"I need to go powder my nose," Millie said when the clapping had ended for the company owners.
Ellen thought that Millie may have signaled her with a subtle lift of her eyebrows. In any case, she too needed to "powder her nose" and informed Kris, "We'll be right back."
* * *
In the restroom, Millie asked, "So, did you come together?"
"What? You mean Kris? Oh. No. I was standing in the doorway looking for you when he arrived. Not a minute ahead of you."
"If he asks me to dance, should I turn him down?"
That question raised so many thoughts in Ellen's head that she honestly didn't know what to say. On the one hand, she thought there might be a bit of something going on with him. That thought seemed pleasant. She hadn't dated in awhile. The flip side of that was that none of her relationships had worked out very well. The thought of another one going down in flames made her a bit shy about even starting. And finally, she really hadn't come with Kris, and she really had no claim on him. That said, she and Millie were good friends, so she was sure Millie would actually turn him down if Ellen asked her to.
Millie smiled a bit as seconds passed without a response.
"No, it is nothing like that!" Ellen said, not sure exactly what the little smile meant, but the general tenor of it was not hard to guess. And Ellen did not wanting to get into that conversation at this point. "We are not on a date. If he asks you, dance."
"You sure?" Millie asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes," Ellen responded, sticking her tongue out.
"Well, I am not sure you mean it, but you said it. I might have turned him down anyhow, as I think he has you a bit addled. However, he's too tasty to just leave sitting at the table."
"You are a terrible woman, Millie Petersen!" Ellen accused.
"Guilty as charged."
* * *
Ellen didn't know if her friend was psychic or what, but not ten minutes after they returned to the table, Kris asked, "Millie, you said you liked to dance. Do you like this song?" It was a cover of "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N Roses.
"Not particularly," Millie answered honestly. She added with a grin, "However, your two questions aren't really all that closely related."
Following her cue, Kris asked, "Would you like to dance?"
"I thought you would never ask."
Ellen discovered that watching Millie with Kris was unpleasant. Millie was a better dancer than she. Millie was skinnier than she. Kris and Millie danced well together. Ellen should have been happy her friends were having a good time. She wasn't. She found herself wishing she had told her friend to turn Kris down. However, Millie would have smiled a knowing smile. Ellen hated it when her friend seemed to understand her better than she understood herself.
She still hoped he wasn't into Dungeons and Dragons.
* * *
Somewhat to her surprise, Kris asked her to dance again. She had assumed that after dancing with Millie, he would no longer want to dance with her. As the evening went on, he danced with both of them. However--not that she was counting--she noticed that he danced with Millie twice and with Ellen four times.
Ellen took another sip of the glass of red wine that she had ordered to go with her dinner. She wasn't particularly fond of most alcoholic beverages. When asked why, she generally mumbled something and hoped that no one pressed the point. Millie had actually pressed the point once. It had taken a lot of thinking out loud before she finally managed to articulate a theory that seemed to fit. After her parent's divorced, her mother had begun drinking more heavily. She never got flat-out drunk, but she was just a bit detached any time that Ellen had seen her. The part that she had not told even Millie, though she had thought of it during that same conversation, was that she felt guilty over her part in her parent's divorce. And seeing her mother semi-drunk all the time doubled her shame.
Even in the warmth of the ballroom, admitting that she had contributed to her mother's current state caused her to tremble.
"Are you cold?" Kris asked.
He had seen that? Oh, no.
"No. I guess I felt a draft."
"Want to dance again? This is one of my favorite songs."
Ellen had not really noticed what was playing. She concentrated for a moment trying to figure out what was playing. It was "Killing Me Softly With His Song". She too had like the song. She hadn't heard it in many years.
After a momentary hesitation, she said, "Sure."
It was a slower song, she realized with a bit of panic, as they headed toward the dance floor and the dancers were slow dancing together. She had enjoyed dancing and chatting with Kris, but she was not ready for a slow dance. She nearly headed back to the table.
"You are not in Junior High," she told herself firmly. "Get a grip."
The silly internal dialog helped a bit. Her panic faded. Mostly. On the dance floor, he offered her his hand. As they danced, they were both rather self-conscious, holding each other loosely enough that only only their hands touched. She knew they probably looked a bit like the Junior Highers she had just chided herself about. The thought finally brought a bit of a smile to her face.
"Something funny?" he asked.
"I feel a bit like I was back at my first dance in Junior High."
"I dance like a Junior Higher?" he asked in mock horror.
"No, no!" she assured him with a genuine laugh. "You dance just fine. Great, in fact. I am the one that feels like she is all left feet."
"You dance wonderfully."
"Now I know you are trying to put a move on me. I saw you and Millie out here. She is twice the dancer I am."
"Maybe, maybe not," he equivocated. "However, I am out here with you."
"You are at that."
They didn't dance cheek to cheek, however, they both relaxed somewhat. She let him move a bit closer. Or was she the one to move closer? No matter. His body felt warm against her where they touched. It felt good.
Ellen glanced at her watch. Eleven already. She knew from prior years that showing up late the next day was quite OK. Expected even. However, she was tired. Work hadn't been unusually hard, however, she had gotten up at 6AM to make it to work. That was a long time ago. And she was getting a headache, though whether it was the music or being exhausted, she couldn't say.
Unbidden, a yawn came.
"Sorry," she murmured over the music.
"You look weary," Kris said kindly.
Sometimes he used odd words. Like "weary." Most people would have said "tired". Maybe he was just trying to be funny. She was too tired to figure it out.
"Yeah. I am exhausted."
"I could walk you to your car."
One little voice started yelling, "No!" while another considered how nice it would be to have him walk her out. Or that he had asked her. The deciding vote went to the squeaky, creepy parking. She didn't want to walk alone to her car, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds for someone in a mask.
"That sounds great," she said. Was it the thought of being alone in a haunted parking structure that made her want him around or was it simply him?
After giving a quick hug to Millie, she set out with Kris for the elevator. Once again she made the transition between elegant fantasy and gray concrete reality, only in reverse this time. The gray concrete seemed that much more dismal after the splendor of the ballroom above.
At the car, the awkward moment came. Would he try to kiss her? Would she let him? This had not even been a date, though it had been more pleasant than a few of the first dates she had been on. Maybe because it wasn't a first date.
She was too tired to work out the philosophy of first dates.
"Thank you for a very pleasant evening," he said as she unlocked the car with her remote.
"And thank you. I expected to be a wallflower," she returned, making light.
"And the boys would have been the losers," h
e retorted. The tone was light. However, there was just a hint of honesty--as if his joke carried a hint of truth. She looked closely at his face trying to confirm her suspicion. However, all she saw was a twinkle in his eye.
Should she give him her phone number? She stood with the door open trying to decide. She had just started to close the door when he said, "Could I ..."
The door slammed closed. She didn't hear what he had said.
"Sorry," she said. "The door..."
"Oh. It was nothing. I was just wondering if I could have your number."
No kiss. That was good. It was way too quick for a kiss. Actually, she wouldn't mind a kiss from him if it wouldn't complicate life. They had talked once for less than a minute and off and on in a room where she could barely hear him over the music.
She suddenly felt very tired. She had been up almost 18 hours.
He looked at her expectantly.
What the heck. Maybe he was an ax murderer, but he had been very nice to her.
"800-555-1212," she recited.
"Wait! Wait," he laughed, grabbing his cell phone from his pocket. "Say that again, please."
After she repeated it, she drove off, responding to his wave as she left.
First Date
Kris did not call the next day.
Ellen was not sure of her own opinion about this. It was not a matter of not having thought about it sufficiently. She had weighed the pros and the cons. She had reviewed where she was in her life. She had reviewed all of her previous relationships with boys in High School and College. She had thought over every minute of the party. And she was no closer to ascertaining her opinion than when she had started.
At some point in the middle of the morning, she had even tried squeezing in a bit of work after Millie had come by and made a snide comment about "daydreaming rather than working."
She remembered how he moved when he danced. She liked the way he smiled. She mostly liked his sense of humor. She hadn't dated in over a year.
She was not at all sure she wanted to be in a relationship. Each of her previous relationships had ended in a massive fight after months of bickering and little fights. She hated that. What if she fought with him? What if they broke up in yet another spectacular fight?
* * *
"And?" Millie asked over lunch.
"And, what?" Ellen asked, pretending she didn't know what her friend was asking.
"Did he kiss you?"
"No, he didn't kiss me!" Ellen denied.
"Not even a peck?"
"No!"
"Did you give him your phone number?"
"Only after he asked," she confessed.
"Ooh!"
"Would you stop that!"
"Only if you tell me everything."
"There's nothing to tell."
"Right."
Ellen sighed. Millie could be most persistent.
"You can be very difficult," she accused her friend.
"That's my job. At least until I get you married off."
"Well, there really isn't much to tell. You know about the party..."
"He danced with you four times and only twice with me."
"I wouldn't know. I wasn't counting," Ellen retorted.
"Right. After you were done not counting, he walked you to the car ..." Millie prompted.
"OK. OK. He walked me to the car. He thanked me for a pleasant evening. I said I had expected to be a wallflower. He said that the boys would have been the losers."
"Ooh!"
"Quit that!"
Millie only grinned.
"The there was an awkward moment when I closed the door on him right as he was asking for my phone number."
"You didn't!"
"I did. I didn't know he was going to ask. He had made a joke. There was an awkward moment. A long pause that went on. I couldn't think of anything to say, so, I started to get into the car. He asked me right as the door was closing."
"Poor guy."
"Yeah."
"Has he called?"
"No. He can't call while we are at work..."
"You are making excuses for him."
"No..."
"Do you want him to call?"
Ellen hesitated.
"Well?"
"I can't decide."
"What's to decide? You haven't dated in forever. No other man knows you are alive..."
"Hey!" Ellen protested.
"Well?"
"OK. You win."
"He thinks you can dance. What's the downside?"
"All of my relationships have ended in huge fireworks. I don't want to go through that again." Ellen hadn't realized how much that hurt until she felt tears twinkling at the corners of her eyes at the admission. "They all started fine. Wonderfully in some cases. Then we would get serious. The fighting would start. Weeks or months of it. Every time it ended with a horrid fight. Half of them in public." A tear trickled down her cheek.
"I'm sorry," her friend said, her warm hand on Ellen's forearm.
For a fraction of a second, Ellen was distracted by the memory of Kris's warm body against hers.
Ellen wiped the tear from her face.
"Maybe this time..." Millie said.
"What? Why this time?" Ellen challenged. "What's different this time?"
There was no reply.
"Hello?"
"Ellen?"
Kris's voice.
"Yes," Ellen managed to squeak. "I am 24 years old!" she chided herself silently, "not 14. Get a grip!"
"How are you doing?"
"Fine," she responded. Her voice sounded more natural to herself that time.
"Good. I guess I should be in my old new office on Monday."
"Oh. That's right. You said next week."
The conversation was so stiff that Ellen almost laughed. Actually, she would have, only she didn't want to hurt Kris's feelings. Well, she wouldn't be able to claim later that she had been swept away by his smooth talk. She was going into this one with her eyes open. More or less.
A moment's hesitation. Ellen tried to think of something to fill the silence.
"I was wondering if you wanted to go out. Friday."
"Sure," she responded before the ugly inner voice could protest. "What did you have in mind?"
"Well, there is a new movie coming out. Two, actually. I thought I would give you a choice."
"And?"
"Oh. You want names?"
"And addresses."
Oh. That was lame. To her surprise, she heard a chuckle.
"No addresses. And the names have been changed."
"That's not fair."
"Not at all. You will find I am like that."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. No more Mr. Nice Guy."
"Names."
"Oh. Right. Here they are. And don't forget to fill in all of the little boxes completely with a no.2 pencil. '(500) Days of Summer' or 'G. I. Joe?'"
"What if I don't have a #2 pencil?"
"Sorry, I can't tell you that."
"You would really go to '(500) Days of Summer?'"
"Um."
"Thought so. OK, I'll go see G.I.Joe with you."
"Whew!" she heard along with a chuckle.
She laughed in turn.
"It starts at 7:00 PM. Is it OK if I pick you up at 6:00PM?"
They chatted for a good twenty minutes after the date was set. She had met funnier men, but she found herself laughing at his jokes, mostly good. A few not so good.
She remembered his smile. His blue eyes. The warmth of his body as they had slow danced--though it had been a bit stiffly and not very close.
She might change that if the opportunity arose.
* * *
Ellen was amazed at just how nervous she was.
She had told herself that a hundred times, "It is just a movie." The words were true, but they didn't help in the least.
&nb
sp; She had tried on a dozen outfits. Too fllrty. Not flirty enough. Too short. Too long. Too casual. Too formal. Finally she went back to the first outfit she had tried on: jeans and t-shirt. The only change she made was to a tighter shirt that dropped lower in the front. He might not look at her face, but he would notice that she was there.
She almost started over. Would he think she was trying to seduce him? That she was easy? And did she really want him staring at her cleavage all evening? Better staring at hers than some other girl's.
She forced herself to leave the bedroom.
She moved to the kitchen. He was picking her up at 6 for a 7 o'clock movie, so there would be no time for dinner. And he hadn't said anything about dinner. Did he plan to take her out afterward? If she ate now, she wouldn't have any room to eat then.
There was no way she would make it until 9PM without eating dinner. She had some friends from Europe who ate that late, but she couldn't imagine an American guy surviving without food that long.
Convinced of her need for food, she opened the refrigerator. It was a mess. She resisted the temptation to clean it. Then her heart did a flipflop. Would they kiss? What if he tried to go further?
She was not going to clean the refrigerator. He was not coming home with her. End of story.
There were a range of leftovers. Most of them were less than a week old. She tossed something that was too fuzzy, resisting the impulse to start looking in all of the other containers.
Something simple. Light. Her stomach was in a knot. She took a deep breath and managed to calm herself a bit.
There was a bit of pasta left over from a few nights back. She pulled the translucent blue container from the refrigerator and popped it into the microwave. After letting it cool, she managed a few bites. The food felt a bit uncomfortable at first, then settled her a bit as her body started digesting it.
"Ah!" she cried as the phone rang. The forkful of food that was an inch from her mouth slipped and slid down her front. Any attempt to wipe it clean would leave a wet patch and just made it more obvious.
She grabbed the phone and looked at the caller id. "FRGA," it said. The artificial woman's voice gamely attempted to pronounce the word, "Call from firga," it announced. She had dumped food on her blouse because of a sales call! She hovered on the edge between tears and giggles.
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