As told from Julie’s point of view.

            Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. To deal with the misery. Taylor said I shouldn’t eat chocolate. Big deal, she wasn’t here. She pretty much disappeared after she came home to the sight of me crying. Way to be supportive, Taylor!

Taylor could never deal with emotions, mainly her own. That was why she gave up on guys. No one seemed to like her in high school. Taylor thought maybe the boys thought she was a guy because of her personality. I was like that too; in fact everyone in our group was like that. Not stupid, with a sense of humor, and adventurous.

I flipped through the channels. Basic crud. Nothing good. It was all bimbo shows. The phone rang. I stretched to get it, not wanting to leave my sanctuary.

“Hello,” I groaned.

“Are you feeling better, Julie?” said Taylor’s voice.

“No.”

“He was just a boy. I need you to do me a favor.”

“Mmmmmmmmmmmm…” I mumbled.

“I had a date with a really cute guy, but one of the cast members at the Second City got sick so I have to fill in for them. He’s cute, and really sweet, but kind of shy, so I said he could go on a date with my friend.”

“I dunno.”

            “It’s at 6:00 at Café Morado.” He’s paying for it. Can you do me another favor as well? He bought me a dress. It fit me so it will fit you. Can you wear it?”

            “I don’t want to go out. I’m not ready yet.”

            “You need to. You’ve been in there for two days. Plus he’s really hot. You’ll like him.”

“Fine, I’ll go. What’s his name?”

            “George, and afterwards, take him back to the apartment for a drink, and I’ll meet you there.”

            “I’ll try to have fun.” I hung up. I staggered into Taylor’s room and found a black, mod dress hanging on the dresser.

I took a shower to wash the smell of chocolate off me, avoiding my favorite chocolate soap. I got out, and put on the dress. It fit very comfortably. I styled my hair in a flip to match the dress. I put on some make-up, skipping the mascara in case I would cry again, and slipped into some high heels.

“I guess it’s okay,” I said to my reflection in the mirror. I was off to go meet mysterious Mr. Wonderful.

I stepped into the restaurant, only a few blocks away from my apartment, feeling like I was the flavor of the evening.

“Table for two,” I said to the maitre ‘d.

“He’s already here,” he said, “Follow me.”

            Interesting…

I was led across the room with potential Mr. Wonderfuls, wondering which one would be mine.

We stopped at a table with candles lit. A figure sat, reading the menu.

“Sir, your date’s here.”

He pulled down the menu and laid it on the table

He looked fantastic, in two ways. He wore some weird kind of pants, a blue button-down shirt, an orange tie that looked like something out of the sixties, and a jean jacket. Normally, I would find someone who dresses like that freaky, but he was an exception.

He had shaggy, brown shoulder length hair, side burns, and a matching mustache. I didn’t dig guys with facial hair, but once again, he was an exception. He raised one of his eyebrows and smiled. It didn’t look like he had braces as a teen. Still, his teeth looked nice. He motioned for me to sit down. Very shy, indeed.

“Your waiter will be with you in a moment,” he said, leaving us alone.

He smiled. I blushed. I guess I had to say the first word.

“My name is Julie, if Taylor hasn’t told you that already.”

“Nice to meet you, Julie,” he said in a British accent, a sloppy British accent, kind of Irish, that was dead sexy. He sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place my tongue on it. We extended our hands at the same time.

“I’m George.”

            I shook it. It felt warm, a good warm.

“Taylor didn’t say you’d be British,” I said, nervously, “Now I can see why she likes you.”

He laughed and grinned.

“Have you been here before?”

            He nodded.

“Same here. What are you getting here?” I asked.

“They seem to have a nice eggplant dish, y’know.”

“I’m getting the tilapia. Shouldn’t you get the fish? Seafood is the restaurant’s specialty.”

“I’m vegetarian,” he shrugged.

            “Oh,” I blushed, “I tried doing that once.”

“You did, did you?”

 “Yeah, but it didn’t work out. My great aunt made filet mignon for a dinner at her house, and I didn’t want to make her upset, so I took one bite, and then another, and before I knew it I was asking for seconds.”

 “It’s hard,” he smiled.

 I laughed.

 “By the way,” he said, “Nice dress.”

 “Thanks.”

            We talked over dinner. Mostly me, but he let me. I told him about my friends, my job at a bar with a bunch of bimbos.

 “I’m tired of doing all the talking. What about you?” I asked George, as I finished my tilapia. He raised an eyebrow.

 “Go on. You’ve listened for me for such a long time.”

He paused.

 “I’m from Northern England.”

 “That’s all. Tell me about your love life.”

 “Are you sure you want to hear about it?”

 “Yeah.”

 "I dated some birds. They were all blondes and daft. Very thick-headed. I grew tired. Taylor, I like, she’s great.”

The busboy took away our plates.

 “Are you upset she isn’t here?”

 “I’m cool with it. I’m sure you’re pissed.”

 “About Ryan, yeah. He was a regular at the bar. He would flirt with me, give me large tips. Then we started dating. He kind of got on everyone’s nerves. He was narcissistic. He really pissed off my friends, especially my roommate.”

             “As so I’ve heard,” he smiled.

 “He fell in love with one of the other female barmaids so he left me. I came to work and saw him making out with her.”

 “Dirty bastard.”

 “I was depressed. I cried and ate chocolate ice cream for three days. Taylor didn’t do anything. She couldn’t deal with it. Where did you meet her?” I attempted to change the subject.

 “Second City,” he said quickly.

The waiter came back with a deliciously attractive chocolate soufflé, with powdered sugar and mint leaves, and ice cream.

 “I didn’t order this.”

 “I did,” said George, “It was kind of stupid. You’ve been eating chocolate for three days.”

 “Maybe I exaggerated. He’s just a guy. All of my boyfriends were guys, stupid guys. I should take a break. I feel like such an idiot I mean…”

George took his fork and slipped a piece of chocolate soufflé in my mouth. The sweet chocolate melted in my mouth, like brownie batter.

 “Shhh…” he smiled, taking a sip of his wine.

He took a spoonful of the ice cream. A glob of it went onto his cheek.

 “You have some ice cream on your cheek,” I laughed as I wiped it off with my finger and ate it.

We started feeding each other the soufflé. It was like we were best friends or even more. I really liked him. He listened rather than talked. Not to mention he was British and had sideburns and a mustache. No wonder Taylor liked him.

 “I’ll pay,” he said pulling out his wallet.

 “Oh, such a gentleman. Of course you’ll pay after your ex-date tells you to.”

 “You’re cheeky, y’know.”

 “Taylor said I have to take you back to our apartment.”

 We left Café Morado after the George paid the bill and started walking to my apartment. I felt a slight breeze.

 “It’s cold even for summer,” I said.

 “Here,” he said, placing the light blue long jacket that he carried with him on me. No guy had ever done that to me before.

At the same time, when we were halfway to the apartment, we held each others’ hands. We looked up at each other and smiled.

 “So,” asked, “What is a British man like yourself doing here in Chicago?”

 “I’m on holiday,” he said, “figured I’d go enjoy America. I’m really interested in the music scene here as well as the music scene in England. I’ve always been into music.”

 “What kind?”

 “Rock. Classic rock. The Who, the Rolling Stones, The Doors, The Kinks, Cream.”

 “What about The Beatles?”

 “They’re alright, y’know.”

We arrived at my apartment, cutting through the lobby, to the elevator, the glass one that we could see the night sky from.

 “It’s so beautiful. We rarely get a night like this with the smog.”

The door slowly and quietly shut close.

He took my hand and kissed it.

 “Ooo, such a gentleman.”

             “You’re being cheeky again.”

 “No, I’m not. I mean it. Kiss me some more. Go ahead.”

 “Okay, I’ve never been told that before.”

He kissed my forehead.

 “Are you sure Taylor wouldn’t be pissed?”

 I kissed his cheek. He kissed mine, his mustache tickling.

A ding. The elevator stopped. I led George to the apartment.

 “Gear pad,” he exclaimed, “Do you mind if I freshen up?”

 “Sure,” I said as I gazed into his eyes practically blushing. God!

He smiled and headed to the bathroom, closing the door lightly behind him.

 I plopped on the couch. I felt like I knew him for so long. Maybe he was the one.