The Blonde Theory

by Kristin Harmel

  I started to open my mouth to protest, but then I noticed how earnestly Molly’s eyes were shining as she looked at me. I thought back to the conversations she and I had had the past year and a half, the way she had asked me small questions about cases I was working on, the way she had treated me with so much deference that it made me almost uncomfortable. And for the first time, I saw myself through Molly’s eyes instead of through the eyes of the scores of men who kept rejecting me. It wasn’t much, because it didn’t erase the pain of my long string of romantic rejections, but it was something. I was so used to judging myself based on what Peter and every guy after him thought of me that I had forgotten to judge myself based on my own standards. There had been a day when I’d been as proud of myself as Molly was.

  “Thank you,” I said finally. I was dumbstruck by how clear everything suddenly seemed.

  Molly smiled shyly. “You’re welcome,” she mumbled. “I’d better get to work now.”

  I watched her leave my office, my jaw hanging open. It wasn’t until she had shut the door behind her that I snapped out of my reverie.

  “I’m her idol,” I said to myself, shaking my head in wonder. I smiled—a real smile this time—for the first time in twenty-four hours. “How about that?”

  I WAS JUST packing up my things at six forty-five to go home when Molly came into my office, her eyes downcast and a slip of paper in her hand.

  “You’re still here?” I asked in surprise. Molly was required to work only nine to five, and most days she left around five forty-five or six—probably to head over to her night-school law classes. A new wave of guilt washed over me as I thought about the fact that I’d been too self-absorbed to have even known she was going to law school. What kind of person had I become?

  “Yes,” Molly mumbled. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Her concern almost brought tears to my eyes. I blinked quickly and smiled at her.

  “Listen, thanks,” I said earnestly. “But I’ll be fine. Really. I don’t want you to waste your time worrying about me.” I felt badly for burdening her with my insignificant, self-absorbed problems while she had real issues to deal with.

  Molly shook her head.

  “It’s not a waste of time,” she said. She looked up at me nervously. “Actually, I’ve spent the whole day thinking about it. And I want you to do me a favor.”

  I hesitated for a moment, studying her wide, blushing face. She had never asked me for anything in the year and a half that she had worked here. Besides, she had more or less saved my job—or at the very least, my reputation—this morning when she had awoken me from my drooling-on-the-keyboard slumber. I owed her one. Actually, I probably owed her about a hundred. I wasn’t exactly in the habit of agreeing to favors sight unseen, but I couldn’t say no to Molly.

  “Okay,” I said with a nod. “Of course.”

  “You have to promise,” Molly insisted. I studied her for a moment. What was it that she needed? At worst, it was probably some help with some briefs she had to write for one of her law school classes or something.

  I hesitated, then nodded again. “I promise. What can I do for you? Do you need some help with some coursework or something?”

  Molly shook her head, then glanced down at the piece of paper she was clenching in her hand. She looked up at me again nervously.

  “I want you to go on a blind date,” she said firmly.

  “What?” I croaked, my heart sinking. I’d been on enough dates in the last two weeks to last me a lifetime or two. There was no way I was going to go down that road again. Besides, blind dates never worked when I was actually acting like myself. “No, I can’t,” I said, shaking my head.

  Molly looked wounded. “But you promised,” she said, her eyes wide and hurt.

  I looked at her for a moment and sighed. “I know I did,” I said. “But I didn’t know that’s what you were going to ask me.”

  “I know someone who would be perfect for you,” she said slowly. “And whether it works out or not, at least I know he won’t be scared of you because of your job.”

  “How do you know that?” I demanded, a little curious, despite myself, about the mystery guy. But not curious enough to commit emotional suicide by agreeing to a blind date.

  “I just know,” she said firmly. “He’s the nicest, most decent guy I think I’ve ever met.”

  “Then why aren’t you dating him?” I asked accusatorily. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. If I had a nickel for every time one of my friends recommended a guy whom she wouldn’t actually date but who was “just perfect” for me...

  “Because I’m gay,” Molly said, looking surprised. My jaw dropped. “You didn’t know that?” she asked incredulously.

  “Um, no,” I said, feeling once again like a huge fool. I had seen this woman nearly every weekday for a year and a half, and I hadn’t known that she was going to law school or that she was a lesbian? Wow, I really was a terrible person.

  “Oh,” Molly said, blushing again. “I hope that’s not a problem. I just...I just figured you knew.”

  “No, no, of course that’s not a problem,” I said quickly. “I just feel terrible that I didn’t know. I never realized how little I knew about you.”

  Molly shrugged. “I kind of keep to myself,” she said. “Besides, I figured some of the senior partners here wouldn’t exactly approve. I guess I don’t really make a big show of it or anything.”

  “Oh,” I murmured, still feeling terrible. I hesitated, feeling like I had to ask her a question or express interest in her declaration in some way. “Um, do you have a girlfriend?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Molly nodded, peering at me peculiarly. “You’ve met her a bunch. Francesca. You know? The girl who goes to lunch with me a couple of times a week? The one who works at The New Yorker?”

  “That’s your girlfriend?” I asked incredulously. I had met Francesca, a tiny, dark-haired pixie of a girl with a cute, upturned nose and a spattering of freckles. And come to think of it, I had seen Francesca and Molly acting rather affectionately, hugging each other whenever they saw each other, giggling together at private jokes, touching each other’s arms with an implied intimacy. I can’t believe I had never connected the dots. “Of course that’s your girlfriend,” I added softly.

  Molly smiled at me. “She’s great,” she said. “I’d love for you to get to know her better. If you want to, I mean.”

  “Of course,” I said, again struck with a giant pang of guilt. “How long have you been with her?”

  “Two years,” Molly said. “She’s perfect.”

  “Lucky you,” I said softly. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that they were a perfect match. Huh. Maybe men were the problem. Why couldn’t I have been born a lesbian? Then there would have been no preconceived gender stereotypes, no expectation that I would have to be subservient while my partner brought home the bacon and wore the pants in the relationship, so to speak.

  “Yes, I’m lucky to have found her,” Molly agreed. “But it’s hard, too, you know? I know I want to spend my life with her, but we can’t get married in New York. And my parents basically disowned me after I came out to them. So it’s not all good, you know?”

  “I’m so sorry,” I murmured.

  I thought about it for a moment. I had been so absorbed in my own problems and my own dating difficulties these last few weeks—these last three years, in fact—that I had barely considered that other people had problems running much deeper than mine. I instantly felt even worse than I had before for harping on my own problems, and especially for whining to Molly about them.

  “I’m so sorry,” I murmured again.

  “You apologize too much,” Molly said gently. “You have nothing to be sorry for. But please, consider going out with this guy, okay? I’m telling you, he’s perfect for you. At the very least, you need to go out with a guy who isn’t scared to see the real you.”

  I sighed and studied Molly’s face. Behind her thick glasses,
her eyes were wide and pleading.

  “Exactly how do you know this guy?” I asked suspiciously.

  “He’s in my study group for both of the classes I’m taking this semester,” she said. “He’s really smart.”

  “You want me to go out with some twenty-two-year-old law student?” I asked, surprised.

  Molly laughed. “No,” she said. “He’s thirty-three. He already worked as an accountant for several years, and he just started law school this semester. He just moved to New York. He’s sort of changing paths in life and wanted to give this a try. He’s not that much younger than you, Harper. C’mon, give him a chance. Please?”

  “But he’s a student,” I said. “Why in a million years would he want to go out with a woman who has already been working as an attorney for a decade?”

  “I don’t think that kind of thing matters to him, Harper,” Molly said. “It shouldn’t matter to you, either.”

  I was about to protest again, to tell Molly that there was no way it would ever work out between me and some law student who probably didn’t have two dimes to rub together and was doing the same course work I’d done twelve years ago. Then I remembered the bizarrely prophetic—albeit insulting—words of Sean, the Irish handyman. Maybe you’re not looking in the right places, he had said. Much as I hated to admit it because he’d been so rude to me, maybe he was right. I had only dated guys who made as much—or nearly as much—money as I did because I was so afraid of the men feeling inferior. But maybe this had all morphed into a problem of my own making. Maybe I did need to try going out with someone a little different.

  “Fine,” I finally agreed reluctantly. I really had no desire to go on yet one more horrible date. But Molly looked like she was on the verge of getting down on her knees to beg me. I’d been so obtuse about two things that were so obviously important to her—her school and her sexuality. If agreeing to this favor would begin to make it up to her, then I really didn’t have any choice.

  “Wait,” I said after thinking about it for a minute. “I don’t have to act like a dumb blonde or anything, do I? Because I’m done with that.”

  “No, you don’t have to act like a dumb blonde,” Molly said with a smile. “Just be yourself.”

  I nodded reluctantly, and Molly flounced out of the room to call the mystery man. Three minutes later, she was back, grinning from ear to ear. She told me I was to meet him tomorrow night at the The Long Hop, a British pub in my neighborhood. She scribbled down the name and address of the pub and the time I was supposed to meet him on a notepad, ripped off the sheet, and handed it to me.

  “Don’t be late!” she said cheerfully.

  I looked at the paper then back at Molly. I forced a smile and tried to feel better about the whole situation. Really, how bad could it be?

  I had the sinking feeling those were famous last words.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The next night at seven twenty, after a long day of work and an even longer day of explaining what had happened with Matt to a disappointed Meg, Emmie, and Jill over lunch, I sat at the corner of the bar at The Long Hop, drumming my fingers nervously. The place was emptier than I’d expected it to be; apparently this was the lull between the bar’s buzzing happy hour and its post-10-pm hip nightlife, complete with DJ and dance floor. But at seven twenty, it was just me, a handful of other people who looked about my age drinking at the bar, a pair of guys playing darts in the corner, and a lone bartender who was languidly drying martini glasses while whistling to himself.

  I was casually hip in my favorite pair of slim-cut Robin’s Jeans, a black Amy Tangerine tee with the Chinese symbol for happiness stitched across the front in pink, big silver hoop earrings, and a pair of silver stilettos. I had washed and dried my hair and re-applied my makeup after work, and I was feeling more confident than usual as I waited for my mystery date.

  Despite my begging, Molly had offered few details about him except to say that he had blondish brown hair, was on the tall side, and had a smile that would turn her on if she weren’t a lesbian. I wasn’t exactly sure how I was supposed to take that. She refused to even tell me his name; she had simply said that he would find me.

  I felt inexplicably nervous and unsettled as I waited, the moments ticking by slowly. The mystery guy was supposed to meet me at seven thirty, and as I checked my watch and saw that it was seven thirty-one, I started to get a bit annoyed, which I knew was insane, because obviously I was supposed to give someone a window of more than one minute before getting peeved. I supposed it was because I was on edge anyhow. I didn’t really want to be here. The last thing in the world I wanted to be doing was going on another date. I wanted to be at home pouting instead. I still felt wounded and humiliated after the incident with Matt. I figured that I certainly didn’t need yet one more thing to bring me down another notch—particularly not yet another bad blind date.

  “Harper?” A deep male voice cut into my thoughts, and I turned, expecting to see my mystery man. Instead, my jaw fell open.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, shaking my head as I tried to get ahold of myself. It was Sean. The smug handyman Sean. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  Great. Just what I needed. The preachy handyman, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong yet again, ruining my date by psychoanalyzing me or something.

  “I might ask you the same thing,” he said with a grin, apparently oblivious to the fact that I was shooting little daggers at him with my eyes. “This is my bar, you know.”

  “What, like you own it?” I asked flatly.

  He laughed, low and deep. “No, of course not,” he said in that thick brogue of his that I found attractive, despite my annoyance at him. “I mean, it’s the pub I come to all the time. The one that has Murphy’s on tap. Remember?”

  “Yeah, your precious Murphy’s,” I muttered. I was starting to suspect that another Murphy’s was at work here: Murphy’s Law. How else could you explain why the irritatingly chipper handyman seemed to materialize every time I was on the verge of romantic disaster? It had at least been somewhat understandable when he showed up at my apartment a few times during the series of towel mix-ups. But this was ridiculous. Apparently the universe thought it would be supremely funny to plunk him randomly onto the bar stool next to mine as I waited for a date I was dreading. Suffice it to say, I wasn’t amused.

  “Still a bit mad about the other day, are ya?” he asked with a lilting grin.

  “It’s just that my personal life is really none of your business,” I said stiffly.

  “Ay, that’s for sure, then,” he said. “So what are ya doing here all by yerself tonight?”

  I rolled my eyes at him. Hadn’t we just discussed the invasion of my personal life?

  “Havin’ a night out at the pub alone, are ya?” he persisted.

  “No,” I snapped. “For your information, I’m waiting for a date.”

  “Oh, are ya now?” he crowed. “So who’s the lucky lad?”

  “For your information,” I said as haughtily as possible, “it’s a very friendly—and very cute—law student who’s about my age. Okay? He’ll be here any minute. You’ll see.”

  However, with the minutes ticking by, I was growing increasingly sure that Molly’s perfect guy wasn’t going to show. It was almost seven forty-five. If he didn’t arrive, it would be a new low in humiliation, as Sean the handyman would have a front-row seat to my downfall.

  “He sounds like a nice guy,” he said with a wink.

  “I’m sure he is,” I said. “Not that I need your approval.”

  “Of course not,” Sean demurred. “But I am glad to see that you’re datin’ outside your comfort zone.”

  “What?” I asked crossly.

  “Agreeing to a date with a lowly law student, I mean,” he said, nodding approvingly. “I do believe you’re making a change for the better, Miss Harper Roberts. I think you’re opening your mind. Good for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said drily, wishing
to end the conversation and feeling awkward, because of course Sean was right. As usual. How was it that he seemed to know more about me than I was capable of figuring out on my own? It was really annoying. I craned my neck, hoping I might catch sight of a cute, sandy-haired law--student-y guy approaching me with a charming grin on his face. No such luck. I slumped my shoulders and turned back to Sean with a sigh. “Is there something else you need?”

  I hated sounding so mean. But I really didn’t need him standing around judging me. Especially as it was growing increasingly obvious that this fantastic date of mine was going to be a no-show. I was just about ready to throw in the towel on dating altogether. Clearly, I was disastrous at it.

  “Well, aren’t ya gonna ask me what I’m doing here tonight, all by myself?” he asked, the dimples in his cheeks growing deeper as his grin grew wider.

  “Sure,” I conceded. Perhaps indulging him would make him leave more quickly. “What are you doing here tonight all by yourself?” I asked in a tone tinged with just the slightest bit of mockery.

  “One of the girls from my study group set me up on a blind date with her boss,” Sean said without missing a beat, his eyes twinkling. “Any idea where I might be able to find a single, thirty-five-year-old patent attorney around here?”

  I gulped. My mouth was suddenly very dry, and I felt as if I might fall off my bar stool.

  “What?” I croaked.

  “My friend Molly,” he said “She’s in the two night classes I’m taking for law school this semester. We study together. And she told me somethin’ about her really nice boss, who, for some strange reason, doesn’t think that she’s as appealing to men as she really is.”

  I stared.

  “You’re the guy Molly is trying to set me up with?” I asked, a little breathless. It slowly began to register. He was really friendly, even if his helpfulness was sometimes misdirected or unwanted. He had specifically said that a woman’s career wouldn’t matter to him. And he did have an adorable smile, I had to admit, although it was considerably less charming when he was wearing it while making me think about my problems. “But that’s impossible,” I protested. “She said she was setting me up with someone who used to be an accountant.”