Short Story

The waitress smiled as she brought a plate of olives and warm, fresh brown bread to the table.

She bent forward to place it in front of me. All my appetites were aroused.

Once again I marvelled at her Roman profile, heavy black hair and short but busty perfect body.

On my last visit she had smiled and said 'I am sorry, I will not be here tomorrow
but you can dream about me if you like.'

Before this, I had caught her in the afternoon smoking a cigarette
in the small alley way behind the restaurant.
She had said 'I only have two hours, what can I do but wait outside in the fresh air
and return to the restaurant at six.'

I said to her 'can you see the window of the third floor in the green-faced building
at the end of the street? That is where I go for my siesta, you can join me some time.'

She laughed and answered 'I am Italian, we don't take siestas like the Spanish.'
I knew I had her interest but she was a Catholic and I was her boss.

She had spoken vaguely of a boyfriend.
I distracted her by saying 'I was writing a short story about her.'

'Tell me' she said. 'What is it about?'
I replied that it was about a search for her ideal lover.
He must be as handsome, brave and rich as me.
I said that she deserved a special partner.

I put one finger just above her bust and told her
that her perfect man should be just so tall.
She laughed. I could see she did not understand.
I would explain another time, another night.