The usual “what to wear” predicament begins. I settle on a black matte jersey dress with reasonable black heels and my real pearls. I look like a proper grown up, not like the mob of tattooed and pierced crazies who are probably going to be at Brandon’s show tonight. Still, I would like to check out the band. Maybe we can swing by after dinner and jazz.
I arrive on time and surprisingly find a close parking spot on the street that I can navigate. Good start. I walk through the revolving doors into the wine bar, scan the room a moment, and spot Nathan at the bar. He turns to me and smiles—he’s smoking a cigar?
“Hello, Sweetie! Come join me. Our table is almost ready. You look lovely, and the color has returned to those beautiful cheeks.” Nathan kisses me and wraps me up in his big arms.
I divert my face from the cigar smoke and return his embrace. “Thank you. I feel much better. That’s new?” I point to the smelly cancer stick.
“Yes, I do enjoy a good Cuban cigar. Just once in a while. I know it isn’t good for me, but there are worse things, right?”
I suppose there are, like crack or crystal meth, or even regular cigarettes, but I am not a fan of anything that produces a burning ember and is not warming me or cooking my food. Or setting a romantic mood. Three strikes and the Cuban is out.
“Would you like some wine, Claire?” Nathan gestures to the wine list.
The jazz trio has started playing and I instantly feel like jamming forks in my eyes. Maybe I can slit my wrists with that butter knife. “Yes, I would like red—”
“This one is perfect for you.” He points to the most expensive Cabernet on the menu and signals the bartender. I would have preferred a Shiraz, but I am not the one paying twelve dollars for a glass of wine, so I smile gratefully.
I am even more grateful for the hostess, who has arrived to show us to our table, which is thankfully far away from the jazz trio. As Nathan pulls out my chair and I sit down, I feel my phone vibrate in my little black beaded evening purse. I normally ignore my phone when I’m out, but I decide to check it quickly. I can tell it’s a text by the number of buzzing sounds.
“Hey, Claire. We’re playing at O’Malley’s tonight, if you and your man want to stop by later. Music starts at nine.”
“Is there something wrong, Sweetie?”
My expression must be giving away my angst. “No, not at all.” We start to look at our menus and I approach the subject. “So did you have anything you wanted to do later?” Shit, I didn’t mean for that to sound suggestive. At least I didn’t ask if he has any condoms in his wallet.
Nathan looks amused and his eyes widen. “Why yes, I can think of a few things. What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking maybe we could go see my friend’s band?” Nathan looks puzzled. “You know the one I told you about? The birthday party?”
“Yes, the neighbor friend. What kind of music do they play again?” He swirls his wine in the glass and inspects the sides.
I take a sip of wine and pause. “Rock.” His smile immediately fades. “Hard rock. Some metal. I think I told you this. They do some stuff from the nineties, like the Gin Blossoms and the Goo Goo Dolls, but they also do more modern heavier stuff, like Linkin Park, Avenged Sevenfold, Disturbed. Brandon is a versatile singer.” He even did Slipknot at his house last week, but I am not going to share that. Not that it would mean anything to Nathan. He would think that was a method of tying rope that you learn in the Navy.
“I do remember this now. I must confess I don’t know any of those bands. Disturbed? That does sound disturbing. Haha…All of that is just noise to me, Claire.”
“Oh.” I look down at my napkin, folded neatly in my lap. I need to be more mature. Nathan is right. If I want to be in a relationship with a real man I need to abandon some of these youthful ideas, but Nathan is only a few years older than me. How could he not know music from the nineties? He couldn’t possibly have been listening to jazz then.
“When I was young I listened to some of that stuff, and in my neighborhood there was a lot of rap and hip hop, too. But my mother taught us to listen to classical music. And jazz. Sweet jazz and blues.”
Thank you, Mrs. Kleinman.
He closes his eyes in a dreamy way, straining to hear the jazz trio play what sounds like the same exact song they were playing when they started. I have a sneaking suspicion there are no jazz songs. It’s just one song and it lasts for four hours at a time. “Deedle deedle, doo, doo.”
“I don’t need to see them tonight. This is nice. It’s a lovely place.”
“I’m so glad you think so. I wanted tonight to be special after the unfortunate incidents earlier in the week.” He takes my hand under the table.
I almost begin apologizing again, but I would rather move on to more positive topics.
“So have you had a chance to ask your contact at the hospital about volunteering?”
Nathan looks up from his menu. “What did you say, Sweetie? No, not yet. Look at this seafood special they have? And it’s for two! All of that seafood we have to eat with our hands. How decadent, don’t you think?”
I don’t know that I want to take a bath in butter sauce, but he seems excited about it, so I smile and nod. I’m not even hungry—I had a Lean Cuisine at home a couple of hours ago. And I thought Jews don’t eat seafood, but I am not asking because I don’t want to hear any more about my final resting place.
“I make a dish just like this, so I know it will be superb.”
He cooks? Was that one of Rebecca’s clues to look for? It doesn’t matter. Obviously, he is not gay. Lots of men cook. He just enjoys good food and wine. He isn’t a “keg and Doritos” guy. I wish I could return Brandon’s text.
“When will you see the person at the hospital? Can you e-mail her?”
“Yes, Honey, but let’s not talk about all of that. Let’s just enjoy tonight and talk about us.” He squeezes my hand.
“Good evening, my name is Jason and I’ll be your server. I see you have wine. Would you like another glass? Perhaps a bottle?” Jason’s timing sucks.
Nathan orders a bottle of the Cabernet and the seafood dish. I excuse myself while he’s talking to Jason about the fantastic jazz trio.
Once safely inside the ladies’ room, I whip out my phone and send Brandon a text.
“Thanks for the invitation. I don’t think we’ll get there, but maybe I’ll stop by if it’s not too late.”
That was stupid. Now he is going to wonder if I plan on cutting my date short or if I am already sneaking around on Nathan. And how do I plan to do this? I am driving myself but we may go back to Nathan’s house after dinner. I should just leave my phone at home when I go on dates so I can’t get myself into any more trouble.
Just as I pop the phone back in my bag, it buzzes.
“Sounds great, Claire—hope to see you there. I just told Bianca and Max. She said to look for her when you get here.”
I glance at my reflection in the mirror, fluff my hair and march back to the table.
I put down my purse and look up at Nathan.
“More wine?” He picks up the bottle and refills my glass.
“Yes, thanks. So how’s the home remodeling coming along?” I carefully butter a small piece of bread.
“It’s still a complete mess. I’m afraid we won’t be able to go there tonight. I want everything to be perfect for you.” Again he goes for my hand under the table. “Claire, I know we have only known each other a short time, but I feel a connection with you. You have such a way about you. You’re so ladylike and demure, yet you have a feisty side. I see it. I think we have a future together.” He raises his wine glass in a toast. I clink his glass with mine out of ritualized habit.
“I’m so glad you feel the same way,” he continues. He read a lot into a silent, returned toast, but I do think he is husband material. Did I say that out loud? No? Good. Whew.
“My parents will love you. What do you think about going to Miami in the fall?”
“Is that where they live? That would be nice.” This is what I have always wanted. So why am I thinking of O’Malley’s and heavy metal lyrics?
“Yes, and I can see a church wedding if you really want one, but where there’s priest there has to be rabbi. Interfaith weddings are popular these days.”
Is he getting a little ahead of himself? I haven’t even been to his house yet. We haven’t done any more than kiss. “Nathan, I can’t get married in the Catholic Church again. I’m divorced and the only way I could—”
“That’s even better. Makes it easier. And you have absolutely no tattoos right? I know I asked before, but I just want to be clear. With your musical interests I wasn’t sure.” He smiles just as Jason brings our food.
It is a huge plate of every seafood imaginable, but the shrimp are glistening in a sauce and need to be peeled. The clams and mussels are waiting for the little fork to pry them out and dip them in the butter. At least I don’t have to suck them out with my tongue.
As we eat our food, I mull over Nathan’s comments. He is still chatting away about our future, but I would like to have a bit more present first.
“I just thought of something wonderful! You could host the next Kleinman family Passover Seder with me. It was amazing at my parents’ house this year, but I would love to have the family to my house. The renovations will be done and it will be stunning. It gives you plenty of time to study the dishes to prepare and learn the prayers in Hebrew.”
Hebrew? I don’t even know anything in Latin except Adeste Fideles, which is “O Come All Ye Faithful.” I need to interject before this train flies off the tracks tonight. “Nathan, I’m not trying to slow things down, and I think everything you’re saying is great, but I haven’t even been to your house yet and—”
“You’re so right, Sweetie. We will get to that as soon as we can. But you’re right—there’s no rush. It’s not like your biological clock is ticking.”
There it is! Derailment.
“And I am sorry for coming on so strong at your house. I should have noticed you were sick. I am a doctor, after all.”
“That isn’t really what I meant—”
“I know. I need to be more mindful of your needs and pace. I shouldn’t have come to your house so soon.”
The meal comes to an end about an hour later, and I still can’t figure out what happened. Did I say he was rushing me by coming to my house? I didn’t mean he was rushing me sexually—I was referring to the pace regarding marriage and the future. Was I not clear?
After a passionate, but short, kiss at my car, Nathan says good night and saunters off to his car, which is parked a couple of blocks down, he says.
I sit in my car and ponder this night, staring into space. It’s only nine-thirty. The band will only be a few songs into their first set, if they even started on time. I am dressed much too conservatively and I am soaked in butter sauce, but I reapply my lipstick and turn the car towards O’Malley’s.
I can’t stop thinking of what he said. It’s not like your biological clock is ticking.
Nathan may be a doctor, but he’s still a man. I am beginning to think no man will ever understand my feelings about my hysterectomy. Maybe it’s time to let it go.
In a matter of minutes I arrive and circle the block for a parking space. The only available spots seem to be in the pay lot across the street. It’s only five bucks, so what the hell. This is the lot where I had my run-in with Justin. I shudder when I think of the concert and our plans this week. I need to tie up all these loose ends and concentrate on Nathan. Getting to know him better. Justin does deserve an explanation, and Brandon is just a friend. Coming to his show is merely exhibiting friendly behavior. Of course I didn’t tell Nathan I was going, but that’s simply because I am not doing anything wrong and he doesn’t like this music.
There are a ton of people smoking on the sidewalk. I look down at my outfit after I pay and park, and I am frozen in my seat. I feel like an idiot going in there like this. Everyone is going to ask where I had dinner and I don’t want them to think I’m a snob, or that Nathan is one. They will ask why he didn’t come. There are no good answers to these questions—at least not truthful ones. These people are nice enough, but they aren’t going to be a part of my new life with Nathan. There’s no point in forming relationships that I won’t be able to maintain.
I send Brandon another text. “Hey, I’m not going to be able to make it after all. Sorry! See you on Dixie’s next walk.”
Perfect. Friendly. Not flirty. No unnecessary explanations that are none of his business. I bet they’re having fun in there, though. I sigh and back the car out of my spot—they got a dollar a minute from me tonight. I find my IPod in the glove compartment and scroll through for a song to help me feel better. I begin the drive home listening to “Down with the Sickness.” I do feel “disturbed,” but not because of the song.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Are you really going to see Shinedown with Justin?” Cecilia peers at me with a cup of steaming hot coffee in her hand. I instinctively step back, fearing for a split second that she’s going to throw it at me. I have never thought of the complimentary coffee in the break room as a company provided weapon. Until now.
“How do you know that? Did he tell you?” I know he didn’t. Or maybe he’s playing me?
She shakes her head and not a single strand moves. She must use Crazy Glue to get those spikes to stick up like that. She flashes an evil grin and replies, “You’re so naïve, thinking you have a boy toy. You probably don’t even know what to do with him.” She drops her coffee stirrer in the trash can and walks out, looking over her shoulder once last time, mocking me with her smirk.
What the hell is going on? I can’t ask Justin, especially since I’m planning on telling him that I can’t go to the concert and why. Before my big confession I need to get to the bottom of this Cecilia situation.
I head to the lobby to talk to Amanda. She’s the front desk receptionist and she knows Cecilia better than I do. “Amanda, do you have a second?” In her twenties, with glossy chestnut brown hair and big doe eyes, she slightly resembles a Disney princess character, complete with the Barbie doll sized waist. Every time I talk to her, I imagine little birds and woodland creatures appearing and singing with her.
She puts up one finger to indicate she will be off the phone soon. “I’m transferring you now. Have a great day!” And the birds chirp and the squirrels sing. Perky Amanda smiles and says, “Hi, Claire. What can I do for you?”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you something about Cecilia.”
Amanda visibly winces. “What did she do? I mean, what’s up with her?” She forces a fake smile, but I have a sneaking suspicion Amanda is frightened of Cecilia.
“She just seems to know a lot about my behavior, and she’s been giving me a lot of grief over my friendship with Justin.”
“She can be super jealous.” She whispers, “I dated Justin for a little while last year. Cecilia was so mad because apparently she liked him, but he wasn’t interested.” She looks around the empty lobby. “I shouldn’t tell you this but she did a lot of crazy, unprofessional stuff.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Like what?” Hopefully not boiling pet rabbits. Or wiener dogs.
“She left things in his office.”
“Things?”
“Like her bras and panties. One time he was hosting an IT Review in his office with Tim and all the execs, and Pam almost sat right on her thong.”
I laugh and reply, “What? How did he recover from that?”
Amanda bites her lip to stop the giggles. “I think he just swiped it up before anyone saw it and stuffed it in his pocket.” She puts her hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh.
“What? We can’t have employees doing things like that. What if we had a new author visiting or a client? I guess he kept it quiet so he wouldn’t draw attention to his office romances.”
Amanda puts her hand up to her mouth again and gasps. “Is that not allow
ed? Am I in trouble now?”
“No, don’t worry. As long as the two people are not in any direct reporting relationship, it’s okay.” I pause and continue, “So Cecilia is a bit vindictive?”
“Yeah. She was mean to me too, even after Justin and I broke up. I was dating someone else and he used to come here to pick me up for lunch some times. At that time Cecilia was the one who covered for me on my breaks. She flirted with Brian relentlessly. It was embarrassing—he thought she was crazy.”
“I am not dating Justin, and I guess I need to clear that up, but I still wonder where she’s getting her information.”
“E-mails?”
“She doesn’t work in IT. She has no access to the server.” Unless Justin…“Never mind, Amanda. Thanks for the info, and don’t worry—I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“Whew, that’s a relief. Good luck, Claire. Just try to stay out of her way.”
I am already plotting my talk with Justin in my head and I absent-mindedly respond, “I will” as I wander back to my desk.
The new editor, Gina Rossetti, starts next Monday, and I need to ensure everything is ready for her onboarding. I send an e-mail to IT asking for her account to be set up, and a few minutes after Justin appears in my doorway.
“So you nabbed a new editor? Good work, Claire!” Word travels fast in this place.
“I sent that to Marcus. How did you know?”
“I know everything, Claire.” He wiggles his fingers to indicate his mastery of spooky magic. He approaches me and leans forward, with his palms resting on my desk. “So are you ready for Shinedown?” He starts singing an off key rendition of “I Dare You,” but very few men who haven’t been castrated can sing that high.
“Actually I wanted to talk to you about that.”
There Are No Men Page 25