Sometime Soon (22 page)

“A skirt would be nice.”

“I can dress myself Laura.”

“I know.”

I end the call feeling a little
guilty that I’m not exhibiting more enthusiasm for her. But, hey, I’m going.
What more does she want?

The familiar feeling of nerves
begins as I head out the door. I haven’t heard from Ryan, and I decide not to
dwell on him. I suppose it’s possible that tonight could turn out well and that
I’ll actually like David Rose. In fact, unless there’s something obviously
awful about him, I’m determined to give him a real chance. I’ll even practice
the three date rule, assuming that he wants to date me. The three date rule
says that you should go on at least three dates before making any judgments
about someone.

Due to an unexpected backup at an
intersection on the way, I arrive about five minutes late to find an unfamiliar
blue BMW parked in the only guest spot in front of Laura and Jonathan’s place.
Since there are no other spaces available, I take a spot on the street just
over a block away, and I arrive a bit flustered and breathless from my rushed
walk to their building. I really hate to be late.

Laura welcomes me warmly in her
hostess voice. Her hostess voice is a few beats slower and about an octave
higher than her normal voice. Mom has a hostess voice, too. I wonder if I have
one. I suppose I would actually have to host something to find out.

Laura leads me through the small
apartment into the living room where Jonathan is sitting with the person I
assume is my date. They both stand as we enter. To my amusement, they’re each
wearing flat front khakis with belts, loafers, and golf shirts. Jonathan’s is
green and David’s is red. There are definitely no metro-sexuals in this room.

I decide that David Rose does, in
fact, resemble Matthew Broderick. His straight brown hair is combed slightly
forward and to the side, making me suspect that some camouflage is being
attempted. His chin is on the soft side, sliding almost seamlessly in his neck.
His dark eyes widen, and he offers me a wide grin when we’re introduced. I
smile back, and I can’t help thinking that he seems pleasantly surprised to see
me. Maybe his expectations were set pretty low for this blind date.

When the introductions are
finished, I settle myself on the couch next to Jonathan with David occupying
the chair to my left and Laura fluttering around, filling wine glasses and
making sure plates of cheese and crackers are neatly arranged.

“Laura tells me you work in the computer
field,” David says, speaking directly to me for the first time. His voice is
jarring, and I blink at him for a moment before answering. I recognize his
voice from the message he left, but I was hoping a bad connection was the
explanation for it. Obviously, that’s not it. David is a grown man with the
voice of a teenage boy. It’s completely incongruous. It makes me think of David
Beckham. The sound of his voice always surprises me when I hear it on
television. He speaks with a high pitched nasal tone that seems utterly
disconnected from the reality of the man himself. David Beckham’s voice belongs
on one of the skinny, socially-inept engineering geeks that I work with, and
not on the biggest soccer superstar on the planet. David Rose’s voice strikes me
the same way. I wondered what his clients think when they speak to him on the
telephone. I’m sure they don’t want to feel like an eighth grader is
representing them.

“That’s right,” I smile politely.

“Andy just got a promotion,” Laura
announces proudly.

“Really,” David replies with the
appropriate amount of appreciation.

I sip my wine and nod. “And you’re
a real estate lawyer, just like Laura,” I say.

“Much bigger than me, actually,”
Laura answers for him. “He works for one of the larger firms in town.”

David shrugs. “It sounds better
than it is. It mostly means that I work longer hours and get appreciated less.”

I chuckle and it’s real.
Self-deprecating humor is nearly my favorite kind, right after dry humor.

“You’re Canadian?” I ask.

“I have dual citizenship. My father
is from Canada, but my mother is from Boston. I grew up in Montreal though.”

“Do you speak French?”

David replies in French.

“Guess so,” Jonathan remarks.

“What is it you do in computers?”
David asks me.

I think I stare at him a beat too
long, as his disembodied adolescent voice puts me in a temporary trance. “I’m
in marketing,” I finally reply.

The introductory banal conversation
continues this way for another twenty minutes or so before Laura announces that
it’s time to leave. David is already out in the hallway waiting when I hear
Jonathan whisper to Laura, “What’s up with his voice?”

She shushes him and pushes him
toward to the door.

We take Jonathan’s SUV into the
city. David and I share the back seat and chat a bit about Boston and how he
likes living here. He’s been here for just over a year and is still learning
the ins and outs. Currently, he’s renting an apartment west of the city and
taking the T into work each day. He complains about Boston drivers and their aggressiveness.
“If public transportation is an option, I prefer it,” he states in a serious
tone.

“When I commuted to work on Route
128,” I tell him, “I passed at least one accident a day during rush hour. I
figured it was only a matter of time before my number came up.”

“And did it?” he asks.

I nod gravely, recalling the cute
little hatchback I’d driven back then.

He shudders, eyeing the road in
front of us.

Jonathan drops us at the door and
goes off in search of parking. Café Blue is bustling. Although I’ve been here
twice now, I have not been here on a Saturday night. The sidewalk by the
entrance is littered with well-dressed patrons-in-waiting, sparkling and
chattering under the glow of the streetlights. Laura pushes her way through the
crowd toward the maitre’ d just inside the doorway and then turns back to wave
us in. Apparently, those waiting outside do not have reservations.

I’m assaulted by noise when I step
into the dimly lit restaurant. The familiar bar area is overflowing its
boundaries, and the dining room is a sea of trendy individuals. Laura elbows me
and raises her voice to say, “This place is really nice.”

I nod in agreement. With its
grey-blue walls and soaring ceiling, the space itself is appealing in a modern,
minimalist way. We’re led to a rectangular table for four that’s pushed against
the side wall. It’s not a window table, but it is a decent spot situated
centrally in the room. Laura places herself on the side of the table facing the
door. “So I can watch for Jonathan,” she explains. David motions for me to
precede him to the inside chair on the other side of the table.

I sit myself down and look around
as waiters and waitresses speed-walk through the dining room, deftly handling
trays of drinks and food.

Laura half-stands and waves. I turn
to watch Jonathan thread his way through the tables toward us.

“Did you find a good spot?” she
asks.

“I had to put it in a lot.” He
takes the seat beside her. “It’s crazy in here tonight. Now I remember why we
never come into the city.”

She scowls at him. “It’s fun to do
something different once in a while.” She turns a bright smile to David. “Andy
comes here all the time.”

“I’ve been here twice,” I correct
her.

“The food must be good,” David
says.

“Actually, not really. But I was
here when they first opened. Maybe it’s gotten better.”

“Ah.” David nods at me. “That’s
generally a mistake. You need to give a new place time to work out the kinks.”

“There were certainly a lot of
kinks.” I chew my lip and peer at the menu.

“What’s good here?” Laura peers at
me expectantly.

“Obviously nothing she’s had,”
Jonathan says.

“I see they have calamari.” David
notices, apparently pleased.

Laura and I look at each other and
cringe.

“What?” David glances up from his
menu. “You don’t like calamari?”

“These two aren’t exactly
adventurous eaters,” Jonathan explains, taking a sip of his ice water.

“Calamari is adventurous?”

“It is to them.”

“I’m getting better,” Laura argues.
“I eat shrimp now.”
“See what I mean?” Jonathan smirks.

David turns to me expectantly,
looking for confirmation.

“I’m better than Laura is,” I tell
him. “She still makes her sandwiches with white Wonder Bread like she’s in
third grade.”

“Hey,” she protests, looking
offended.

I grin and shrug at her. It’s my
blind date. Whether or not I like David, I still want him to like me. If I have
to save myself by throwing her under the bus, so be it.

He closes his menu and says, “Guess
the calamari is out.”

An attractive blonde waitress, her
hair pulled back in a severe, high ponytail, finally arrives to take our drink
orders. David suggests that we order a bottle of something, but he doesn’t know
us very well. Laura hardly drinks at all. Any type of alcohol in any amount
seems to give her a splitting headache. Jonathan says that he only wants a
beer, and he proceeds to order one. After the wine we’ve already had at
Laura’s, I don’t want a whole lot more myself. “I was going to have a
chardonnay,” I say. “But I’ll probably only drink one glass.”

Lines form at the sides of David’s
mouth as he places his order. He’s been foiled in his wine and in his appetizer
preferences this evening.

Once our drinks arrive I settle in
a little more, but because of the high noise level in the restaurant,
conversation is an effort. “What?” is generously peppered throughout our
exchanges. As David and Laura engage in a detailed discussion of real estate
law, as detailed as the din will allow, I covertly watch him and the way his
smallish white hands move when he speaks. He’s bright. There is no question
about that. His personality is hard to get a read on though. He isn’t overly
funny or uptight either. He seems somewhat sedate in his mannerisms, not too
effusive or too loud. He’s middle of the road on all counts so far, looks and
personality.

When the blonde ponytail bops back
over to our table for our dinner orders, I make a last minute decision to try
the filet mignon. Beside me, David looks pleased. “It seems like everyone I
know is giving up red meat,” he explains. But then I ask for it to be
butterflied and well-done and I can feel myself sink in his estimation. He
orders swordfish and Jonathan orders salmon. Laura goes for the chicken despite
my less than stellar review of it.

To my surprise, my filet mignon is
pretty good. In fact, we all enjoy our meals. We make more small talk over
dinner, discussing the housing market because Jonathan and Laura will soon be
jumping into it. When the fact that I own my own place comes up in
conversation, David appears surprised and asks me several questions about it.
When Laura inquires as to the whereabouts of the ladies’ room, in true girl
style, I decide to make the trip with her. We have to navigate our way to the
front of the restaurant and then squeeze through the bar area in order to reach
our destination.

I spot him before he notices me.
His familiar sun-streaked hair is neatly styled. His eyes are bright and
friendly behind his frameless glasses. He’s leaning down, speaking to a woman
with shiny, straight black hair that reaches to the middle of her back. It’s
the kind of hair I wished for everyday in high school as I fought my frizzy
curls. Briefly, I panic. I’m following Laura and I can probably hide behind
her, avert my eyes and pretend not to see him. I could also abort the trip
completely even though I really do need the ladies’ room. But I have no time to
decide because at that moment he looks up, and I know that he’s spotted me.
There’s no real reason to avoid him other than the fact that I haven’t returned
his phone call and that could be considered rude.

“Andrea,” he says after Laura has
passed him, and I have inevitably continued along the path she forged.

“Hi, Jason,” I say, stopping beside
him, realizing he’s only said my name, no greeting of any kind accompanied it.

“Back for more Café Blue, huh?” he
comments, his voice flat and unfriendly.

I smile hesitantly. “Yeah. You,
too.”

The straight line of his mouth does
not change as he shrugs in response. I realize that Laura has continued on,
unaware that I’m no longer behind her. It’s just as well. Now I don’t have to
perform any introductions.

“How are you?” I nearly have to
shout this to be heard. The bar is louder than the restaurant.

“Fine. You?”

“Good, thanks.” This is awkward.
I’m beginning to wish we’d just ignored each other. “The food is actually
pretty good this time,” I tell him.

“They’ve made some improvements,”
he agrees, his eyes studying me from behind his glasses. He makes no move to
introduce me to the woman he’s with. I wonder if they came together or if they
have just met.

“Well,” I say, purposely not
turning my attention to the mystery woman, “Good to see you. Enjoy your
evening.” Then I spin around without waiting for a response and make a beeline
for the ladies’ room door. Laura is coming out just as I arrive.

“What happened to you? I turned around
and you were gone.”

“Jason is here. I had to stop and
say hello to him.”
She peers around my head as though she could actually locate a person she’s
never met in the sea of bodies behind me. “The one who didn’t walk you to your
car?”

I nod.

“Did you ever hear from him again?”

“He called and left me a message,
but I never returned it.”

“Oh,” she replies, taking this in.
“Did he seem friendly?”

“Not really.”
“Big deal. He’s a jerk, anyway.” With that, she grabs my arm and pulls me into
the ladies’ room. “So what do you think of David?” she asks, practically
pouncing once we are inside the relative quiet of the ladies’ room. Of course,
there’s a line in front of us and we have to wait in it.