Daphne is a hostess at one of my favorite restaurants in the city. I have known her for a couple of years now. She is a slender blonde that is all of 23 years old. I love her face and figure, and especially her low buttery voice.
Obviously, I am not after Daphne. But she is a classic example of the type of girl who Phicklephilly falls in love with everyday. Kind of like how I loved Maria in the very first blog post. They just give off a certain energy that’s like catnip to me.
I would go to this place pretty regularly, and Daphne always seemed to be in a sour mood. Just all business with a pout on her face. She’s so beautiful, but she always was a sourpuss. I liked her but I stayed away from her. I figured a girl like her pretty much got hit on all the time. Probably every shift she worked . That has to get tiring. Maybe she had that attitude because if she’s too nice, these guys try to engage her and ask her out on dates. It’s hard when you’re the prettiest baby in the joint and you have to work the front line as a hostess. It’s like being in the infantry.
Maybe she was dealing with a health problem. Maybe just coming off a painful break up. Could be anything. But everybody was aware of her sullen attitude.
So I for the most did the opposite of what everybody else did. I paid attention to everyone on staff but Daphne. I was hoping she would start to wonder why out of all of the men that came into that place, I was the really friendly guy that talked to everyone but her. It’s just reverse psychology. My dad taught me how to run that program.
Then one day, Daphne disappeared. After a week or so of going there I simply stopped seeing her at the hostess stand. I asked my buddy Roman behind the bar what had happened. He said she went to Brazil for a few months to study abroad. So that was that.
When she returned, Daphne was a changed woman. I don’t know what happened while she was down there, but whatever it was, it worked. She was smiling, friendly and talkative. She would stop and say hello when I was at the bar. It was like she had been infused with a happy spirit. My father used to say that travel was very broadening. I have traveled some and have to agree. The world is a much bigger package than your little piece of real estate. She even gave me her number in case there was some cool event happening I could take her. What a turn around!
It appears she’s doing more than just hostessing now that she has returned. Serving and working as a bar back are also some of her duties now. She always smiles and says hello to me when I come in. We chat about what’s happening in our lives, but it’s always brief because she’s working. I like when she says my name in that lovely, low voice.
One night she was working and I stopped to say hello. She said she was sick. I back away and we both laugh. I told her she didn’t seem her usual effervescent self. I asked her the symptoms and she said throat was sore. We chatted a bit more and I told her that I hoped she felt better and went back to join my friends at the bar. But now I had an idea.
Later, when I went out to catch a smoke, I ran up to news stand up the street. I picked up another pack of smokes and a little something else.
A half an hour later me and my pals were leaving. Carly back to Manayunk, and Church back to King of Prussia. As I walked by Daphne sniffling at the hostess stand, I place a roll of sore throat lozenges on it. I smiled and said goodnight.
A month or so later, (like I said, I’m not really after little Daphne) I was sitting with some friends at the bar. She was at her hostess stand, and I look over and she smiles, and puts up her hands as if saying, “What’s up?”
I walk over to her and ask her if she’d like to meet me for a drink or lunch one day. She says, “Sure, text me.”
So I tell her, “How about Sunday after 4pm?”
So I think it’s on if I can nail down a day and time. Which with her work and school schedule, will probably be impossible. I tell her I’ll text her this week.
I send her a text that Friday, and ask her if she’d like to meet me for a drink at Gran caffè L’Aquila, on Chestnut Street. It’s a really nice Italian restaurant that has been there for about three years. I figured she hadn’t been there, and I’d be happy to take her someplace a little fancy.
I never hear anything from her but the deafening sound of crickets.
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