The light from a tear slowly rolling down her right cheek refracted through her almost empty wine glass, catching my eye from two tables over. Sitting across from this perfect, natural blonde with her form-fitting little black dress was her strikingly handsome boyfriend? Husband? I couldn't catch a glimpse of her left hand, but it didn't matter.
He leaned in and spoke in a whisper through perfectly aligned, white gritted teeth. I wish I could hear what this guy had to say. Then again, the discomfort she was feeling was evident and I instantly felt selfish relief that I couldn't. She sat frozen, as if trying to scream and run, but caught in a nightmare in which she could only stare into the face of her abuser and take yet another tongue lashing while trying to numb the pain with fermented grapes.
I continued to ignore my co-workers and their stories about the day's successes. I didn't care right now how much their clients made, and in turn how much they profited on commissions. Instead, I took my business card out and stood up.
I excused myself from the table while slowly gathering the courage to do what I knew I had to. Slowly, I walked over to her table and hovered above the centerpiece as both of them hardly noticed my arrival.
"Excuse me, sir?" I said, hoping my interruption would come at just the right time. "Sorry to bother you during dinner, but I always live by this silly rule of mine when I'm on a business trip. You happen to be wearing the suit that most of my clients choose to have in their wardrobe. When I see it on a stranger, I know they must have good taste; and thus, know they need to be with me."
The muscular, mid-thirties male species who I decided must have been a model stood up and wrinkled his brow. "What the fuck did you say?"
I maintained my confident demeanor and reiterated, "I said that you need to call me, you just didn't know it. See, I work with multi-million dollar clients, which I just assume you are. The reason I make my clients money in the market is that I know a good thing when I see it." I said the last part carefully, glimpsing to my left, catching the eye of the most beautiful face I've ever laid eyes on.
He looked at my business card. Robert F. Wellingston, Certified Financial Planner. With his attention now on the small advertisement, my eyes remained locked with the angel across the table and said the next words to her, albeit with her companion thinking they were for him. "See, you deserve better." I nodded slightly.
Holding her wine glass in a way she thought would shield her smile, she nodded back and another tear rolled down her left cheek. I turned back to the man holding my card. "Again, sorry to bother you, but I couldn't leave here tonight without coming over."
I returned to my table, knowing I did all I could for the night. As I sat down, I saw the two of them stand up, him quickly followed by her, hesitantly. I read his lips, "I'm gettin' the car, meet me outside." He left my card, as anticipated. Her eyes followed him away from the table, out the door. Once he was out of sight, she snatched my card off the table and held it like a drowning swimmer holding a life ring. She looked over her shoulder, slightly back to the right. "Thank you," she mouthed, as the remaining moisture left her eyes and she hurried towards the door.