Seattle Press on Line - The Way to the Heart

The Way to the Heart

By Lon McKinney

Jul 18, 2002 -- Part 1 of 2

Brad smiled politely and attempted to swallow the concoction Sylvia had served. He quickly chewed the mouthful, downing it before the gummy mush could register on his taste buds. This was not how he'd imagined his first dinner at her place. He'd even worn a shirt and tie. Sylvia had dressed for the occasion as well--with a long black skirt and a red cardigan sweater. A simple string of pearls encircled her neck.

"It's Pheasant Crepes with onions, lemons, and cinnamon." Sylvia said proudly. On the platter, Brad thought the dish looked more like an oversized pancake that had recently been run over by a Sport Utility Vehicle. He detested SUV's and pancakes with equal passion. Sylvia's presentation went beyond a fusion of the two. It was even more ghastly.

"Very unusual," he said, believing this to be both a positive and honest, "and a very interesting texture."

He silently wondered if Sylvia was attempting to redefine the outer edge of the taste envelope or if she was simply dyslexic regarding cookbooks.

"Thank you, Brad. It's Nouveau Cuisine and it was quite a challenge to prepare. I don't do much cooking at home."

That was patently obvious, he thought.

"More cranberry-Brussell sprout-cornbread compote?" She asked, hoping he had a hearty appetite.

"I'd love some." He lied. Always the consummate gentleman. Apparently Sylvia did not seek the traditional way to a man's heart. She had more bizarre designs on him that even he could not imagine. She leaned back in her chair, with satisfaction, watching him eat. With tremendous concentration he did his best to pass this test in force-feeding without gagging.

"Some wine?" Sylvia asked.

"Certainly," he said enthusiastically. Anything to wash this down, he thought. He took a sip. It was awful. "It's a very bold distinctive vintage. Where did you discover it?"

"Oh, I didn't discover it. I have a friend, Melinda who really knows her wine and exotic recipes. She travels a lot. It's a '98 Cuban Sweet and Sour Red Cherry. It does compliment the crepes, doesn't it?"

"A perfect match." He replied truthfully. The rusty cloying brew and the fowl flapjacks deserved each other. Melinda must specialize in budget tours of backward countries. Ones with bad wine.

Sylvia smiled again. My god, he thought, her two prominent front teeth give her the look of a tall thin rabbit. La lapin might not have been a bad choice for tonight's meal.

Last night they had gone on their first date to a movie downtown. He had kept his arm around her sharp shoulders so long that all the feeling had left it. Now he wished that same blessed numbness would affect his taste buds. He promised himself he would not be one of those guests who wouldn't leave. At first opportunity he would bolt. It was the promise of a good, home-cooked meal that had caused him to accept the second date.

As he chewed and drank mechanically, he gazed around Sylvia's small apartment. The walls were painted puce and were covered with tiny mahogany shelves which displayed hundreds of figurines of grinning cows and what he took to be multi-colored Venetian Murano glass goldfish. He searched his soul for a connection but came up empty. The crepes sat in his stomach like bricks in a bucket.

***

Meeting Sylvia had been suggested by his fellow bank teller, Darren whom he would, in the future, refer to as an ex-friend. Brad had been commiserating to Darren how long it had been since he'd shared the pleasant company of a woman. So long that he feared becoming altogether celibate. Since both he and Darren were single, he assumed his friend would lend a sympathetic ear. It was a pathetic one instead as Darren took Brad's honest revelation to be one of a strictly sexual nature. Getting Brad "laid" became Darren's quest. The word love didn't seem to be part of Darren's vocabulary.

True, Brad was familiar with the repartee among women that men thought first with their private parts. He liked to think of himself as an exception. And he wasn't at all sure about Darren's agenda. He regretted revealing his feelings to the single-minded dolt. Even if he did work with him.

Darren began with a mental quick cataloguing of women who were eligible, available, desperate, and with whom he had even a passing acquaintance. The only person meeting these criteria was Sylvia Scruggs.

"You mean, Sylvia in Investments?" Brad said, "that tall skinny woman with the teeth?" Brad recalled passing her in the hallway on occasion and sometimes riding up in the elevator with her from the parking garage.

"She's prime. And legs up to here." Darren assured him, slapping under his chin with the back of his hand.

Sylvia bore a resemblance to Poe's Raven. She did, however, have a certain mystery about her. A subtle sensuality in her eyes and a deep throaty voice, which was downright provocative. Her feet, however, approached Olive Oyl proportions. They were true flappers.

Brad's close-set eyes and slicked back black hair gave the first impression of a bird of prey. At 5'8" he would be able to comfortably rest his nose in the upper reaches of Sylvia's cleavage in a slow dance. Perhaps birds of a feather should flock together whether the reason is kismet or simple aviatric serendipity. What did it really matter? Today was the day for Brad to make his move.

Darren and Brad worked at First Mutual Trust. They had been at the downtown branch for five years. Brad lived in a very small viewless apartment on the east side of Queen Anne Hill. The view lots were peopled by the owners of First Mutual Trust, and others in that upper crust. Darren lived somewhere in the burbs.

Sylvia had worked in Investments for at least the same length of time Brad had been with the bank. He didn't know which side of Queen Anne she lived on, if at all. Her income remained a mystery, in as much as she was neither extravagant in fashion nor ostentatious in her bearing. Brad had said hello to her several times. Once they'd commented to each other about the inclement weather while riding from Parking Level Two to the Lobby. She had continued on to, what floor was it? The 14th, he thought.

Though not entirely desperate in matters of the heart, but getting close, Brad had never been one to shy away from a solid opportunity. So the next time he rode up with Sylvia from Parking Level Two to the Lobby, he turned to her, smiling warmly: "Excuse me, Ms. Scruggs, but would you like to meet this afternoon for coffee?"

Part 2 of The Way to the Heart appears in the August 1 issue.

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