It was there in the slow swirl of her wine; the hesitant press and sip to her ruby lips that left just a trace on the rim; the blue eyes that just couldn’t quite meet his. She put her glass down and offered a forced smile to the waiter as he brought their meals- hers lobster tail with a garlic-butter sauce and his steak tartar- while still avoiding his gaze.
She was not sure why she had not left immediately, feeling such a odd aura from her date. It was only because her grandmother had set this up that she had acquiesced to the date and decided to try and make it an evening of it, but he was such an unsettling being- hairy beyond belief with such predatory eyes and a hungry smile that disturbed her.
When her grandma’s number had popped up on a cellphone call, she of course answered but to a very hoarse voice, barely recognizable, and upon inquiring as to her health, received only assurances. The conversation ended with grandma insisting that she meet up with the doctor that treated her, a Dr. Wolff. For grandma’s sake she agreed.
They arranged to meet for dinner at the The Gourmet Basket, a well-regarded place nestled in a wooded resort in the nearby hills- a place of fine food and dancing. He had insisted on treating her to the best.
It was a misty evening when she arrived in a cab, wearing a demure knee-length red dress with a matching hooded trench coat, her black hair cascading in loose curls past her shoulders once she passed it over to the coat-checker. Dr. Wolff had already arrived and stood as she approached the table. He was dressed neatly in a light-grey suit with a charcoal-gray shirt splashed with a rose-red tie. Handsome and distinguished looking though he was, his scrutiny of her promptly set her at unease.
“You look very lovely,” he seemed to growl. “That dress is amazing on you. I could just eat you up.”
“Uh, thanks,” shyly she replied. “You look very dapper yourself.”
He played the gentleman- seating her, ordering pork belly appetizers, and engaging in small talk, none of which seemed sincere to her. It was probing as he asked about habits, likes, routines, and family. In return, he slyly deflected her questions about how he knew her grandmother and her state of health.
It seemed feral the way he tore into his tartar as she carefully picked apart her crustacean after eating her exquisitely prepared spring vegetables, none of which her date had eaten of his own. It was all devoured in silence.
Afterwards, feeling obliged to continue the night, she took to the dance floor where she had to admit that he was lithe and sure on his feet, adept at the foxtrot, but felt chased and hunted across the floor. Although being fleet of foot herself, she felt worn out and cornered by the end, desiring to go home.
“Would you like me to take you home?” he asked with a big, toothy smile as he helped her on with her hooded cloak.
“I’m not quite sure… maybe.” She replied.