Tripping on Tears (4 page)

Okay, I was stuck here. Something deep down within me told me that she wasn’t going to be impressed about a book on strip clubs; that she’d put two and two together and realize that to have written it I must have been a patron of strip clubs – a regular, so to speak. Talking pornography and strip clubs was definitely not the way to impress this woman.

“...actually it’s boring,” I finally continued. “It did very well, however, so here I am, working on my second book.”

“It’s boring but it sold well. Is that what you said?”

I just shook my head, ‘Yes.’

She smiled. “Impressive.
The Sinful Delusion
. Never heard of it. What is it you’re working on now?”

This was all very disarming and unexpected.

“It’s a historical piece. Somewhat of a biography, or biographies, I guess.”

She just looked at me.

“At one time, the magician and escape artist, Harry Houdini and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes, were friends. But along the way, they had a falling out. You see, Houdini, the one in the relationship who relied on subterfuge and trickery to wow his audiences, set out to discredit and reveal all psychics and mediums as frauds. On the other hand, Conan Doyle, whose claim to fame was creating a character who survived and thrived on using cold hard reasoning and facts to solve crimes, was very much into spiritual beliefs, and supportive of mediums and psychics. Their differing opinions on the matter led to a feud between the two that became very public. I’m writing a book that explores that relationship between them.”

That wasn’t sexy and I knew it, but it was the truth.

“I take it you’ve been working hard on this book. It’s been keeping you up nights, consuming all your time and thoughts?” she said.

“Well, not exactly.” I had to take a moment to look at her. She seemed to be talking with some purpose, but I didn’t know what. It was intimidating. “Not keeping me up nights.”

“But consuming all your time. Keeping you very busy,” she repeated.

“No more than usual, I guess.”

“Really?”

There was now a twinkle in her eyes.

“So it’s not keeping you up at night or taking up all your time, so that begs the question, why in the hell haven’t you asked me out all ready?” she asked.

It’s true; I wasn’t the one who made the first move in our relationship. It was her - all her. And in doing so, she took me by surprise. I just looked at her in disbelief. I was tongue-tied and she knew it.

“A girl can’t wait forever. I suggest you get your act together.”

With that she stood up from the chair. I just stared at her, hoping my mouth wasn’t hanging open in a surprised or shocked expression.

She smiled broadly. “Something tells me if I paid you a nickel for your thoughts today, I’d be definitely getting my money’s worth.”

She turned and headed back towards the counter.

Damn, she was something.

CHAPTER
Five

OVER
The
years, I’ve been on my fair share of first dates. There’s always a sense of excitement about the unknown. Is this woman going to be the
one
? Will we get along at all? Will I be getting lucky, as they say; definitely not a high priority, but certainly something at the back of one’s mind when embarking on a first date? You just don’t know, and to tell the truth, even after one date, it can still be hard to tell; but this date, it seemed different somehow. I don’t know if I was setting myself up with unrealistic expectations, but there was something about Safia that was different. First of all, in the weeks I’d spent consuming coffee, when I should have been at home, in my work area, brewing my own coffee, I’d become obsessed with her. She was constantly on my mind; and, that, despite the fact we’d hardly spoken with one another. I took that to be a good sign (the alternative was to admit that I might just be a stalker). The only drawback I could see now, as we were about to embark on our first date, was the fact I expected too much from her. In my mind I’d placed her high on a pedestal, possibly too high for any woman to live up to. Our conversations had been nice, and I was certainly attracted to her physically, but now the true test was about to begin, the act and art of getting to know someone, and dealing with the realities of the discoveries made during that time. Sometimes they surprised you, other times they’re just damned ugly.

Which also led to my own dilemma, namely, how to play it on our first date? The beauty of early dating, especially if you’re not really looking for anything long-term, and merely in it to attract some physical fun, is you can be on your best behavior and present yourself in a favorable light. In other words, not be your true self. In a lot of cases you can keep this charade up for a couple of months or more, before your true self starts chipping away at it, demanding to be set free and revealed. We all do it to a certain extent - we want to put our best foot forward. Nobody wants to present themselves warts and all. All relationships in one way or another start on the basis of lies; the extent and depth of those lies are the only factors to consider. Hell, I’ve done it; pretended to be someone I wasn’t. My friends certainly have. A couple of them, true ‘hound dogs’ in their day, hell, they’d say just about anything if they thought it would lead to getting a woman into bed. One of my friends, Baxter, a good looking fellow who was just too smooth for his own good, I’ve seen him contradict himself in the same sentence, all in an effort to get a woman in bed, and it worked. I remember sitting there slack jawed as he started to say something against something – it’s really not important what – only to have the woman he was hitting on blurt out at the same time a contradictory thought, and without blinking an eye he changed his opinion to agree with her in the same damn sentence. Now, of course, alcohol and the bar scene played a part in his pulling this off, but he did and left the bar that night with that same woman. I couldn’t pull that off, but I could, if I felt like it, be a little less true to myself when trying to seduce the opposite sex; I may be a big meat eater but feign I was considering becoming a vegetarian if I thought that would gain me brownie points and lead to sex; I could ignore my own personal politics and agree with a woman about hers, if it mattered that much to her and I thought by agreeing it could lead to sex; I, like most men, could be as dishonest as I wanted to be, if I was attracted enough to the woman and wanted to get her in bed. As men we see this as harmless; the dance that we do; the pick-up, the seduction, and the sexual victory.

Lying to women is, unfortunately, something that comes naturally to most of us. It’s not like in doing so we’re hurting that woman. I mean, in a bar, or elsewhere for that matter, what are the chances of finding the
one
? We’re all just experimenting; looking around and hoping. Along the way we’re going to share ourselves with someone. Sexual conquest for a young man is a rite of passage; and in doing so, we’re not hurting the woman; all sex is consensual, and, hopefully, as fun and entertaining for them as it is for us. As long as you’re careful and avoid an unwanted pregnancy or the transmission of a social disease, what’s the harm?

Lying does come easy in a dating situation, but in this case, I knew it was wrong. I had a feeling, deep down in my gut that there was something special about Safia. That if a relationship developed between the two of us, it would be much different than any I’d explored in the past. I know I sound stupid; almost like I’m a cheesy, hopeless romantic, but in this case, I guess I was. I knew that on this first date I’d have to avoid the little white lies and be true to who I really was. I desperately wanted a relationship to develop, but it had to do so naturally and based on the truth. There was no other way. So, in other words, I went into our first date with a major handicap, I had to be myself.

“I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t let me pick you up?”

Safia and I were seated in a downtown bistro, a glass of red wine in front of me and a glass of white wine in front of her. I’d picked the place because it was a little more upscale than a steak and seafood place, but not so upscale as to be pretentious and make it look like I was trying too hard.

“I told you, I was running errands in the city all day,” said Safia. “It just made more sense for you to meet me here than for me to head back to the suburbs just to be driven back into the city.”

“And it had nothing to do with you not wanting me to know where you live?”

Safia smiled. “A solid strategy for a young girl dating, wouldn’t you say?”

She picked up her wine glass and took a sip; a twinkle in her eyes as she never broke her stare with me.

“Oh, by the way, I saw your book today,” she said as she put the wine glass back down on the table.

“My book?”

“You are an author, aren’t you? If not, someone is using your name and photo on the back jacket of their book. I went into a book store.”

“Checking up on me? Thought maybe I was lying?”

“A man lying to a woman,” she said with a smile. “Like that would ever happen.”

So far so good. I was afraid we’d sit down and have nothing to say to one another, but she was feisty; I could see she was willing to verbally joust with me; she wasn’t going to be the type of woman who took crap from a guy, and I liked that.

“
The Sinful Delusion
?” she said. “Strip clubs? That must have been a bitch to research, you poor soul.”

She was sassing me. “It’s not what you think,” I said.

“Really? And what do I think?”

She was looking at me with a big smile on her face; I think she knew there was no way I was going to be able to put a solid spin on this; that whatever I said, she’d be able to come right back at me and keep me on the proverbial ropes. She was toying with me; there was no point in coming up with excuses and trying to explain myself.

“Well, it had to be about something,” I finally offered.

“Naked women?” she asked.

“I’m a fan.”

She just smiled.

“Did you buy it? It might surprise you.”

“It would seem to me that one of the perks of dating a published author is you wouldn’t have to buy his book; he’d give you a complimentary copy.”

“And there goes another royalty down the drain.”

The conversation was good. As for the bistro and its food, it really didn’t matter. I could have been eating Chicken McNuggets for all I knew, I was so engrossed in our conversation and the act of getting to know one another.

“I wasn’t sure you were interested in me. I thought your coming to Koffee Krisp was just a daily ritual of yours. Others were telling me differently, but you never seemed to make a move, even when given the opportunity.”

“The story of my life, unfortunately; although I must say, your move was bold, swift and to the point.”

Safia laughed. “You have no idea how scared I was.”

“You didn’t show it.”

“I’ve never asked a man out in my life; or been that bold with a man in my life. In my world, a woman just doesn’t do a thing like that. It would be scandalous; unheard of.”

“And what world is that?” I asked.

Safia just looked at me, smiling.

“You have noticed that we’re different, haven’t you?”

“Sure, you’re a woman and I’m a man; that’s a strong factor in favor of this date. One of the things I liked about you from the start.”

“You know what I mean,” she said.

I couldn’t help just staring into her dark brown eyes. We were different; that was obvious, but irrelevant. Frustrated with my lack of response, Safia continued.

“I’m brown and you’re white. I’m Pakistani. Is that going to be a problem?” she asked.

“Only if you have something against pasty white English-Irish blokes,” I joked.

She didn’t laugh; she was serious.

“Not everyone is so accepting, especially in this day and age,” she said.

Now, I couldn’t help laughing. “If the color of your skin, versus the color of my skin was going to be a factor, I wouldn’t be here. We’re in the 21
st
Century, should skin color even be a factor to anyone anymore? Isn’t that kind of thinking dated?”

“You’d be surprised,” she replied. “English, Irish. So, what does that make you? Catholic? Protestant? Christian?”

“It makes me confused and often conflicted with myself. But, no, my family’s Christian. And you?”

She seemed a little hesitant.

“Muslim,” she finally said.

Certain words carry a strength and impact about them. The word
Muslim
was one of those words of late, although, at that point in time, I didn’t truly understand why. I just knew that within the media there was a lot of reporting about the Muslim faith and not all of it favorable. I was being silly and stupid for thinking that way, but if I’m going to be honest here, it did carry a weight to it.

“You look like I just said a dirty word,” she said.

Safia was staring intently at me.

“I apologize. Of course not, don’t be silly.”

“My Dad and Mom are Muslim,” she said. “My older sister, younger brother and I, were brought up Muslim. I remember reciting passages from the Koran as a young girl; the proud look on my father’s face as I did so. Funny thing is I couldn’t do that now; I seemed to have forgotten it all.”

“Are you practicing?” I asked.

“I respect my parent’s beliefs, but, I don’t know, I guess I haven’t fully embraced them myself. I’m still finding my way spiritually. Have you ever dated a Muslim girl before?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Does it make a difference to you?”

A good question and one I’d never thought of before. The world had changed from the days of my parents and my grandparents. In their day, well, more my grandparent’s day, you looked around and saw a lot of white faces around you. There were people of other nationalities, but they were few and far between. You were more likely to run into another white person of a different nationality, whether it was Italian, Russian, Polish, etcetera. My parents saw a bit of a shift in this growing up, but still existed in a predominantly white-bred society. It was my generation and Safia’s that truly lived in a diverse and multi-cultural world, and one where dating or marrying those who were different than you wasn’t all that big a deal anymore. At the same time, I had to admit, Safia was the first woman I’d dated who wasn’t white, and for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you why.

“No, it doesn’t,” I replied.

This wasn’t a little white first date lie. Having considered it for a couple of seconds, I realized it really didn’t matter. If I thought back to all the time I spent in the coffee shop stealing glances in her direction and pining for the opportunity to get to know her, the color of her skin and the prospect of what her family’s religion might be never factored into my thoughts. All I saw was a beautiful woman who I wanted to get to know better. I was color blind – as it should be.

“But I will admit that when you said the word, Muslim it did kind of stop me in my tracks a little,” I added.

She took a sip of her wine. “How so?”

“I really don’t know how to react to that word. I feel I should have a reaction, but I don’t really. Or maybe my reaction is confusion, feeling it should mean something to me, but it doesn’t,” I paused. “I think I’m beginning to sound like an idiot.”

She smiled. “You’re afraid you’re getting in league with terrorists, is that it? I think if we were doing a word association test, most people seem to automatically put the two words together. Muslim equals terrorist. Sad but true.”

It was my turn to smile back at her. “On our second date I’ll be taking you to your IRA membership meeting. Don’t think for a second you guys have an exclusive on terrorism.”

“On our second date?” she said with a smile. “Somebody’s confident.”

“I actually have no opinion on Muslims one way or the other,” I offered. “Anybody can embrace any religion they want, just so long as it brings them comfort and the tenants of that religion preach peace, love and understanding, which I might add is one hell of an Elvis Costello song.”