Daven, as if the rest of us didn't exist. Daven just looked up at him with that beatific smile on his face.
I don't remember why the waiter kept coming back to the table. All I know is we never had to ask for our drinks to be refilled, they just were, and bread never ran out, and, well, the waiter kept coming back and he never looked at anyone except Daven.
Now, I have no problem with both my friends being gorgeous. I usually just enjoy the world's reaction to them, especially to Daven, who just has an aura of charisma that's hard to explain. But I was sitting within inches of Daven. Jonathon and Wendi were at the edges of the U, but I was right there, and the waiter stared at Daven's smiling face. Did I mention yet that I'd asked Daven how he did his charming thing earlier on this trip? I had, and he had explained it to me. It was a technique I would later use to good effect on camera for the commercial and interview for my book Skin Trade, but this day, at that moment, I trotted it out for something nearer and more immediate.
I lifted my face up, and because I'm a petite woman, I did the slight head tilt and smiled. The waiter just kept staring at Daven, and I admit that I moved a touch closer to Daven and made certain that the waiter couldn't ignore the fact that I have curves of my own. The only question was, did he only like boys, or did breasts hold some appeal? I waited to see. He did that little eye flick, and then he was dividing his attention between the two of us. I honestly don't think it was that I was flirting that well, but that the waiter had actually realized he hadn't made eye contact with anyone else at the table. He could look at me and still see Daven, because we were beside each other. He couldn't look at either Wendi or Jonathon and still see Daven. My husband is his own share of pretty (shoulder-length waves of strawberry-blond hair), and he grew his own Vandyke beard and mustache that is true orange-red for much the same reason Daven grew his, because he looked twelve and wanted to date his own age group and was tired of fending off more offers from men than women. Cap it with almond-shaped blue eyes like an exotic Viking, and his much cozier size for me (five-eight), and, well, any more description would be oversharing... The most important thing I learned about flirting is that it's not just the equipment you have, but how you use it. Daven and I were willing to use what we had on the waiter; our spouses were not willing to stoop to those levels. One must simply tip a hat to the strength of their character, and go back to tormenting the waiter.
We finally got our bill, paid, tipped, and left. The waiter was sooooo giving Daven the invitation to leave a number, to call back, to please, don't go. Daven did one more grin and off we went. I believe it was as we were leaving the restaurant that I turned to them all and said the fateful words, "If Jennie were here she'd turn this into a funny, charming comic strip, but if I ever used it as an idea, it would all go horribly wrong. There would be violence, or violent sex, or both, and a high body count."
We all laughed, they drove us to the airport, we went home.
But that was the idea, right there.
Fast-forward a couple of weeks and I was deep into the writing of the latest book of my other series, Meredith Gentry, fairie princess and private detective. The book was Divine Misdemeanors, and it was kicking my ass. Something was really blocking the inspiration pipeline. Usually that means there's another idea trying to get out. If I can just figure out the idea and write it down then I can go back to the book that's due, and let the idea simmer on the back burner, as it were.
But when I sat down to write this idea out, it didn't stop. I wrote the first few pages and made myself go back to Divine Misdemeanors, but that book slowed to a crawl. I remembered the last time this happened was in the middle of Danse Macabre, and the book