Helen sat squarely across from her dinner date, gazing into his eyes with all the femininity she could muster. Even though she was a solid 9 to his 6 or 7, her battle for dominance in their first meeting, and thus the relationship, was in jeopardy. Helen was fighting this war on two fronts.
"Excuse me," she cooed, her stomach beginning to loose salvos of indigestion.
The turmoil inside her belly was probably inaudible amid the chattering and clattering and clinking of the restaurant, but she felt like it all might go to hell right this moment as she stood up and pushed her chair away. All the hell might release from her bowels and onto the fancy Italian rug.
Helen Cortez always made mental note of the bathroom's location whenever she entered a restaurant. It's just good sense for girls to have a place where they can retreat, regroup, and call friends. But her friends couldn't save her. If only she'd ordered the salad.
She could feel his admiring glaces as she glided between the tables. It was at least 50 paces away. And then probably another 10 once she got inside. One table at a time, she was going to get through the maze. A party of 4 on the left, and group of businessmen on the right. All the while, her insides made war on themselves. Why did she order the damn burritos?!
Helen's stomach thundered violently when she reached the middle of the dining area. Then, she saw him. The fucking server. He was setting up a tray in the aisle. The businessmen had ordered appetizers. Nachos, dumplings, some kind of fried sticks. Standing behind a small bald man in a suit, she wondered which end it would come out of. He looked like the type of person to understand if a strange girl vomited all over the back of his jacket. He might not even be mad.
Standing there for precious seconds, she looked back at her date. Had he not taken the opportunity to look down at his phone, he would have seen the anguish on her pale, sweating face. She turned back to look at the server. This would be her last stand. Her last date night. The night of the three burritos.
Then, opportunity. The server picked up the large tray and started to carry it around. The fool, he could never have known how close he had come to losing a substantial portion of his tips for the evening. She could have shut down the restaurant, right then and there with one incredible, indelicate maneuver.
Instead, she sidled between the table and the stand, and clodded doubletime in her heels to the ladies room. It was locked.
There was no time now. She had to act. The door next to her swung open. Was it the kitchen or the men's room? It didn't matter. She would go in and drop her payload. It had to be done. No choice.
...
The man standing outside the men's room door barely gave her a second glance as she strode out. Her careful reapplication of makeup and perfume had masked any sign of her churning midsection and queasy demeanor. Her plan had been faithfully executed, but had it succeeded?
....
Glen grinned as his gorgeous date took her seat. She didn't catch him putting his phone away after having spent her absence looking at her profile pictures. She was prettier in person, and she smiled and took a sip of water. Her eyes were hinting, mysterious, expressive. Maybe she would go home with him.
"Nice place, huh?"
"It's not bad," Helen's coy reply.
He could tell she was game.