Un2Dead (Book One of the Un2Series)
Chapter Thirty Eight

Wit scanned the bar like it was a full-size picture menu. There was so much to choose from: chicken quesadillas, sizzling steak fajitas, burritos the size of a small cat. All tempting, but the dish that caught Wit’s eye had much more than flavor in its favor. Wit knew that any meal can be enhanced simply by its presentation. The artistic dribbling of sauces and a well- placed herbal flourish can turn the most mundane food into a delight for the palate and eye. The garnish on this plate came in the form of a tall blonde. Her hair was swept up in a loose bun, held in place by a pair of black enameled chopsticks. This would typically give Wit a view of his point of entry if not for the fact that she was wearing a white sleeveless turtleneck sweater. Her long black slacks flared enough at the bottom to conceal shiny black stiletto heels. Her retro style and elegant features reminded him of an actress that fueled his boyhood fantasies. The fact that she was indulging in chorizo and egg tacos seemed secondary. Wit straightened the collar of his sports coat, took a deep breath and walked over to her end of the bar.

“That looks delicious.”

“Excuse me?” She coughed.

“I said that looks delicious.”

“Oh, I thought you said I look delicious.”

Wit smiled. “Well, I would have to agree with you on that, as well.” The blonde blushed a bit.

“You remind me of that actress that played Samantha, on “Bewitched”. Her name was Elizabeth something.”

“Montgomery.”

“Yes. Montgomery.”

Wit knew the name of the actress all along but wanted to make sure he was headed down a path that could work for him.

“I always thought Samantha was so sophisticated, pretty, but not in an overt way. Not like Jeanie, on “I Dream of Jeanie”. They dressed her so skimpy. I mean, was that really necessary?”

“You’re complaining about an actress wearing too little clothing? That’s a new one.”

“Not complaining, just saying that there was a difference in how the two of them presented themselves. You seem to be more like Samantha than Jeanie.”

“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment. Ginger or Mary Ann?”

“Mary Ann. Definitely Mary Ann. It’s the overt thing again.”

The blonde nodded in approval. Wit could see he was making headway.

“My name is Danny Witmoore. All my friends call me Wit.” He extended his hand which she took as if to shake it but continued to hold on.

“Do they think you’re funny? Or do they think you’re smart?”

“Neither. They add ‘half’ or ‘dim’ or ‘nit’ to the front of it. More often than not they add ‘less’ to the back.”

“I’m Jayne, with a ‘y’,” she said, continuing to hold his hand. “I was just about to move to a table. Why don’t you join me? Grab my drink.” She gave his hand a squeeze before letting go of it.

Wit couldn’t believe his luck. Wit hadn’t shopped for dinner on his own since Reese had been turned. He had thought the seduction aspect of the evening would be awkward and hadn’t been looking forward to it. He was pleased with how well it was going.

“Booth or table?” Jayne nodded in the direction of the dining room.

“Let’s take that one, over there.” Wit motioned toward a dark corner booth partially hidden behind a couple of fake palm trees. The secluded area would shield them from view if the opportunity for Wit to make his move should arise.

Jayne sat at the edge of the upholstered horseshoe then scooted around to the center of the “U”. Wit slid in on her right, purposely spilling the last of her margarita as he set it down.

“Jeez! I’m such a klutz. Let me get you a fresh one.” Wit signaled for a waiter.

“Could you please bring us another one of these? This time, make it a jumbo.” Wit slipped a twenty into the waiter’s hand. The bigger the better, as far as Wit was concerned. A little alcohol never hurt in these situations.

“You didn’t have to do that. It was almost gone. Aren’t you going to have anything?”

“No. Not tonight. I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”

“What about something to eat?”

“As appealing as that sounds, I can’t. I’m meeting up with someone for a bite later this evening.” Wit smiled at his own wordplay. “What about you? Are you eating alone tonight?”

“I was supposed to hook up with a friend, but she sent a text saying she couldn’t make it. I was already here so I decided to have a couple of tacos.”

The margarita arrived, its rim laden with salt. The frozen green swirl was in a vessel the size of a small punchbowl. Jayne raised it to her lips using two hands, pausing briefly to lick the rim. She took a small sip, contemplating Wit across the top of the glass. The amber glow of the candles made her blue eyes seem to glow teal.

Wit sensed Jayne was looking into him, rather than at him. He felt like he may be blushing, although he knew that was no longer physically possible for him to do. The look lingered a bit too long. Wit cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat as he revived the conversation.

“So, how are the tacos?”

Jayne broke her gaze, set down her margarita and picked up the last of her tacos.

“They are fantastic. You sure you don’t want a taste?” Jayne raised the taco toward Wit.

“No. Really, I can’t. Thanks for asking.”

Jayne gave a slight shrug. As she lifted the taco to her mouth a cascade of chorizo poured out of the open end of the tortilla and into her lap.

“Aw, damn it! These are my favorite pants!”

Jayne grabbed a napkin and scooped up the greasy mound of ground sausage out of her lap.

“I have to run to the little girls’ room and take care of this before it stains. I’ll be back in a heartbeat.”

Jayne scooted out of the open end of the booth and headed across the restaurant towards the restrooms, wiping at the spot with her napkin as she walked. Quite a few heads turned in her wake. Wit got a nod and a wink from one of the other patrons.

A couple of minutes passed before Jayne emerged from the restroom. It was difficult to tell if the spot was gone since her pants were black, to begin with. Wit couldn’t help but notice that Jayne’s hair, formerly in an upsweep, was now flowing down across her shoulders. As he watched her walk back toward the table, time seemed to slow. She looped her pinkie around a stray strand of hair and pulled it from her freshly-painted lips. She executed a perfect hair flip as she misted herself with a spray of cologne, which glistened like glitter in the candlelight. As her gorgeous blonde tresses floated through the sparkling mist the illusion was shattered by a hand clutching a fistful of the golden wave.

Jayne’s head jerked backward as the cologne bottle shot skyward. The next rotation of the ceiling fan clipped the bottle sending it into an adjacent light fixture. A shower of sparks and broken bulb rained down on table number seven. Jayne’s elbow instinctively shot back but missed its intended target. Her assailant grabbed her by the wrist, wrenched it up between her shoulder blades and drove her forward into the unfortunate couple seated at table three. All four bodies tumbled to the floor in a slurry of refried beans, sour cream, and Spanish rice. The fall freed Jayne from her attacker's grip and allowed her to roll to the feet of the Mariachi that were on their way to serenade the about-to-be-engaged couple. She sprang to her feet and forcibly borrowed one of their guitars. Wielding the fine stringed instrument like a Louisville Slugger she turned to face her opponent.

A brunette wearing a t-shirt, blue jeans, and a generous smear of guacamole brandished an oversized pepper grinder like a billy club.

“I dropped you and Trevor into a sweet little time stream of your own where you could live out your ‘happily ever after’ with the one condition: that you never activate this time stream again. And where do I find you?” Reese was livid.

“Trevor bores me. Plus, he got fat.”

Jayne positioned the guitar in front of her as to maintain a safe distance from the very angry woman tapping her palm with a very large pepper mill.

“Why here? I told you what happens to you in this stream.”

“Why should I believe you? For all I know I ended up ‘Queen of the World’ and you were my slave!”

“Really? Queen of the World?”

“You get my point.”

“There is so much I now have to fix because your precious Trevor can’t step away from the donuts! You shallow little bitch!”

Reese lunged, the pepper-filled club headed for Jayne’s jaw. Jayne brought the six-string over her head and swung with all her might at the crown of Reese’s skull. Jayne’s hands followed their intended path but the guitar stayed behind her. The strings hissed as her hands slid up the neck and over the headstock. The guitar’s owner cradled his hollow-bodied baby plucked from harm’s way. Jayne fell right into the oncoming grinder with a crack. The blow knocked her into the remnants of table three.

Reese stood over the unconscious blonde.

“That’s for the time in the lab.”

She reached down and stripped the serpent shaped bracelet from her wrist.

“Consider that privilege revoked.”

Reese surveyed the restaurant. She knew Wit had to be there somewhere. It was difficult to see faces due to the many people who had their phones in front of them filming the incident. She spotted him in a horseshoe shaped booth, balancing on the upholstered seat, phone in hand. He saw her looking at him through his screen. He waved.

“That…was…awesome!” Wit jumped down from the seat and hurried to meet her. “What are you doing here? What in the hell was all that about?”

“You filmed it? Why didn’t you help me?’ Reese slapped at Wit.

“Girl fight. You know the rules. Never stop a girl fight.” Wit hit the play icon and held the phone up for Reese to see. “Babe, you kicked ass!”

“I did. Didn’t I? C’mon, let’s go home.”

Wit held up a finger and gestured for Reese to wait. He stepped over to the bar and handed over his credit card.

“Put the damages on this. Make sure that nice couple my wife landed on gets one of your best bottles of wine.”

He waved Reese over to follow him.

The night air was cool and crisp as the couple strolled toward the El Camino. Wit unlocked the passenger-side door and opened it for his lovely bride. “Oops! Hold on a sec.” Wit reached behind the seat and pulled out the blanket they kept stowed there in case a romantic emergency ever presented itself.

“Aw. Thanks, Honey.” Reese ran her hand down Wit’s arm. As she went to hug him, he ducked inside and covered Reese’s side of the seat.

“Guacamole,” he said pointing to green gunk smeared across Reese’s t-shirt.

Reese rolled her eyes as they situated themselves. She leaned over and gave Wit a kiss.

“What’s that for?”

“For being you.”

Wit pulled the El Camino to a stop at the end of the parking lot and flipped on the turn signal. Reese flipped it to the other direction.

“Left?” Wit questioned. “But, we usually go to the right.”

“I think we should go to the left this time. It’s a much better way to go. Trust me.”

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