Romantically Challenged

by Beth Orsoff

  Her sky-blue eyes welled up with tears that spilled over onto her cheeks. I sat down and put my arm around her shoulder until her sobs subsided, then I handed her the pocket pack of tissues from my purse.

  “Billy won’t move to L.A.,” she finally said. “His boss was transferred and when his boss’ boss found out Billy was interviewing, he gave him a huge raise. Now Billy doesn’t want to leave.”

  “Then move up to San Francisco.” A rare moment of selflessness on my part. I’d be bereft without Kaitlyn.

  “I’m not moving to San Francisco!” She ignored the two hundred tired, sweaty travelers who were now staring at us. “I like my job and all my friends are here. I have a life.”

  “I know,” I said as I handed her a fresh tissue from the pocket pack. “But is it really worth ending a five year relationship over?”

  She wiped her eyes and said in a surprisingly even tone, “If, after all this time, he’s not willing to make a minor sacrifice for the sake of the relationship, then obviously he’s not really committed.”

  “I’m not sure moving to a new city is a minor sacrifice, but if you think it is, then why aren’t you willing to?” I couldn’t believe I was actually trying to convince my best friend to leave me.

  “It’s minor for him. He’s lived in San Fran less than a year. I’ve lived in L.A. for ten years.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with that logic, at least not today. “So how did you leave things?

  “We talked about it all last night, and we both agreed the relationship is over. We’ll always care about each other, but it’s time to move on.” Then she blew her nose one more time, forced a smile onto her face, and said, “Let’s go.”

  I offered to do any activity Kaitlyn wanted to take her mind off Billy, but she insisted that she was fine and that all she needed was a big breakfast and a ride home. I was amazed at how well she was handling this. Maybe it helped when your mother was a shrink.

  * * *

  After blowing my diet with Kaitlyn on a stack of blueberry pancakes, I headed back to the gym for an hour and a half of penance on the exercise bike. By the time I got back to my apartment all I wanted was a nap, but the blinking red light on my answering machine was insistent. I hit PLAY and the computer voice told me I had three messages.

  The next voice was my mother’s. “Julia, I don’t know where you are. Call me.” How happy am I that I forgot to turn my cell phone back on.

  The second message was from Simone. “I found a great way for you to meet a bunch of new men. Call me.”

  The third voice I didn’t recognize. “Hi Julie, it’s Joe, the bartender, from the casino party. I was just wondering if you figured out who I am yet. Call me at (310) 555-0196. I have something of yours I’d like to return.”

  I listened to Joe’s message again, and this time I wrote down the phone number. How did he find me? How did he even know my name? And why was I so excited? When I could finally force myself to stop grinning, I dialed his number. His answering machine picked up on the fourth ring. “Hi, it’s Joe.” I hung up before it could finish.

  This was stupid. I was a grown-up. Or at least I was supposed to be a grown-up. I should act like one. My hands were still shaking when I hit the re-dial button. This time the machine picked up on the second ring. “Hi, it’s Joe. If you want me to call you back leave your message at the beep. If not, then hang up now.”

  “Hi Joe,” I said after the machine beeped. “It’s Julie. Julie Burns. From the party. You left me--”

  “Hi Julie. I was hoping you’d call me back. Did you just try me a few minutes ago?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “Sorry, it’s just that someone called and hung up about two seconds before you did. I thought it might’ve been you.”

  “Nope.” That’s the problem with lying. Once you start, you have to see it through to the end. Hopefully he didn’t have caller ID. I decided to deflect with an offensive maneuver. “Do you always screen your calls?”

  “Not usually, but I just got back from the grocery store and my arms were full.”

  “I see,” I said. Then silence. “So how did you get my number?”

  “You gave it to me.”

  “No I didn’t.” This time I wasn’t lying.

  “Yes you did. You even wrote it down for me. (310) 555-2139.”

  That was my number. But of course he knew that. He had called me. This was too weird. “Listen, I don’t know what your deal is, but--”

  “You still haven’t figured out who I am yet, have you?”

  “Of course I have. That’s why I called you back. You’re the bartender from my boss’s party.”

  “No, I mean where we first met.”

  I ignored the remark. Never admit defeat. At least not if you still have an opening. “I really just called because you said in your message that you had something of mine you wanted to return. I thought maybe you found my earring. I lost one at the party.” More lies.

  “No,” he said, “It’s not an earring. But I still think you’re going to want this back.”

  “What?”

  “I’d rather show it to you in person. I was about to start dinner. Why don’t you come over and have dinner with me, and I’ll give it to you then.”

  “I’m not coming to your house for dinner!”

  “Why not? I’m a great cook.”

  Modest too. “Are you insane? I don’t even know you. I don’t even know your last name. You could be an ax murderer for all I know.”

  “My last name is Stein and I’m not an ax murderer. Have you ever heard of a Jewish ax murderer?”

  “What about that Berkowitz guy in New York?”

  “He was a serial killer, not an ax murderer. But no, I’m not a serial killer either.”

  “Are you a lawyer?” He certainly sparred like one.

  “No,” he said “but my dad was a lawyer so I know how to play.”

  Smart for a wannabe.

  “I’m really hungry. Is there any chance I’m going to be able to convince you to come over here tonight?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about meeting me somewhere else for dinner?”

  “I have plans tonight.” That wasn’t really a lie because now that I’d already picked up Kaitlyn, I planned to stay home and do laundry while I watched TV.

  “Then how about lunch one day next week? Broad daylight, public place. I’ll even let you choose the restaurant.”

  “That way I can have my bodyguards waiting to jump you in case you try anything?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I guess that would be okay.” I was dying to know what he had of mine and it looked like meeting him was the only way I was going to find out. Besides, he was really cute.

  “Great. You tell me where and when.”

  “How’s Wednesday, one o’clock, Changs on Wilshire?” I’d been craving Chinese food all week.

  “Sounds perfect. Have a good night, Julie.”

  “You too, Joe.” I could hardly wait.

  Chapter 14

  Bad Chinese Food

  I woke up Wednesday morning feeling nauseous. I knew it was just nerves. The same thing happens on days when I have to go to court.

  I was twenty minutes late to work because I couldn’t decide what to wear. Since I couldn’t wear my date outfit to the office, I ended up with a black pant suit and a white silk tank top. Business attire, but still sexy, or so I hoped.

  I spent the morning reading discovery responses, the opposing side’s responses to my side’s questions, but I couldn’t concentrate. After two hours I gave up and doodled on my legal pad until it was time to leave for lunch. I knew I would pay for this later with a very late night at the office, but it couldn’t be helped.

  I calculated that in the middle of the day, I would need at least twenty minutes to get from my office in Century City to the Chinese restaurant four blocks from the beach. I could’ve chosen somewhere closer, but I wanted to get far enough away that there would
be no chance of me running into anyone from the firm. I didn’t want an audience for my date.

  At exactly 12:38 (yes, exactly) I set down my pad and retrieved my suit jacket from its hanger on the back of my door. When I reopened it, Rosenthal was standing in the doorway. Shit, not now!

  He looked at his watch. He knew I normally left for lunch at one o’clock. If I was leaving early, it probably meant I was taking longer than an hour. Rosenthal believed no one needed more than an hour for lunch. According to him, my time was his money.

  “Where are you off to?” he asked.

  “Lunch,” I said. “I’m meeting someone so I really need to go. Can this wait?”

  “Who are you meeting? A client?”

  The only exception to the one hour lunch rule was if you were meeting a client—that was billable time. “Potential client.” Not a lie. You never know.

  I slid past Rosenthal and out to the hallway. He sniffed the air. “Are you wearing perfume?”

  “I always do.” What could be the harm in one more inoffensive little lie?

  “I don’t think so,” he said as he followed me down the corridor toward the elevators.

  Why did he have to be so goddamn nosy? “Bruce, I’m running late. Can we talk when I get back?”

  “No, we have a new case. It’s for Rosebud Productions. Do you have time to take on a new matter?”

  “Sure,” I said, pushing the elevator call button. Now go away!

  “You must’ve really impressed Mark Parsons. He specifically requested that you work on this.”

  “That was nice of him.” I barely remembered meeting him. Although I did remember his wife. She must’ve had a hand in this. I’d have to remember to call and thank her.

  “I’ve set up a conference call with him at three.”

  I stepped into the elevator and turned to face Rosenthal. “Then how about I come down to your office at two-thirty and you can bring me up to speed.”

  He frowned but said, “I guess it can wait until then.”

  “Good,” I said as the elevator door began to close.

  “And Julia.”

  What now? I pushed the DOOR OPEN button.

  “Have fun on your date.” He gave me a wide grin.

  “Goodbye, Bruce.” I hit the DOOR CLOSE button and looked at my watch. 12:46. Now I really was going to be late. I raced down to the car and out to Olympic Boulevard. The traffic wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. I only had to run two yellow lights to make it to the restaurant close to on time.

  I fluffed my hair and reapplied lipstick while waiting for the lights I didn’t run. My stomach was doing flip-flops. I hadn’t felt this nervous before my other dates. The last time I remembered feeling this way with a guy was with Scumbag. I didn’t know if that was a good omen or a bad one.

  Joe was waiting for me at the entrance. God he looked good. He was wearing black jeans and a slate gray button down shirt. Those blue eyes glowed even more in the daytime. I stared at him for half a minute before I even noticed he was carrying a shopping bag.

  “Sorry if I kept you waiting, I was hung up at work.”

  “No problem,” he said. “I just got here.”

  I gave the host my name and he brought us to a booth in the back of the restaurant. When the waitress came by, Joe ordered a beer and I ordered an iced tea.

  “No cranberry martini?”

  “I have to go back to work. But I’m impressed that you remember.”

  “I’m a bartender. It’s my job to remember.”

  I wanted to follow-up on that with some career-related questions, but I had more pressing concerns. “What’s in the bag? Is it the mystery item you wanted to return to me, but only in person?”

  “Yup,” he said, but didn’t make a move towards the black paper bag sitting next to him.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to give it to me?”

  “I thought I’d save it for dessert.”

  “There is no way I’m going to sit here for the next hour wondering what’s in that bag. You’ve strung this out long enough.”

  He pondered the idea for a moment, then said, “I guess you’re right. Besides, I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you open it.”

  He set the shopping bag on the table and slid it towards me. I reached inside and pulled out a blue drawstring Gap bag. Inside that was a white plastic grocery bag. I gave Joe a nasty look.

  He smiled back. “In case you peeked.”

  I unfurled the grocery bag and pulled out a tan push-up bra with silicone gel cups. “What the hell is this?”

  “It’s your bra.” He folded his arms across his chest with a self-satisfied grin. “Interesting texture. What’s inside that thing? It feels like Jell-o.”

  “This isn’t my bra,” I said automatically.

  “Really? Then how come it has your name and number in it?” Joe reached for the bra and turned it over. It was my name and phone number in black ink scrawled across the inside of the left cup. Even the handwriting was my own.

  This was not happening. I had to be dreaming. This had to be a nightmare. I would will myself to wake up. I closed my eyes for a moment but when I opened them Joe was still sitting across from me. I finally remembered where we first met. At the bar at the hotel where my cousin Sharon had her wedding.

  Think fast. Try offense. It worked the last time. “You could’ve written that in there yourself. It doesn’t mean its mine.”

  “You think I went out and bought a bra and wrote your name and number in it? Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. Maybe you’re crazy. Or maybe it’s the only way you can get a date.”

  “I have no problem getting dates.”

  That I believed.

  “Why don’t you just admit that it’s yours?”

  I hated conceding, but I was cornered. “Okay, even if I assume you’re not lying and this really is my bra, why would I have given it to you?”

  “To prove to me that you could take your bra off without removing your dress first. You told me you could do it, but I didn’t believe you, so we bet on it. I lost.”

  That did sound like something I might do after four or five martinis.

  “I was really impressed,” he continued. “I’d never seen anyone do that before. Do you want me to show you how you did it?”

  “No.” I knew how it was done. “Assuming you’re not making all this up, what happened next?”

  “I paid up and bought you two more drinks. Then I went into the stock room to clean up before closing. When I came back, you were sprawled across the bar sound asleep.”

  That definitely sounded like me.

  “I tried to wake you, but you were out for the night. I ended up carrying you up to your room.”

  “You carried me?”

  “At first I just tried to help you walk on your own, but you kept falling down. Eventually I gave up and carried you the rest of the way.”

  “How did you know what room I was in?” I was still hoping I could catch him in a lie to prove that he was making all this up.

  “You charged your drinks to your room, counselor. The room number was on the receipt.”

  Damn. “So what happened when you brought me upstairs?” I didn’t really want to know, but at this point I had to.

  “What do you think happened?” He flashed me a wicked grin.

  “I don’t know,” I said, my voice rising. “That’s why I’m asking.” It’s hard to remain calm when you’re being humiliated.

  “I was a perfect gentleman. I just laid you down on the bed and left.”

  I gave him a look that told him I didn’t believe him. I knew how I got when I’d had a few drinks. I wouldn’t have wanted him to leave.

  “I swear,” he said and held up his right hand. “I didn’t even peek.”

  “So when did I give you my bra?”

  “You didn’t exactly give it to me. It was more like you left it for me. I found it under your barstool the next day. I tri
ed to return it, but you’d already checked out.”

  “And when did I write my name and number in it?”

  “That I don’t know. Maybe when I was in the stock room. All I can tell you for certain is that it had to be some point before you passed out.”

  The waitress who’d been hovering for the last ten minutes came to the table and asked for our order. Joe asked her to give us another minute then opened his menu.

  “What looks good?” he asked.

  All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there. Fast. I looked at my watch. “I think I may have to cut this short.”

  “C’mon, you need to eat.”

  “My stomach’s upset,” I said, and it gurgled as if on cue. “Whatever I eat now will just make me feel worse.” I stuffed the bra and the smaller bags into the shopping bag and pulled out my wallet. I found a twenty dollar bill and threw it on the table. “You stay and eat. Lunch is on me.”

  “Don’t do this,” he said and tried to stuff the twenty in my purse.

  I threw it back on the table. “It’s my way of saying thank you for carrying me up to my room.” I slid out of the booth and held up the shopping bag. “And for returning my bra.”

  I walked out of the restaurant and practically ran to the valet stand. I was determined not to burst into tears until I was alone in my car. I heard Joe calling me, but I ignored him and handed the valet my ticket.

  “Julie, wait.” He was standing next to me. He no longer looked so attractive.

  “Joe, I really need to get back to the office. I have a conference call this afternoon, and a meeting with my boss before that, and I really just need to go.”

  “I’m sorry if I upset you. I honestly thought the whole thing was funny and I thought you would think so to.”

  “It was. But I need to leave.” It was getting harder not to cry with him standing next to me.

  “If you don’t want to eat, then let’s take a walk. We can go down to the pier and play video games and forget this ever happened.”

  I saw my silver sedan round the corner. “Goodbye, Joe,” was all I said before I sped away. I waited until I passed two stop lights before I allowed the tears to roll down my cheeks.

  I could picture the scene in my head. It played over and over again like a video in an endless loop. I desperately wanted to shut the machine, but I couldn’t. Each time the track ended, it replayed itself.