Languidly she stood in the doorway of the crowded Italian Restaurant we agreed to meet in. Surveying the scene, her sultry glance missed my presence twice as her dark eyes roamed across the table-filled room. The red tea-length designer gown she wore to our class reunion stood out like a beacon in the shadows between the outside lamplight and the flickering candles on the inside red-checkered tabletops. I was just about to stand up to wave her in my direction when she recognized my face amongst the many who turned to ogle at her perfect hour-glass figure.

As a room full of eyes traveled from door to table as she approached, I began to feel trepidation regarding my choice of eatery. This wasn't her type of place any more than I would have fit in with a location of her choosing. After all, it had been years since we traveled in the same circles. Still, this small but popular place was the only one that came to mind, when, as the class reunion we had both attended broke up, I found myself inviting her to meet me for a drink and perhaps a bite to eat.

"Joel." The way her deep voice sounded my name reminded me of dark bedrooms where low seductive music played in the background. Had she spoken like that when we were youths hanging out at the parkway diner after school? I couldn't recall. Instead, I stood to pull the second chair out so she could seat herself. Cool and competent, she leaned back, crossed her long shapely legs and draped her left arm across the back of her chair.

"Joannie," I heard my voice croak out. No, not Joannie. She hadn't been little Joannie Smith in years. The teenager with the freckled face and dishwater colored brown hair I knew in high school was long gone. The only one in our group to really find success, she was now known as Juanita Smythe: Supermodel. Inclining back abruptly until I felt the rear of the seat touch my spine, I glanced at her behind hooded eyes wondering if this date were real or if I were going to wake up to find it was all a dream.

"It's been a long time, Joel," the girl from my past stated as she placed her elbows on the table, forcing our eyes to meet. "Everyone seems so different now. I can't believe Charlie is bald. Remember that big head of hair he used to have? And Stella? Hard to believe she has five kids and another one on the way. That husband of hers, what's his name? picked a fine time to walk out."

"Time goes by," I heard myself mutter from what seemed a long distance. Suddenly coming back to myself, I remembered the wine, a bottle of Chardonnay and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, because I didn't know what she would like or what she would order off the extensive menu. She chose the Chardonnay, so I poured out two glasses. It was something to do while I untied my tongue.

As it turned out, I didn't have to remove the knot from my tongue. Swirling her glass of white wine before taking her first sip, the woman in front of me inquired: "So where were the King and Queen of the Prom? Surely they wouldn't have missed the twentieth-class reunion."