Sans Serif

Sans Serif

A chance meeting proves to be the perfect type.

"Is this seat taken?" I asked as I searched for an available seat. Luckily for me, the woman smiled, nodded that it was available, and silently invited me to join her. We were aboard the MTA/MARC Train that connects BWI Airport with the Union Station in downtown Washington, DC. The hour-long train ride has become a routine feature of my regular trips to our nation's capital. And finding a seat facing an attractive woman, probably about my age, to visit with during the short train ride would undoubtedly be a plus.

The seats on this section of the train faced each other. I think the only reason someone else hadn't already joined her was that her rollaboard was blocking the way for anyone to get in. Upon my query and her tacit acceptance, she moved her luggage so I could slide my own rollaboard in next to hers and take the seat facing her.

I was pleased that she kept eye contact with me, unusual for strangers under such circumstances. So, as soon as I was comfortably seated and arranged my legs to not interfere with hers, I said with a smile, "We must be doing the same thing."

"What is that?" she replied amiably, maintaining eye contact and adding a friendly smile of her own.

"Flying into Baltimore and then taking the train to Washington," I said, pleasantly surprised that she appeared willing to start a conversation. And then added, "It is usually easier than trying to get in and out of Washington National - which is a nightmare."

She nodded her agreement, so I assumed she was probably a frequent visitor to the city. But she didn't immediately say anything. In the semi-awkward moments that followed, I just pretended to be busy, but I kept a respectful eye on her. Like I previously said, she was likely about my age, mid-40s. I had yet to see her standing, but she appeared to be of average height, weight and build. Her hair was a little past shoulder length, dark brunette, with the slightest hints of gray, and parted down the middle. She was wearing a light gray pantsuit, very common for the time, and a white silk or satin blouse with a large collar. The blouse was loosely buttoned, as was her suit jacket, and her neck was adorned with a Gold Heirloom Woven necklace.

I quickly searched her hand for any rings, and I was a little puzzled by what was on her left ring finger. There was a gold ring, but it wasn't what you would typically call a wedding or engagement ring. It was a thin gold band that widened on top and held a lovely dark blue opal or lapis lazuli. The stone was in a simple cabochon cut as opposed to a faceted stone that adorns most matrimonial rings. It was a beautiful piece, but just not your classic wedding band.

Assuming that she was probably not married, I began my charm offensive. "So, do you live in DC, or is this a business trip?" I inquired. I felt safe in assuming it wasn't a vacation, as she certainly wasn't dressed for that.

"Business," she quickly responded, as her smile widened. "I'm heading to a training seminar at Crystal City."

"Hey, I'm heading the same way. Well, one or two Metro stops before you. I'm heading to Pentagon City for the same." I didn't want her to think that I was simply following her. But we actually were going in the same direction. "I'm a civilian employee for the Navy. We have annual training seminars at the Pentagon. And then I usually have one or two additional business trips to DC annually." I didn't want her to think that I was a spy, or anything classified, so I quickly added, "It's nothing top secret or sexy like that. It's just contract administration. Boring bureaucrat stuff." I deliberately added the word sexy to see if she would react, and when she didn't, I assumed I was still on safe ground. "And what do you do?" I inquired.

"I'm afraid it's nothing sexy either," she winked. "I work for IBM in the corporate travel office, and I'm here for a training class put on by the ASTA - The American Society of Travel Advisors." She then reached into her purse, tucked between her hip and the seat, and pulled out a business card.

I immediately drew a card of my own from my shirt pocket, and leaning forward, we exchanged them, casually allowing our fingers to briefly touch. "Ellen Brenman, IBM Corporate Travel, Armonk, New York," I said as I read the card out loud. "And where is Armonk?"

"Oh, it's a suburb just north of New York City," Ellen quickly responded. "IBM moved their headquarters there probably in the early sixties. It's close to the city - without being in the city, if you know what I mean."

I nodded agreeably as she studied my card. It was a standard government-issue US Navy card, with my full name and office contact information, and it looked official enough, even if you'd never seen one before. She didn't read it out loud or seem to have any questions. So, as I slipped her card into my shirt pocket, she slid mine into her purse.

"So, are you a regular traveler to the DC area?" I inquired, aiming to keep the conversation going.

Now she paused for a moment, probably unsure how much information she should reveal. But I think she was already getting comfortable with me, so she shyly replied, "Well, no. This is actually my first trip here in - well, in years."

"Are you familiar with the Metro?" I asked.

"No. Not really. I assume it is similar to that of New York City. But no, I'm not familiar with the routes or anything."

Now, here is where I could make some points. I was no expert, as I lived in San Diego. But I'd been coming to DC ever since the subway was opened ten years earlier. So, I was pretty familiar with the overall layout and its operations. "Well, it's pretty simple. And it's a whole lot newer than New York's. When we pull into Union Station, get off the train, turn left, and walk to the end of the platform. There are double sliding glass doors into the station. Go through the first set of doors and immediately turn to your right. There will be escalators going down into the Metro before the second set of glass doors."

I took a breath to make sure she was still with me. "At the bottom of the escalators, you'll be in a large underground plaza where you can purchase fare cards. It's all vending machines. There are no Metro employees to help or answer questions. So, walk up to any of the vending machines, slide in a credit card, and punch in how much you think you'll need in subway fares during your stay."

I paused again to make sure she understood so far. But looking into her eyes, I could see that she was starting to glaze over. "The trips are generally $2.60 each. The price varies depending on the time of day. But assuming all of your trips will be during rush hour, $2.60 is a safe bet. Then how many trips on the subway do you think you might make?" She just smiled, so I continued. "Say at least one round trip from Union Station to your hotel and back. And then maybe at least one other trip into the city. So, four trips at $2.60 each. That would be $10.40. Say, round it up to eleven or twelve dollars, and you should be good. Of course, you can add money to your fare card anytime you want."

The system of purchasing prepaid fare cards must have been similar to New York. So, I think she was still following. But what I said next, totally lost her. "Now, with your fare card, use it to go through the turnstile, down the escalators on the right-hand side and take the Red Line, two stops, to Gallery Place. At Gallery Place, you'll need to switch to the Yellow Line, which is down one level. And the trick is to make sure you are on the correct platform to catch the Yellow Line to Crystal City. Like New York, the trains are named for the last stop on the line. I'm not sure what the name of the Yellow Line is heading south, across the river. But there are easy-to-follow maps on the walls. Just make sure you take the right escalator to the correct platform to be heading in the proper direction." I knew I had probably confused her by now. But if she rode the subways in New York, they weren't really that different. The Washington Metro was just a lot newer and cleaner.

"Okay?" I asked. She smiled, and so I continued. "The Yellow Line is nice because it goes over the river, not under it. That way, you get to see a little of the city, plus the Pentagon - if that interests you before it goes back underground. I'm getting off at Pentagon City - the second stop after the river. And then I believe Crystal City is the next stop."

I paused, and with a big smile, asked, "Does that all make sense?" She didn't say anything but just stared at me. Now, here was my chance. I took a deep breath and said, "Do you just want to follow me - I'm getting off one stop ahead of you?"

Her face lit up, and I knew I hadn't freaked her out. "Yes," she said with a sincere smile. "That would be very nice of you."

Now, I was the one smiling, as I was enjoying the opportunity to flirt with an attractive woman and doing my Good Turn for the day at the same time. As the train pulled into Union Station, she immediately stood, and I got a good look at her for the first time. She was tall for a woman, maybe five-nine or ten. And for middle-aged, very well proportioned. I don't mean big boobs; I just mean height, weight, and overall figure, an attractive, professional-looking woman.

I grabbed her rollaboard, yanked up the handle and as I passed it to her, her face again lit up with an approachable smile as she mouthed a silent thank you. From that point on, I led her off the train, down the platform, through the glass doors, and down the escalator to the underground vending machine plaza. Up until that point, I couldn't really get a good look at her, as she was following me like a faithful puppy. But once I had purchased my fare card and I was helping her with hers, I got a much better look. And I was quickly becoming a silent admirer.

Catching the Red Line at Union Station was easy. But once we arrived at Gallery Place, I was a little nervous. I had so convincingly explained the route to Crystal City, I was now hoping that I didn't get lost and make a total ass of myself. Luckily, we never made a wrong turn, and soon, we were successfully crossing the Potomac River and heading for Arlington. "So, what hotel are you staying at?" I asked, knowing that there were over a dozen within the Crystal City complex.

"The Marriott," she answered without hesitation.

"Oh, there are two Marriott Hotels at Crystal City," I quickly said. "There is the Marriott at Crystal City and then the Crystal City Marriott - are something stupid like that. I have no idea why they have two Marriotts, with almost identical names."

Ellen reached into her purse and pulled out her itinerary. "Let's see," she said as she unfolded it and searched for the hotel's name. "The Crystal City Marriott."

"Okay," I replied slowly, trying to remember which was which. "One is to the left when you get off the subway, and the other is to the right. I'm not sure which is which. So, just check the signs and make sure you follow the arrows. You shouldn't have any trouble."

Just then, the subway was stopping at Pentagon City, my stop, and I stood to get off. I turned to say goodbye, and she extended her hand to shake mine. I only had subway seconds, but I accepted her handshake as she said, "Thank you Dean, I would have never found this on my own."

I'm sure that wasn't true, as she was a professional travel advisor. But it was still sweet of her to say that. I smiled and nodded, but I had no time for any other pleasantries. I barely got off the train before the doors slammed shut, and it accelerated out of the station. Walking to my hotel, I was actually quite proud of myself. I had enjoyed a pleasant afternoon of flirting without embarrassing myself. Plus, I had helped a fellow traveler, and even though I had no expectation of ever seeing her again, I had made a new friend.

Like all government seminars, mine was as dull and boring as watching paint dry - Battleship Gray at that. I barely stayed awake during the first day. It was all stuff I'd heard a hundred times before, and to be honest, really nothing new as they had promised. I had dinner with fellow government bureaucrats that night, but I couldn't stop thinking of Ellen. The next day, the seminar was even worse, and during the lunch break, I returned to my hotel room and looked up the number for the Crystal City Marriott. After tapping in the number, a hotel operator quickly answered, and I said with newfound confidence, "Ellen Brenman's room, please."

I had her full name on her business card, and I knew what hotel she was staying at. I was just hoping she wouldn't pick up the phone, as I wasn't sure what I would say. Luckily, she didn't pick up, and after about six rings, it went to her room's voicemail. "Hello, Ellen. This is Dean Ellison. We met on the train two days ago." I was as nervous as a rat in a room full of cats. But I swallowed hard and kept talking. "Hey, I'm going into the city for dinner tonight. I have reservations at one of my favorite restaurants, and I was wondering if you would like to join me. I hope your seminar is more enjoyable than mine, and I hope to hear back from you soon." I left my hotel phone number and my room. But to be honest, I wasn't sure if I would hear back from her.

I wasn't married, and I was pretty sure she wasn't either. But that didn't mean she didn't have a significant other of some kind. A boyfriend, an intimate roommate, a fiancée - hell, I don't know, a girlfriend? I know I was being paranoid, but I had never been any good at picking up chicks. And at forty-five years old, nothing was likely to change. I never went back to my seminar that day. I just turned on the TV and laid back to watch an old movie. I had just about dozed off when, in less than an hour, the phone rang. It scared the hell out of me. First because I was almost asleep, but also because I knew who it likely was.

At first, I was afraid to answer it, as I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer - just in case she was turning me down. But what was the likelihood of that? If she was turning me down, she wouldn't be calling - she would have just not called me back. So, maybe this was good news. "Hello," I said as calmly as possible.

"Dean, this is Ellen. You called?"

"Oh yes, Ellen. Hi, yes, I was planning on going into the city tonight for dinner. And I was just wondering if you were available to join me?" My voice faded off as I wasn't quite sure what else to say. I had started to add, you can bring some friends if you want. But I never got that part out. And besides, I'd be okay with her bringing another woman or two. But certainly not another guy. And how was I supposed to say that?

But before I could say anything, she said, "Yes, I'd love to. When and where should I meet you?"

Oh my God, now I really had to think. I had not actually made reservations anywhere, and what if I ran into problems there. "Oh, how about five-thirty. I'll meet you downstairs at the Crystal City subway station."

"Perfect," she said. "I'll meet you there." And she hung up.

Wow. That was easy. All I have to do now is get reservations for dinner. I was planning on the Old Ebbitt Grill on 15^th Street. I had eaten there several times before. But it was only a block from the White House and a favorite watering hole for the movers and shakers of Washington. I looked up the number and called. I asked for a reservation for six-thirty for two, and to my surprise, this really was my lucky night.

I figured an hour would give us plenty of time, as the subway ride from Crystal City to Metro Center, the closest station to the restaurant, was likely only fifteen to twenty minutes, even at rush hour. And then a five-minute walk to the restaurant. But as I waited downstairs at the Crystal City subway station, five-thirty came and went. Then five-forty, and then five-forty-five. I started to get nervous. Did I not say downstairs in the Crystal City station? And did I not say five-thirty? I kept looking at my watch and wondering if I was being stood up. It was 1995, and cell phones had been available for six or seven years. But most people still didn't have one. Or should I say, I didn't have one? The Navy certainly wasn't going to issue me one, and back in San Diego, I really had no need for one. And besides, I doubted Ellen had one anyway.

But just as I was about to go look for her, there she came. Bounding down the stairs with a spring in her step and a huge smile across her face. She was wearing a summery floral print dress of white flowers on a blue background. It was suspended by spaghetti straps, tailored at the waist, and full and free-flowing from the hips down. The bottom half swung back and forth like a metronome as she gleefully descended the concrete stairs. Obviously, I had nothing to worry about. She was just being fashionably late, as it is a woman's prerogative. I have an ex-wife, as well as a mother and sisters. So, you would think I should be familiar with that.

Stepping off the last of the stairs, she extended her hand to take mine, and with that same smile she had exhibited so often before, she cheerfully asked, "Have you been waiting long?"

She knew exactly how long I'd been waiting, but of course, being the gentleman I am, I said, "Oh no, just a few minutes."

The subway ride from Crystal City to Gallery Place was quick and easy, as we were going against the rush hour. However, transferring back to the Red Line for the short ride to Metro Center was your typical rush hour subway experience. But the whole trip barely took fifteen minutes, and as I had expected, it was only a five or six-minute walk to the Old Ebbitt Grill.

As we approached, the place was packed. People were literally standing on the sidewalk waiting to get in. We were several minutes early, but the sight of the crowd startled me. Holding Ellen's hand, we weaseled our way to the hostess stand, and before she could look up, I said, "Reservation for Ellison, table for two at six-thirty."

How she heard me over the din of the happy hour crowd, I'll never know. But without even looking up, she grabbed two menus, and said, "This way, please."

Weaving in and out of the crowd, she led us to a booth near the back of the dining room, placed the menus on the table, and slipped away without another word. I motioned for Ellen to take a seat, and just as on the train, I took the seat opposite her and arranged my legs to provide the maximum of comfort for both of us.

I don't remember waiting long for our server to greet us, as almost every table was occupied. But the wait staff was hustling to flip tables as quickly and efficiently as possible, so it didn't take long. I think I had the Bacon-Horseradish Glazed Meatloaf, a favorite of mine. And I think Ellen had one of their fish dishes. We split a bottle of red wine, as well as a dessert, and other than that, I can't remember what we talked about, but it was a lovely dinner. I was just glad Ellen didn't want to share a plate of raw oysters, as that is a staple of the Old Ebbitt Grill. I know many people consider oysters an aphrodisiac, but I'm afraid they would have the exact opposite effect on me. Even after twenty years in the Navy, I've never been much of a raw seafood eater.

When the check arrived, Ellen offered to split it, but I insisted on paying. I told her that it was on my expense account. Of course, that wasn't true. As government employees, we get a per diem, and that's it. But she didn't push the issue, as at this point, I think we both were considering this to be a date. Not just friends having dinner together.

As we stepped back onto the sidewalk, I turned to Ellen and asked, "Would you like one of my famous walking tours of DC?" She enthusiastically nodded yes, and off we went. A few steps from the restaurant, we came to a traffic light at 15^th and G Street. The light was turning yellow, but to get further away from the crowd, I grabbed Ellen's hand and together we ran across the intersection. I didn't let go of her hand for the next forty-five minutes.