by Lucy Lambert
When he learned what I did, he smiled and said, “Oh man, I could talk your ear off for hours about Frosted Flakes marketing campaigns and Tony the Tiger.”
And he did. For the rest of the date, even after we sat down. Even while he ate his double order of spaghetti and meatballs.
I’d lost my appetite, and only picked at a couple of the fries that came with my burger (out of which I took a single, polite bite). I would’ve eaten more if I knew what was coming next.
The waitress came over and set the bill down. He glanced at it awkwardly then looked away at a guitar hanging in a display case.
My hero, I thought. I picked up the little plastic folder and pulled the slip out of it. As I suspected, his double helping cost twice as much. Still, Dutch was Dutch.
‘Your half is $25,” I said.
He scratched at the back of his head, leaning forward a little so I got a good look at his developing bald spot, his mouth stretched into a fake smile.
Then he shifted over and pulled his wallet and a good amount of lint from an overworked pair of slacks. He opened the billfold, still smiling.
He laughed a little, then he showed me an empty wallet. “Can you spot me again? I forgot to hit up the ATM on my way here.”
I looked down at my mostly uneaten burger and fries, thought about asking for a box to take them home. But I knew that as soon as I pulled them from the fridge I would remember Mr. Funny and this disaster of a date.
“Sure,” I said. I pulled my Visa out of my wallet. The waitress, who’d hung nearby, gave me a sympathetic look and whispered to me not to worry about tipping her. I did anyway, and I thought that was the end of it.
It wasn’t.
“Share a taxi?” Mr. Funny asked outside.
I told him I wasn’t going the same way. And being Times Square in the early evening it was impossible to get a cab anyway. I walked up a couple blocks, hoping he might get the hint. He didn’t.
I finally did hail a cab. I started climbing in, but he held the door.
“That was fun! We should do it again!” he said. “Hug?”
Anything to end this faster, I thought.
It was the most awkward hug of my life. I tried to keep our bodies from actually touching. I saw him go for the kiss and turned my face away at the last moment. His rather wet lips pressed against my cheek for a disturbingly stretched moment.
He waved when the taxi pulled away from the curb.
The driver even looked back through the divider and said, “You okay, lady?”
That was my second of two terrible dates. One more and I had a hat trick. And I did have to say one thing, I think they definitely helped me realize that there was nothing wrong with being single.
I tried once more to pull my hand out of Jeff’s. His fingers tightened momentarily against the force I exerted, holding me fast.
“Yeah, here it is!” he said, nodding ahead.
I looked around. We’d managed to cover those few blocks while I remembered that second bad first date. I also found I recognized the area.
“Hey, that bar Doolie’s isn’t far from here, is it? They have some good trivia,” I said. I smiled at that memory before the hurt set in again.
Was it bad that I wished that even, despite everything, it was Neil holding my hand while we walked down the street?
Jeff shrugged, “I think there’s some dive around here called that. Yeah, you wouldn’t catch me dead at a place like that. Trust me, this is lightyears better than any place like that.”
Something like music but not came from the bar up ahead. A bar called Shucked Oysters.
“What a dumb name,” Jeff said.
“Yeah,” I replied, happy that we could finally agree on something. I just hoped that this place hadn’t yet heard of the Hollywood Hooker so that he wouldn’t order one for me.
I was actually cautiously optimistic at first. The place was laden with 70s irony, faux-wood panelling, a bar lifted straight out of Cheers, at least two jukeboxes competing with the band on stage.
And hey, he let go of my hand.
I guess my expectations were pretty low at this point.
But Jeff at least took us to a somewhat quiet table. I ordered a white wine and he got a gin and tonic. Both of which he insisted on paying for right away.
We talked for a bit, and the wine definitely helped loosen things up. Still, it all felt empty to me. Like I was just acting, going through the motions.
I mean, Jeff definitely was cute. I would dance with him at a club, especially since a club would be too loud for me to hear him speak. But I definitely didn’t want a second date.
But I intended on telling Suzy thanks for setting me up with him. I also delighted in the idea of telling all three that now that they’d each had a go at match-matching me to please give it a rest for, oh, I don’t know, the rest of my life.
We made small talk. Mostly Jeff talking about how hard it was to keep current as a mixologist. I refrained from giggling at the term mixologist and answered the few questions he put to me about myself.
“You know, you’re pretty cute,” Jeff said.
“Thanks. You’re not so hard on the eyes, yourself,” I said. I rolled the stem of my wine glass between my palms. The glass was, sadly, empty.
“But, yeah,” he said, “You know, I’m just not feeling this. Us, I mean. You want to get out of here?”
At this I smiled, “Yes! Thank you. I definitely am not ready for a relationship. Even though you’re cute and all.”
“Yeah, honesty’s refreshing isn’t it?”
We left the Shucked Oyster and walked maybe a block. It was surprisingly quiet and empty on the street outside. I guess this particular hipster bar hadn’t opened in quite the right location.
I realized that, unconsciously, I’d moved us closer in the direction of where I thought Doolie’s was.
“Well, I’m going to catch a cab. Thanks for the night out,” I said. I knew we were close to Doolie’s. I wondered if they had trivia going again. That might be fun.
And I could sit in there and wallow in my memories with no one I knew to judge me, either.
Then he grabbed my hand again.
“Hey, wait up,” he said, “The night doesn’t have to end yet.”
I smiled, feeling more than a little wary, “What do you mean? I thought we both agreed there was nothing here.”
Suddenly a second date with Mr. Funny didn’t seem so bad.
“Yeah, nothing but some mutual physical attraction. Why don’t we get that out of our systems, if you know what I mean?”
I tried as polite and disinterested smile as I could manage, “Thanks, but no thanks.” I became acutely aware of just how deserted this stretch of street was.
I tried pulling my hand back again. This time he tightened down on my wrist painfully. And he yanked me close. I could smell the gin on his breath.
“I bought you a drink! You’re attracted to me! You said so yourself. What the hell is your problem?” Jeff said, his teeth clenched together. He wasn’t so cute anymore. And when had he gotten so strong?
“My problem is you. Now let me go!”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he said. Then he started dragging me off the street, down a narrow alley. All the windows in the buildings on either side were dark, the fire escape balconies and stairways zig-zagging back and forth in the darkness.
“Help!” I screamed. I yanked against his grip, but I couldn’t break free.
Chapter 22
NEIL
This was a stupid idea. Really dumb, I thought.
I’d learned a valuable lesson that night. That lesson was this: trivia was no fun by yourself.
Sure, I got some of the questions. But I missed so many. All ones that I just knew that Rachel could have answered.
And that just made me think of Rachel.
But hadn’t that been the reason I went back to that pub in the first place? I thought it might give me some idea on how to reconnect with her.
Some part of me even hoped that Rachel herself might be there. A silly part. The one that still believed in things like serendipity.
Stan the Quiz King was there again, running the show. He recognized me. Even came up between the first couple of rounds.
“No pretty lady this time?” Stan asked.
“No. I don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”
Not that I thought Stan would remember. Still, he took a quiet moment, thought about it, and shook his head. “Sorry, man. In a bit of a rough patch, eh?”
“Something like that.”
“Too bad. I remember you guys. Great looking couple. Think you can fix it?” Stan said.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Don’t worry, if it’s meant to be things will work themselves out,” he replied. The next round started and he left with me a pat on the shoulder.
I couldn’t stay any longer than that. It just seemed so pointless. Sitting there didn’t help me think. Not about a solution, anyway. And Rachel wasn’t there. I threw down a $10 note for the rum and coke that I hadn’t touched and left.
By all rights, I knew, I needed to go back to my office. If I threw myself into work hard enough I could forget about her. Or at least push her back far enough in my mind that I could finally think about something else.
Instead I walked. It was quiet for some reason in the area I found I enjoyed the solitude. I thought I heard something like music coming from somewhere nearby, and I let that guide my feet.
I tried to let my thoughts wander, but they didn’t go far. They stayed mostly on her. I thought of that brief but fateful two minutes at the speed dating. Then at how crazy it was that we ran into each other in downtown Manhattan.
Things like that could make a person believe that there really wasn’t any such thing as coincidence.
Could almost make me believe, that was.
I walked on. It felt good, it felt right. A taxi passed me by. It even started slowing down when the driver saw me. I knew after a while the drivers could tell good fares from bad. Could spot the difference between an Armani jacket and a George from Walmart at a glance.
I thought about raising my hand, hailing him, but I let him pass on by.
That sound that was like music but worse kept growing. I knew the area a little, knew I was getting close to the Village and all the hipster joints there. If it was a bar, I thought I might go in and get a double or triple of something straight. You couldn’t trust those places if you ordered anything else.
Then I stopped. Because I thought I heard something else.
“Help!” Then again a moment later, “Help!”
And something else. A growled, “Shut up!” maybe.
I ran. My heart raced, leaping from sedated to crazy in an instant.
I almost passed the alley by, but then I heard that cry for Help! Again. I stopped short. My eyes adjusted to the darkness.
I saw them then. He had his hands all over her. Every time she tried pushing him away he shoved her back against the wall.
“Just relax,” he said, “You’ll like it. Just relax, damn it!”
She tried escaping again. He shoved her harder, and this time she fell down. He stood over her. He didn’t notice me.
Not when I ran at him. No, he didn’t notice me until I hooked my hands into the collar of his stupid vest.
The adrenaline pounded through my veins. It felt like I’d have no trouble lifting an F150, let alone some skinny hipster looking guy like this.
“Hey!” he started to say.
I threw him against the opposite wall. I threw him hard. The impact slammed the air out of his lungs in one satisfying Oof!
He crumpled. Then started standing again. “Hey man, you don’t understand...”
I don’t know if the shadows in the alley took on a red tinge or if that was just something that came down over my vision.
Then he crumpled to the cracked pavement, chin resting on his chest, and the knuckles on my right hand ached. I raised that fist again, but lowered it when he didn’t get back up.
“Come on, let’s get you out of her,” I said to the woman. It was dark. I couldn’t see her very well. I offered her my hand.
She accepted after a moment and used it to haul herself up to her feet. “Thanks. I don’t know what happened. One second we were talking. The next he was dragging me down this alley...”
She didn’t let go of my hand. I let her hold it while we made a quick walk out of that narrow space.
We reached the light of the street proper. I looked back down the alley and could barely make out the hunched over form that leaned against the wall. I had a feeling he’d be out for a while.
Not that I cared.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I said, “I’ll call someone if you like...”
“No, that’s okay...” she started.
Then we both saw each other. Full on, under the buzzing street lamp.
“Neil?” Rachel said. Her hair was in disarray, and she swiped a collection of loose locks from her forehead.
I couldn’t quite believe it. Not at first.
A cold and sobering thought occurred to me as well: My God, what if I’d taken that taxi?
“What are you doing here?” she said, “I mean, not to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, because seriously thank you. But what are you doing here?”
It all hit me again. Normally I wasn’t the sort of guy to kick a man when he was down, but that red haze started descending over my eyes and I turned back towards the alley.
Rachel noticed the set of my jaw, the way my hands bunched up into fists again. She put her hand on my shoulder.
“I’m okay, really,” she said, “I just want to go now, please.”
I took a deep and shuddering breath that did nothing to slow my heart. But the haze lifted. My hands relaxed. My knuckles started throbbing, but I didn’t care.
“Okay,” I said.
Then she took my hand again. My right hand. It hurt, but I refused drop her hand.
Get moving, I ordered myself.
We started down the sidewalk, hurrying at first from the mouth of that alley but slowing by the time we’d gone a couple of blocks.
We came to a more travelled street not long after. I could feel the words building inside of me. All the things I wanted to say to her. I thought she felt the same. We kept glancing at each other, then away.
Another taxi saw us, started slowing. This time I did put up my hand. He pulled a U-turn, cutting off two other cabs, and rubbed the passenger side front tire against the curb pulling up for us.
I opened the back door for her, my right hand resting on top of the door frame.
She looked at me, then back at the taxi. Something wrenched around in my stomach. I didn’t want to let her go, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to make her stay. Not after what just almost happened.
She put her hand on the yellow roof of the cab, then looked at me. “Do you want me to go?”
“No,” I said. No hesitation.
“I should go,” she said.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the cabbie watching us over his shoulder. I sensed his impatience. I didn’t care.
“You should,” I replied. My right hand throbbed.
“But you don’t want me to go?” she said again.
“I don’t, but I’m sure as hell not going to make you stay. I want to talk to you, Rachel. I need to. But I’m not going to make you. Never,” I said. My knuckles throbbed again. I wished once more than I’d had another chance to punch that guy. Make my knuckles hurt even more. It wasn’t my fault he had a glass jaw.
She saw my hand, then. Saw the big, purplish bruise already forming on the first three knuckles. “Your hand!”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse.”
She leaned into the cab and said, “Thanks, but no thanks. Sorry to take your time.”
The disappointed cabbie waved her away. He sped away before I even finished closi
ng the door. She immediately took up my right hand, brought it close to her face, and scrutinized the growing bruise. “We need to get some ice on this.”
She’d put some perfume on. This close, I could smell it. It gave me a heady feeling. My heart started racing again.
I wanted nothing less than to gather her up in my arms, bruised knuckles or not, and kiss her. I refrained for obvious reasons.
I looked up and down the street, getting my bearings. “There’s a café up there around the corner. We can sit there.”
Sit and talk was the subtext. I saw from the way she looked at me that she understood. She nodded a moment later and I led us over.
There were a few other people in there, some at the stools, some in the booths that lined the wall that was mostly window. We sat in a booth.
Rachel convinced the waitress to give her a cupful of ice and a tea towel. She wrapped a couple handfuls of ice cubes in the towel and set it gently against my bruised knuckles, her other hand beneath my palm to arch said knuckles up slightly.
“Better?” she asked.
The cold stung at first, but a rapid sensation of relief replaced it. “Much.”
She smiled at me and my heart tried jamming its way up my throat. She held my eyes a moment and then looked down to adjust the icepack on my hand.
“I should have told you everything. I was going to. I asked you out that night so I could tell you,” I said.
“You kept it from me too long. I don’t like sneaking around. I don’t like being someone’s secret,” she replied. Unconsciously, she pushed the icepack down harder. I winced at the sudden pressure.
It was a small price to pay.
“So you never answered my question,” she said, “What were you doing out there? You weren’t... following me or something, were you?”
Stalking, she means stalking, I knew.
“No. I was actually over at that trivia pub. It was fun and I thought it might help me figure out how to get in touch with you again.”
She looked up into my face again, squinting a little this time. “I believe you. Also, I’m not a gold digger. In case you need me to spell it out for you.”