been kidnapped and give him what he wants.”

Rory laughed.

I managed to look serious. “He did sort of kidnap me. Practically right off the street,” I said.

“You were in a Fatburger, I had to save you,” said Rory.

“You didn’t tell me where we were going,” I pointed out.

“You didn’t know about this place, so if I’d told you, you still wouldn’t know.”

“Hmp,” I said, trying to play along with the gag.

The guys looked delighted at my reactions.

“So this is where I tell you what I want?” Rory asked, teasing.

“No,” said Lou, “this is where you tell me what you want.”

“Not as much fun, but okay,” agreed Rory. “We’ll have twice-baked, green salad with, crusty bread, sparkling red and those raw veggies with the dip.”

“And water,” I put in.

Lou nodded, scribbled something on his pad and scooted off.

“Are you old enough to order wine?” I asked Rory. “I’m underage.”

“You’re undertall, too,” said Rory. “Short. They let you ride the big kid’s rides at Disneyland yet?”

Ouch. I am short, or Davey is, but Kissy is almost average height for a girl. “I’m not short,” I protested. Okay, it’s a bit of a sore spot for me.

Rory grinned. “I’m teasing. And I’m old enough. Here. Famiglia, as they say—it’s like being at home. If you’re good and promise not to get sloppy, you can have half a glass.”

“I—you—it’s!” I glared at him. “Everyone wants to get me drunk!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Everyone?”

I looked away. “The last date I was on, I mean….” The show in the sky captured my attention.

We watched the sunset until the antipasto came.

Domenick explained. “Mama doesn’t think you should fill up on cheap delicatessen meats before a real meal. So she came up with this. Cut up raw veggies with oil and vinegar to dip and her own recipe, crema di pepe, peppercorn cream.”

The last was a creamy dip with sharply flavored bits of fresh ground black pepper. Also garlic and something else. “This is wonderful,” I said, after a taste on a dipped piece of broccoli.

Rory and Domenick both beamed as if they had mixed it up themselves. There was also a basket of hot fresh crusty rolls, with either butter or olive oil to adorn them.

And the food kept coming. A green salad was next with four kinds of greens, seasoned croutons, and a savory version of Italian dressing like nothing I had ever tasted. “Has this got beef in the dressing?” I asked Rory, astonished.

“No,” he said. “Fish. Good, isn’t it?”

I nodded though I couldn’t imagine what kind of fish it might be.

Then Lou brought the main course, a sizzling casserole that when uncovered revealed three pieces of lasagna, all of them crispy brown on the outside, and standing more than two inches tall.

“You see,” said Lou. “This is the dating special twice-baked lasagna. Three pieces, one for him, one for her and one to share or take home.” He glared at Rory, “Usually this criminal eats two pieces himself and as much of the girl’s share as he can talk or extort out of her.”

“I need fuel,” Rory defended himself.

I laughed at him as Lou helped our plates with the delicious smelling pasta.

I did have a few sips from a half glass of sparkling red wine, but mostly I drank water. And I ate until I could hold no more, the corset helping me keep my appetite to a ladylike proportion. Then I cheerfully handed over the last more-than-a-third of my serving and watched it disappear into the engine that was Rory Beeson.

“It is criminal how you can eat,” I observed.

“I know, huh?” he admitted. “All the guys eat like I do. Coach says he’s glad he only has to feed us one or two meals on game days. Two if we’re on the road. You gonna come see me pitch tomorrow? Free tickets, right behind homeplate.”

I frowned at him. “This is—I’m not—Aren’t you trying to move fast? I mean, we hardly know each other.” I gestured at the restaurant. The lights were dim but now that the sun was down, rivers of jewels flowed through the city and Chavez Ravine, across the valley, was lit up like a birthday cake. “All this? For…just a date from a casual meeting?”

“This is Hollywood, Kissy. Romance is the gross national product.”

I snorted to keep from giggling. Well, we were in Hollywood which is part of LA just like Los Feliz is. The Hollywood sign was all lit up somewhere above us, though I’d lost track of which direction.

Dessert came, tiny scoops of our choice chocolate or spumoni gelato or rainbow sherbet. I took chocolate and it was just the right amount.

“I’ve got to be honest with you, Kissy,” said Rory. “The reason I asked you out is I’m on the rebound. I’d just broken up with my girlfriend and intended to drown my sorrows with a Triple Fatburger and a side of chili fries.”

He leaned towards me, “Then I smelled a thousand flowers and turned around.”

“A thousand and one,” I said inanely.

“And there you were.” Rory reached across the table and took my hands in his. “It’s not that sudden. We’ve known each other for years.”

I felt a sudden stab of anxiety. I shook my head. “You don’t remember me. We might have gone to the same schools together but you were three years ahead of me.”

He shook his head. “I remember you now. My older sister was your babysitter. We lived on Massachusetts and you lived two doors down, until I started middle school and you guys moved.”

That would have been about the time of the divorce. Mom and Dad had sold the house as part of the settlement, and Mom bought the condo we lived in now. I remembered Cindy, my babysitter, she went away to college about that time but we moved several miles away.

“You can’t remember me,” I protested. “I was just a little kid.”

He nodded. “And I was almost the size I am now. You probably thought I was a grown-up.” He laughed. “You were the cutest little redhead in the neighborhood, sure I noticed. You were eight, I was eleven, it could have worked.” He grinned. “Your face, Babe, you should see your face.”

“Rory—Rory—I—I!”

“Your name was Dannie, when did you change it to Kissy?” He frowned. “Oh, wait, Kissy was your last name.”

I tried to breathe deep, to not hyperventilate. I counted my breaths, silently. I didn’t want to pass out.

“I meant to look you up when you got to high school but you were always hanging with Armand Gower and his Amazing Zoo Crew. Bunch a nerds,” he grinned. “No offense. Armand tutored me in math, he’s a good guy.”

“Not—not Dannie.” I gasped. I had to tell him. But he might try to throw me off the roof. But if I didn’t tell him and he found out later, well that might be worse. What could be worse than getting thrown off a roof? I got ready to run. “My name was Davey. Davey Kissee.”

Rory’s face lit up. “That’s right. I remember now. And I didn’t date you cause you were a boy back then.” He smiled at me. “But you aren’t now, are you, Babe?”