So Much for Illusion
by
Deborah McClatchey
 ...He noticed her the moment she walked through the
door. A big woman and gorgeous, he thought. Not too much make-up...not a
hooker, but a real beauty. But why was she alone? She was too pretty to
be dining solo...maybe she was meeting someone.
Erica was greeted instantly by the pretty, petite, Oriental hostess and
seated near an eight-foot painted dragon carved from wood. It was very realistic
and evil-looking. The restaurant decor was very old Chinese, and Erica loved
it.
The crowded room was filled with the thick aroma of Chinese herbs and the
salt-sweet tang of soy sauce. She ordered wonton soup and a dish of almond
chicken with steamed rice. The Oolong tea was delicious and, she felt herself
relaxing.
He observed her as she ate her solitary meal, dining so delicately and very
unself-consciously, as though she were used to being watched. I wonder what
she does for a living, he mused, finishing his plate of beef and broccoli.
He decided he was not going to let her get away without at least talking
to her. He kept his eyes locked on Erica.
Nick Seidell was an artist, thirty-two years old and never married. He was
well-known in Phoenix for his dazzling desert scenes done in vibrant oils.
He had also worked in the local high school, at night, teaching art to adults.
But he needed a change. The desire to become a full-time artist - to live
among his peers was strong and what better place was there to locate than
the “artsy” cultural city of San Francisco?
He wanted to make a name for himself, and he knew he had the talent. His
plan was to spend only a few days here in Las Vegas before heading to San
Francisco. He was treating himself royally by staying at the luxurious Desert
Inn. He’d found this Chinese restaurant and the girl of his dreams.
Now maybe he could forget the real reason he’d left Phoenix so abruptly.
Erica decided to splurge and have a drink. She felt extremely relaxed and
made carefree conversation with the good-looking young bartender. He had
guessed her profession immediately as if to impress her, which it hadn’t.
Finally he confessed that he’d seen the Polynesian show, and it was
a killer. The women were so gorgeous, he knew she just had to be one of
the dancers.
She took a sip of her white wine spritzer and swiveled around on her stool
just as a tall and very rugged man strode through the archway separating
the dining area from the bar.
She quickly took in his dark brown hair, worn just over his collar, and
dark brown, full mustache, and met his piercing, deep brown eyes. He was
a study in bronze and gold. He had to be at least six-foot-two and looked
well muscled under his Polo shirt. Under the reddish light of the bar, his
skin shone a burnished gold. He sat next to her.
“Hello,” he said in a deep, resonant voice, which she felt
all the way down to her toes.
“Hello,” she responded, lowering her eyes to the bar self-consciously,
picking at her damp cocktail napkin.
“May I buy you a drink? I’m sorry, that sounds like a line, doesn’t
it?
My name is Nick. Nick Seidell,” he said, extending a large, well-formed
hand. She took it hesitantly and he clasped her graceful fingers gently.
Two hours and a few more rounds later, the two felt they had known each
other for years. He was impressed that she was a dancer, an artist, like
himself. It seemed to create a special bond between them....  |
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