The Odds of Irony

The irony of a chance meeting.

         “How long is the wait?” 

         “About ten minutes, sir,” the hostess smiled and he noticed her admiring the way his faded blue jeans hugged his lean hips and followed the shape of his long legs.  He knew that the white tee shirt and dark wind-blown hair gave him the look of James Dean, but he didn’t care.  “Name?”

         “R. Evans,” he said with a voice that was warm and slow like warm molasses as he smirked and controlled his urge to roll his eyes.

         He felt the hostess’s eyes on him as he turned and presented an exceptionally fine backside.  He knew she was still watching as he went to stand in the crowd before finally turning to her next customer and he could relax.  It drove him nuts that women always noticed his body but never gave him the chance to show his mind or personality… why couldn’t they ever look past the body?

         “Robyn!  I didn’t know you were here!  Why aren’t you sitting in the bar?” A bubbly waitress bounced down the stairs from the bar.  He turned at the same time as a young woman did next to him.  He frowned, not entirely sure how she’d known his name.  He blinked in surprise when the waitress moved past him and hugged the woman.  Now what were the odds that she’d have the same first name?  Weird.

         “Sienna, I didn’t know you were working.  And I really was looking for something quieter than the bar during March madness.” The woman smirked as she hugged the waitress named Sienna.  The woman whose name was obviously also Robin was very pretty.  She was slender without being too much so and tall, just the right height for gazing into her soft caramel colored eyes framed by long, dark lashes.  Her face was heart shaped and surrounded by a cloud of strawberry blonde wisps and Rob had to wonder just how long her hair truly was as it was currently piled on top of her head in a haphazard half bun, half ponytail.  The other Robin had a beautiful smile with bright, even teeth and kissably plump lips of a soft rose color.  Rob wondered idly if she was as smart as she was pretty.

         “Fine, quiet… pbtht… who needs quiet,” Sienna teased and the other Robin laughed quietly with a fond smile.  Just then the hostess called out, “Evans.”

         Rob turned and nearly ran into the other Robin as she too, turned.

         “Oh, excuse me,” she said as he put his hands up on her arms to steady them both.  Her voice was sweet in his ears, warm and gentle like a mid summer breeze. “They just called me.”

         “Oh… I think they called me,” he blinked in surprise.  Then Rob narrowed his eyes as a very strange thought occurred to him.  Slowly, almost hesitantly, he spoke his thought aloud, “Your last name isn’t Evans, is it?”

         “Yes, as a matter of fact it is,” she answered, nonplussed.  “Why?”

         “And your first name is Robin?” he asked, his heart beating a bit faster with the irony of the situation.  The hostess called out the name, Evans, again.  Rob looked at the hostess with a dashing grin and put a finger up in a silent request for a moment.  The hostess’s eyes widened and she nodded.

         “Yes, why?” the other Robin answered and Rob could hear the confusion in her voice as it mixed with a trace of fear.

         “Now what are the odds?” Rob asked in utter bemusement.

         “What are you talking about?” the other Robin asked with a touch of irritation.  Rob pulled his wallet from his back pocket and opened it to his driver’s license.  With an amused grin, he held it out for her to read.  He watched as she read and the realization struck.

         “You spell your name wrong,” she said recovering quickly.

         “How so?” he asked.

         “I spell mine with a ‘y’.”

         “R-O-B-Y-N?”

         “Yes.”

         The hostess showed up next to them with a slightly impatient look that warred with her blatant admiration of Rob’s body.

         “Really, we need to seat you,” she said.

         “Which one?” Rob smirked; now enjoying the irony of the situation.

         “Evans,” the hostess replied.

         “Which one?” Robyn asked as she too understood.

         The hostess looked at her sheet again, “R. Evans.”

         “Which one?” Rob and Robyn asked as one before looking at each and chuckling.

         “You can’t both be R. Evans,” the hostess said with more irritation.  Rob, who still held his wallet open showed the woman his license while Robyn pulled her own driver’s license out and showed the hostess.  The hostess looked at both licenses and her jaw dropped then she looked up at the two R. Evans’ and gaped at them.  “What are the odds?”

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