The Man Who Always Smiles

Another episode of Simon's Embarrassing Moments

I have a complicated relationship with restaurants.

My friends who work in hospitality will tell you, I'm the worst customer they've ever had. I'm the chap who mortally insults the new sommelier by demanding English wine then insisting he translates the label into French. The chap who offends the chef by ordering caviar then complaining bitterly that it tastes like fish eggs.

The exception was my favourite restaurant. For the last ten years of its existence I seldom ordered, "Chef thought you might enjoy this dish, perhaps with the Margaux?" sort of thing. I spent a lot of time there.

You would me find outside most evenings during the summer months. Most often alone, watching the world go by.

The staff didn't approved of my latest romantic interest, she was haughty towards them. They never said anything, I could just tell they wanted someone who would make me happy. They were being kind.

One evening after the relationship ended her replacement went to powder her nose. The Maître d' lingered, the restaurant didn’t like her much either.

”Ahem” he coughed discreetly, clearing his throat the way people do.

”Mmmm?” I replied, inviting the conversation. A lesson I’ve learnt in life is that when a Maître d' chooses to speak, I should choose to listen.

“A lady stopped in at lunch yesterday. She didn’t dine with us but she has before. She wanted to know about The Man Who Always Smiles. We didn’t give her your name of course.”

I was flattered to be so described. At the loveliness of it. It’s a soubriquet worthy of my tombstone.

“She is enchanting” the Maître d' said pointedly, stressing the word.

”Please give her my card” I obeyed, signing it quickly and handing it to him. “I should be delighted if she would meet me here at an evening of her convenience.”

She did. And she was. Enchanting was the perfect adjective. Elegant and urbane yet strong, capable. A woman who knows what it means to work with her hands. I impressed her with my rudimentary grasp of her native language and she laughed at my mispronunciations. The restaurateurs chaperoned, pleased with the success of their matchmaking.

The Man Who Always Smiles

She spoke lovingly of her dog, a Yorkshire Terrier. I realised I would need the dog’s approval to woo this lady so I proposed a hike for our second date. She tilted her head when she acquiesced. I was smitten.

I found a hike in a book and planned a romantic day. We would ferry that Saturday to the island of Waiheke in the Hauraki Gulf. At the end of the hike is the township of Oneroa. A relative and his partner own a restaurant there. We would arrive around lunchtime and dine with them, and my brother and his wife, in a part of the restaurant set aside. I borrowed my brother’s Golden Retriever so her dog would have companionship, too.

The dog’s name is Skylar and hasn’t forgiven me.

It was a perfect day. The trail was easy going but steep in places, following the coast line. We held hands and it felt right. I caught her in my arms when she stumbled. She kissed me in reward.

We dined mightily at the restaurant, cooking together in the outside kitchen. My relatives very much approved of this fascinating new girl. We were having so much fun my cousin closed early and we ate and drank and laughed as the sun went down across the bay.

The evening was crisp so my cousin distributed blankets. She put hers around me and we snuggled in front of the fire, finding our comfortable. Knowing none of the others knew her language she would speak it to me. Like a gift, a secret for us to share.

Lunch became dinner became catching the last ferry back to the mainland. We said goodbye to our hosts and departed: she and I, my brother and his wife, and the two dogs. We sat across from them on the ferry.

And started canoodling. My brother and his wife politely averted their gaze.

She was enthusiastic. Not so much aggressive as frisky. I watched her eyes widen when she bit me harder than intended.

The pain hit.

I screeched, pulling my head away too fast! too fast! before she’d had time to fully unclench her jaw. There was a ripping sensation.

My brother and his wife’s heads whipped around. Their mouths dropped open in astonishment at the bite mark already welling on my cheek. I was looking directly into my brother’s eyes.

And then, to my everlasting shame, I looked at his dog.

My brother realised the silent implication, rolling up a newspaper and disciplining Skylar with it. She looked at me accusingly the entire time. She knew I had instigated her injustice, that I could end it with a word.

And that I didn’t.

Skylar has never forgotten, greeting me with that reproachful expression ever since. I’ve tried to make up for it with treats and cuddles and walks but she will not forgive: I will never receive absolution for giving her up for a girl. As far as that dog is concerned there is no redemption and I deserve to live forever in the ignominy of canine-abusing shame.

She’s probably right.

It took over a week for my face to heal and the bite rather tempered my ardour. There was no third date, our love wasn’t meant to be.

And I regret finding that out cost me a relationship with a dog.