The Next Best Thing by Deidre Berry Page A

slammed down two triple-shots of dark brown liquor, and I was wondering what his story was, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
    â€œExcuse me…” a deep male voice said. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Tori, would it?”
    I turned around and my head went way back, because the man who tapped my shoulder was extremely tall.
    â€œSean?” I asked cautiously.
    Sean nodded, and relief washed over his face as he wrapped me up into a huge bear hug. “You look just the way Yvette described you.” He grinned.
    I couldn’t quite say the same for him. The photo he had posted online was clearly outdated. Up close and in the flesh, Sean was at least twenty-five pounds heavier, and I noted that he looked much older than thirty-nine.
    Some people have accused me of being too judgmental at times, so I did not take points away from Sean for the two front teeth capped in cheap, 10-karat gold. While I was at it, I decided that I didn’t really mind that he was wearing Ray Charles–type sunglasses. In the restaurant. At night. However, I was having a little trouble getting past the outfit.
    In addition to the red shirt Sean said he would be wearing, he was dressed from head to toe in red alligator. The jacket matched the pants, and the belt matched the shoes.
    Damn.
    Aunt Vera’s voice echoed in my head: You can’t trust a man who wears red shoes. If his shoes are any color other than black or brown—hit the damn door!
    And I was just about to do that, when Sean grabbed me around the waist. As if reading my mind, he said, “Come on, let’s go find a table so we can talk.”
    I smiled weakly, and followed as a host seated us at a table in the Rose Room, which was much quieter than the bar area and main dining room.
    Before leaving us, the host smirked at Sean’s getup, and gave me a menu, along with a sympathetic smile.
    It did not even occur to Sean to help me with my chair. Instead, he sat down at the table and gave me a quizzical look that read: Why the hell are you still standing?
    See, that right there is why I blame the liberation movement for the problems between the sexes. Don’t get me wrong, I think the women’s rights era was very necessary in terms of women having the right to earn the same money as a man, and being able to go to work without being propositioned and sexually harassed, but when it comes to one-on-one relationships between men and women, the movement hurt things more than it helped. It confused things because women started refusing to let men treat them like ladies, and after a while, men started forgetting how to be gentlemen.
    Those polite and respectful gestures that used to come naturally to men were lost somewhere along the way because women mistook chivalry for chauvinism, and began declaring, No, you don’t need to pull out my chair or open my door, I can do those things for myself. I am woman, hear me roar!
    And men started throwing up their hands and saying Okay, fine. Do it your damn self!
    Despite Sean having no apparent manners or fashion sense, I silently resolved to keep a positive outlook.
    â€œThis is nice, huh?” He smiled, showing off his gold tee-fuss, just in case I hadn’t already seen them. “You ever been here before?”
    â€œYes, several times,” I said, taking a big gulp of my Amaretto Sour. Two minutes into the date, and I could already tell that I was going to need a buzz for this.
    When the server came to take our drink orders, I asked for another Amaretto Sour, while Sean ordered a Budweiser draft beer and a double shot of cognac on the side.
    One of the black women who were sitting at the bar when I came in, walked by our table on her way to the restroom. Obviously liking what he saw, Sean stared openly and lustily said, “Damn, that ass is fat!”
    Positive outlook? Out the window.
    â€œHello!” I snapped. “Do you see me sitting here?”
    â€œWhy you