“No, that will be later. I do need the heat—my neck and shoulders are killing me. I must make a massage appointment with Julie. I’ve had a crazy couple of days.” I put down my book and sink back into the sofa with my feet up on the coffee table.
“I bet. I’ve been dying to hear, but I had the PTA meeting the other night and then last night Shannon had Girl Scouts. And for once I have some info for you too. But let’s hear yours first.”
I pause for a moment to decide where to start. “Let’s see…I have a date tomorrow night with a new guy.”
“I’m impressed. I thought you might take a break to recover from the old hat man.”
“No, I jump back in pretty quickly. There’s always another one. Men are like buses—there’s one every fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, they are always headed in the same direction. Maybe I should consider waiting at different stops. The Internet is getting old, but it is an endless supply.”
“Hmm...I guess that’s a good attitude. So who’s the new guy?”
“His name is Daniel. Plays golf and meditates. He’s into a lot of the New Age spiritual stuff. Not pregnant and he’s only forty.” Dixie jumps up on the couch with her squeaky toy. She’s like a toddler when I’m on the phone.
“You’re almost robbing the cradle now. What does he do for a living?”
“You sound like my mother, but I actually don’t remember. I’ll have to look at that before I meet him. I am so looking forward to this date. We are going mini golfing since I am a pro. He said that sounds cute. Oh, and what else? Let’s see—the other morning I flashed the new neighbor. Have you seen him yet?” Dixie gets fidgety and jumps off the couch.
“You did what? You are so crazy. How the hell did that happen?”
“I was walking Dixie in the rain and she made a run for him, and in the process of trying to regain control of the wiener, I lost control of my bathrobe sash.”
I grin at the memory.
“So he just saw your nightgown for a second. That’s no biggie.”
“Umm, no. There was no nightgown.” There is no way to avoid sharing this part.
“WHAT? Do you think he saw anything? What did you do?”
“I ran for the backyard and turned around as quickly as I could. I waved though, so he wouldn’t think I was rude.”
“A strip show in the cul-de-sac is one thing, but we certainly don’t want him to doubt your manners.” Jane can’t stop laughing.
“It was pretty humiliating at the time, but now it’s kind of funny. I haven’t run into him, and maybe he didn’t see much. He was at the end of his driveway, but I was fairly far back in my yard. He’s just another one of those young neighborhood fathers—he doesn’t count as an actual man. So have you seen him? I don’t know where his family is—probably not here yet.”
Jane is silent.
“Are you there? Did a cat throw up?”
“No, I’m here.”
“What’s the matter? Did you meet him and he said something? Or no—you met his wife at the bus stop and she said something?” My worst fear.
“He doesn’t have a wife.”
“What? Is he a single dad?”
“Nope. Just a young single guy buying a house in a cul-de-sac full of families and a floozy.”
“That’s crazy. Why would a good looking, young guy want to live here? Maybe he’s a sex offender or on the lam?” I pause a moment. “I got it—he’s in the witness protection program!”
“I don’t know about witness protection—and people don’t usually admit to that right off the bat. It kind of defeats the purpose. I didn’t consider the sex offender thing. I will check the website. Wait. I need to write that down. Hold on. JOEY, CAN YOU BRING MOMMY A PENCIL?”
“Never mind that right now. So you think he’s just a normal guy who wants to live in a boring suburban neighborhood for no good reason?”
“I didn’t talk to him. Mike saw him outside when the kids were playing and introduced himself. He said he’s a writer, so he works from home. I don’t know what he writes. Men never get any details, but yet Mike knows he’s from the DC area and he’s a Redskins fan. Like who gives a shit about that?”
“At least he didn’t mention my incident. I guess it’s silly for me to expect that a guy like that would even notice me.”
“I have not seen you naked, and I don’t want to, but I would imagine men of all ages with a pulse and a beating heart would enjoy it. But either way, I have an idea.”
Jane’s ideas can be scary. She has way too much time on her hands as a stay-at-home mom with kids in school all day. “What now?”
“I thought it would be nice, since he is all alone, to bring him some kind of food to welcome him to the neighborhood and—”
“Are you crazy? He saw me naked and I’m supposed to bring him pie and welcome him to the neighborhood?”
People actually do this in the south. My parents moved to Virginia a few years ago and a neighbor lady rang the doorbell with a pie in hand while I was helping them unpack. It took my mother about five rings to answer since she is used to hiding from the Jehovah’s Witnesses (they were active in New York). My father was in the background making fun of the way the neighbor said “pie” in her thick southern accent, affecting a woman’s high pitched drawl. “Haa y’all, Ahh made you some paa for your paahole,” which is obviously not what she said. My father is impossible! I laughed for hours and my mother wanted to kill him, as she tried to keep the woman out of earshot.
“Claire, we are not going to bring pie. We don’t even know how to make pie. We could bring a fruit basket or maybe a healthy treat basket with hummus or something.”
“Hummus? Why would we want to do this?” I can’t wrap my head around this idea.
“You said it yourself. He’s cute, and now we know he’s single.”
“Jane, he looks like a teenager, and he’s obviously a weirdo since he’s living here. And bunnies are cute but I don’t go out of my way to make up a carrot and grass basket when a new one hops onto my lawn.”
“You know you’re interested. And it can’t hurt to be friendly. It’s always good to have another man around. You always say you need help with things around the house, you have no brothers or male friends, and Mike is useless so I can’t even offer him…”
Heavy sigh. “Fine, but I am NOT interested in him. Maybe it would be good to break the ice, though. Someday I may need help getting mulch or lifting a heavy box.” I am so easily manipulated.
“I knew you would come around. So let’s do it Saturday afternoon—around lunch time? Not too early because young people like to sleep late.”
“Even though I said he looks like a teenager, he is an actual adult—he did buy a house. I’m sure he wakes up before noon.” On second thought he could be a heavy partier. “Fine. Noon it is.”
“Yay! I’ll get all the stuff when I go grocery shopping Saturday morning.”
“I will be in bed. That’s all the teamwork I can offer. I am hoping my Friday night won’t end too early.” Fingers crossed for my date with Daniel.
“Fair enough. I’ll let you take your bubble bath now. Have fun tomorrow night and don’t stress too much.”
What have I gotten myself into? Jane means well, and I guess it will be good to welcome him to the neighborhood and act like nothing ever happened. I am undoubtedly making way too much of this. He will probably call his mother and tell her about the nice neighbor ladies, and she will be happy her son is living here instead of some city apartment with bums on the corner and real floozies.
I am curious as to why he wants such a big house. It even has a large basement. When Susan lived there it was like Lord of the Flies with all the kids descending upon that enormous room.
With all this focus on his youth I have overlooked what could be an important fact—he’s a writer, but I don’t know what he writes, thanks to Mike’s less than stellar sleuthing. It could be reviews for Car & Driver magazine, or Cute Young Guy’s Quarterly, or Highlights,
but as an employee at an unstable publishing firm I owe it to myself to find out. Even if he isn’t a literary fiction writer he may have some leads on promising new authors, and it can’t hurt to ask.
I just realized why he probably wants the basement—keg parties.
CHAPTER SIX
Friday night is here, and I am trying on the numerous outfit combinations that Rebecca and I discussed. I want to look nice, but I’m going to be playing mini golf and the weather is volatile in March. I settled on a pair of black Capri leggings with an aqua baby doll top—one of the bra tops from Victoria’s Secret. Clever invention, but I still wear a bra with them. They don’t have enough padding and I need to work my cleavage trick tonight. I touched up my makeup, slipped into a pair of comfy black ballet flats and I was all set. After looking in the mirror I realized I was probably too dressed up for the sports park, but screw it. I added long dangly silver earrings, so they would sparkle when I shook my head under the lights.
Of course now that I’m in the car I realize that it’s cold and dark, and I will freeze. I do have a jacket with me, but I will try to play without it. Also as I am a mini golf pro, I must not beat him. I need to work on dumbing down my game, but he plays real golf and should have no problem winning. I want him to win to stroke his male ego, but I also want to do well enough to show off my skills as a woman who can excel at fun activities. It’s a delicate balance.
I arrive at the sports park a few minutes early and check my hair and makeup again. Satisfied as I’m going to get, I get out of the car and walk to the check-in area where you pay, and get your clubs and balls. My eyes dart around trying to spot my date. I’m busying myself reading the promotional signs about kids’ birthday parties and multi-visit passes when I see him.
“Hi. You must be Claire. I’m Daniel. It’s so nice to meet you.” He takes my hand in his and looks into my eyes. His are brown, the color of dark chocolate, and several shades deeper than mine. They’re soulful, like Dixie’s eyes, and even more expressive.
I pause a second before responding. “Hi, I’m Claire. Nice to meet you, too. Did you find this place okay?” Since he’s standing here, that’s obvious.
“Yes, it was easy. Sorry I’m a few minutes late. I had an emergency at work.”
“No problem.” I still don’t remember what he does for a living, and I forgot to check his profile again. I will just play along. “Was everything okay with the work emergency?”
“Yeah, but cockroaches are stubborn little bastards. Shall we go hit some mini golf balls?” He gestures towards the check-in counter.
I stare at him and stammer. “Great.” Cockroaches? What the hell work emergency involves cockroaches? Uh, oh. That’s right—his profile said he works in the service industry. Men often put that when they clean septic tanks or kill bugs. He’s a pest control guy, or whatever they call them. However, he is cute, not pregnant and pleasant enough.
We get our gear and Daniel pays for the game. I am always awkward in this situation, but he steps up after a slight pause and puts down his credit card.
“Claire, are you going to be warm enough without a jacket and that little shirt?” He assesses my wardrobe with concern.
“I’ll be okay.” Once I get my game into action I will warm up. Hopefully.
We get started at the first hole, after laughing at the “practice” hole—we don’t need practice. Daniel certainly looks like a golfer with his proper grip and stance. I even enjoy watching him. He’s wearing jeans and a polo shirt—just casual enough, but not sloppy. We were thinking alike when we got ready, and he even had to rush to change out of his bug uniform. Wait, I wonder if he showered after the cockroach murdering episode. If I decide to touch him later I don’t want bug poison on me. Maybe he wears some kind of hazmat suit.
We both sail through the first couple of holes effortlessly. It’s only around the third hole that things start to go downhill.
All of a sudden Daniel can’t play golf anymore. He hits it too soft, too hard, into the next green, in the bushes, and several times “in the drink” (this is what I always say when it goes in the water).
Daniel laughs with me, but after fishing the ball out several times, he is clearly getting frustrated. I am only able to suck so much, and therefore I am beating the pants off him (not literally—at this point he is still wearing pants—there are children around).
“Goddammit!”
Now the group of dads with the Boy Scout troop is looking over at us with concern and a bit of negative judgment.
“I don’t know what my problem is. I golf all the time at Windy Hill—a real golf course. This shit is impossible.” He throws down his club.
I’m noting that he is not all that “Zen” for a guy who practices meditation, but maybe he’s just nervous. He is losing at mini golf to a woman.
“It’s just silly mini golf. I suck at all sports, but I like this one because I can do it a little bit. Do you want to stop playing? I’m freezing.” I am freezing—that part is not a lie for the benefit of Daniel’s ego.
“I hate to disappoint you, but if you want, we could head over to a bar or something and get a drink and chat a bit.” He gathers our clubs and balls, and is clearly ready to go.
“There’s a little place up the street.” There is a bar that recently opened called the Wild Rose Café. It looks decent, probably not too scary. They serve food too, and I’m starving.
“I’m following you.” He waits for me to get moving and stays close behind.
I’m glad he doesn’t ask to drive in the same car. I am always leery of that with strangers, but he seems like a sweet guy, and things will improve once we have a few drinks.
We arrive at the bar and find a booth in the back. The waitress comes over and takes our drink orders. This is the truly awkward part. I don’t want to say I’m hungry because maybe I was supposed to eat before the date. It wasn’t clear if we were eating or not. I don’t want him to think I expect him to buy my dinner, but then if I pay for my own dinner will that make him look bad? He already looks bad enough after completely blowing it on a mini golf course that little Boy Scouts were destroying. If I order food then will he do the same? Will I get stuck paying for his food? I decide to just drink and worry about eating later.
Three or four drinks later I realize this is a bad idea. He is completely sober since all he ordered was club soda. I need to be more observant. My alcohol tolerance is low, and I haven’t eaten since noon. Daniel is looking at me and smiling.
“You doin’ okay there, little lady?”
“Yeah, but I think I’m getting drunk. Haha…oh no, I have to drive!”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get you home safely. Maybe you need some bread.” He begins to look around for the waitress.
If I were sober I would be angry. I need real food, but in this state bread is better than nothing.
“I love golfing. I go at least once a week to Windy Hill—I’m a regular there. Lots of those guys are the big hot shots—lawyers, doctors, you know the type. But I hold my own. The meditation keeps me so grounded. Gets the Chi flowing.” He looks pleased with himself.
Daniel is talking fast, and I’m only getting bits and pieces. The conversation is getting weirder, but I am too intoxicated to focus. Normally this is where I would ask him about kids, but the topics have steered so far away from that line of questioning, I let it go.
“And I keep the root chakra in line and that helps me, you know, sexually too…tantric sex…Sting does it. Mind blowing…”
I force a smile and nod. He looks cute with his hair messed up from the wind. March is so windy! It’s dark and thick, and he actually looks a lot younger than forty. Suddenly I’m ready to go home.
I interrupt him. “Daniel, we should go.”
“Check?” He motions to the waitress.
I guess he has no problem paying for alcohol, which is good since my purse is in my car. He helps me out to the parking lot, and I can barely stand up. I am also noticing that s
ometimes there are two of Daniel and everything else. Shit—work tomorrow is going to be fun. Wait, it’s Friday. Yay! Suddenly I get renewed energy and make a dash for the car, and some warmth. However, my feet and my brain are not working well together, and I trip and fall forward onto the gravel driveway.
“Babe, are you okay?” He comes over to help me up and his arms are so warm that I just melt into them. “You are freezing cold. Let’s get your purse out of your car and get you home. Do you live far?” He sounds so logical and competent.
Miraculously I am able to tell him where I live. I decide that I’m going to invite him in. Why not? He’s such a gentleman for paying for my mini golf and drinks, and now driving me home.
We pull into my driveway and he walks me to the door. Before I have a chance to say a word, he starts kissing me hard on the mouth. Screw it. “Do you want to come in?” He takes my key and we are in with the door shut before I get the words all the way out.
Dixie is flipping out, not only because she is excited that Mommy is home, but she brought a new playmate.
“I need to take her out first.” I am slurring my words, but try to annunciate. He doesn’t seem to mind, and grins at me and says, “Take your time, Babe.” I can’t remember at what point he stopped calling me Claire and started calling me “Babe.” It may have been by my third drink or so. My stomach churns.
I take Dixie out and she quickly does her business. I glance across the street, and see the porch is lit. At the rate I’m going tonight I doubt I will join Jane in bringing food over to the new neighbor tomorrow.
I walk back into the house and go to the kitchen to give Dixie her treat. As I round the corner I catch a glimpse of Daniel sprawled out on the couch. Is there music playing? What happened to the lights? What the hell is he wearing? Or not wearing? I wish the double vision would merge into one image already.
Dixie runs off with her treat and I move into the living room. Daniel is drinking wine. Where did he get that? I see the corkscrew on the coffee table, and the open bottle, but what is even more bizarre is his change of clothes.
There Are No Men Page 6