Romantically Challenged

by Beth Orsoff

  “I know she’s my mother. And I’m not saying she doesn’t love me and that I don’t love her. I’m just stating facts.”

  “As seen through your own filter.”

  “Spare me the psycho-babble and help me figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my parents for three days and nights.”

  “We live in L.A. There’s tons of things to do with out-of-town relatives.”

  “Yes, but we’ve done them all. We’ve already been to Disneyland and Universal, and taken all the studio tours. We’ve walked the Santa Monica Pier, Third Street Promenade, the Venice Boardwalk and Hollywood Boulevard. We’ve day-tripped to San Diego, Santa Barbara, Solvang and Tijuana. What’s left?”

  “You could fly up to San Francisco for the weekend.”

  “They’ve already been. Twice.”

  “How about museums?”

  “My dad hates museums. He won’t go.”

  “Well what do they like to do?”

  “Argue with each other.”

  “I’m serious,” she said.

  “So am I.”

  “What do they do when they go on vacation?”

  “They go somewhere warm and lay on the beach and talk about what they’re going to have for dinner. Then they go out to dinner.”

  She considered that for a moment. “Actually, we do a fair amount of that ourselves.”

  “That’s the scary part. We’re both turning into my parents.”

  * * *

  We finished our ice cream and headed to Bloomingdale’s. Our first stop was the men’s department so Kaitlyn could buy a birthday present for her brother. I left her searching through men’s wallets, while I wandered over to watches. I don’t know how I could’ve been so oblivious for so many years, but this was the first time I ever noticed how many cute guys shopped in the Bloomingdale’s men’s department. I was glad I’d bothered to put on makeup and blow-dry my hair. Some were clearly coupled, either with other men or women, but I was hoping at least one or two might be available.

  I was headed towards an attractive brunette shopping for a dress shirt when I froze. Standing on the other side of my prospective date was a couple with their arms around each other. The male half of the couple was Joe.

  I hadn’t heard from him since the day of our disastrous lunch. He’d left me a message saying he’d called to apologize. I might’ve returned his call eventually if he’d kept calling, but he hadn’t. Now I knew why. He’d already moved on.

  I turned and sped through jewelry, zigzagged through handbags, and circled back to men’s wallets.

  “We need to leave,” I told Kaitlyn. “Now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I just spotted Joe.”

  “The bartender?”

  “Yes.”

  She started scanning the store. “Where is he? I want to see what he looks like.”

  I pointed in his direction. “The one in jeans with the woman holding a shirt up to his chest.”

  “I can’t see,” she said. “We need to move closer.”

  I told her no, but it was too late. She was already deep into belts. I caught up with her in ties and pulled her behind a bank of acrylic cubes filled with dress shirts. We pulled out the top few packages so she could peer through, and I kneeled on the floor out of sight.

  “Which one is he? The one in Polos or the one looking at the Calvin Kleins?”

  “I don’t know. He’s the one in the black T-shirt.”

  “They’re both wearing black T-shirts.”

  I stood up, took a quick glance, and ducked back down. “The one on the right.”

  “He’s cute. You should say hello.”

  “I’m not going over there.”

  “You don’t have to. He’s coming this way.”

  I grabbed Kaitlyn’s arm and ran. We were six stores away before we finally stopped laughing. I felt like we were in junior high. At Kaitlyn’s suggestion, we continued on to Macy’s where Kaitlyn managed to purchase a pair of black Enzo heels, a DKNY T-shirt, and two new lipsticks in under an hour, while I was still undecided between two pairs of Kenneth Cole earrings. Kaitlyn convinced me to buy them both and we headed back to Bloomingdale’s. This time I sent Kaitlyn to the men’s department alone while I went upstairs and shopped for shoes. I didn’t really believe that Joe would still be down there, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  An hour later we were both hungry again. We settled on a late lunch at Houston’s. I was just about to reach for the handle on the smoky glass door when it opened from the inside. The four of us stood in the entranceway: Me, Kaitlyn, Joe’s girlfriend, and Joe.

  Chapter 22

  The Story of Joe

  “This is a surprise,” Joe said.

  “Yes,” I said and silently thanked God that he hadn’t spotted me running away from him in Bloomingdale’s.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I responded. “And you?”

  “I’m good,” he said.

  “Good,” I said back.

  After a few seconds of awkward silence, the girlfriend extended her hand to me and said, “Hi, I’m Cheryl.”

  “Julie,” I said as we shook. That was when I noticed her diamond engagement ring. Either Joe moved really quick or he was stepping out on her when he went out with me. Goddamn wannabes! They’re all alike. You couldn’t trust any of them. Now I was glad I never called him back.

  I introduced Kaitlyn to Cheryl and Joe, and after a few more seconds of awkward silence, they left.

  The restaurant door hadn’t even closed behind us before Kaitlyn laid into me. “What did you do that for?”

  “What?” I said, pretending I didn’t know exactly what she meant.

  “You totally blew him off.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Yes you did.”

  “What did you want me to do? Didn’t you notice the girl he was with was wearing an engagement ring?”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. She could be a friend.”

  “I don’t go shopping with my male friends. At least not the straight ones.”

  “Why would he have gone out with you if he was engaged to her?”

  “Obviously because he’s just another two-timing wannabe.”

  “I don’t understand you. You’ll join a dating service to meet men, but you blow off the cute guy standing right in front of you that’s clearly interested.”

  “First, he wasn’t clearly interested. Second, he was with his fiancée. Third, I didn’t say I was joining a dating service, I just said I was thinking about it.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “We’ve established that. Now do you want to eat or not?”

  * * *

  Kaitlyn and I studied our menus in silence until a waitress set down a martini glass filled with dark pink liquid.

  “I think you’ve got the wrong table,” I told her. “We didn’t order any drinks.”

  “It’s from the guy at the bar,” the waitress said and cocked her head in that direction. “He asked me to bring it to you with this.” She handed me a folded cocktail napkin which I opened immediately. LUNCH? NO SURPRISES. I showed the note to Kaitlyn and she motioned for Joe to join us.

  “Be nice,” she whispered as he walked toward our table, sans fiancée.

  “May I?” he asked.

  I moved closer to the partition and Joe slid into the booth next to me.

  “Thanks for the drink,” I said.

  “No problem,” he replied.

  “Where’s your friend?” Kaitlyn asked.

  “My sister went back to the hotel. She and her fiancé are staying at the Century Plaza.”

  Kaitlyn gave me a self-satisfied, “I told you so” smile, then spent the next hour interrogating Joe. We learned that he’d lived in L.A. for ten years and that he moved out here after college to pursue an acting career. (I knew it!) He’d gotten some commercial work and guest spots on a few TV shows, but that was it. The last few years he’d spe
nt working for his aunt’s catering business, Food For Thought. He said he started out serving hors d’ oeuvres and tending bar, but discovered that he loved to cook. Now he was splitting his time between bartending and cooking.

  Although I was loathe to bring up the night we met, I had to know. “Then what were you doing working at that bar in New Jersey?” It wasn’t the kind of job anyone would commute across the country for.

  His smile faded. “I went back home for a few months when my dad died.”

  Now I was sorry I’d asked.

  “We, my sisters and I, were all concerned about my mom. She’d never lived alone before. My sisters all had their own families to take care of, so, according to them anyway, I was the logical choice. I took the job at the Montrose to cover my expenses and to give me something to do. I never realized how boring New Jersey was until I moved back. Who was it who said ‘You can’t go home again?’”

  “Thomas Wolfe,” Kaitlyn and I answered in unison.

  “Is that why you came back to L.A.?” Kaitlyn asked.

  “I always intended to come back. I only agreed to stay for a couple of months until my mom adjusted. When she decided to spend the summer at the Shore with one of my sisters, I hopped the next plane home. I think my mom realized I was itching to get back here and just wanted to give me an excuse to leave.”

  Kaitlyn looked satisfied.

  “So is there anything else you’d like to know?” he asked. “Birth date? Shoe size? My favorite color?”

  “I think we’re satisfied,” I said, “for the moment.”

  “But we reserve the right to re-direct at a later time,” Kaitlyn added.

  Joe smiled. “You’re not a lawyer too, are you?”

  “I am,” Kaitlyn said.

  “You’re surrounded,” I told him. “Next time bring your attorney.”

  “Does that mean there’s going to be a next time?” he asked.

  I walked into that one. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

  Chapter 23

  Just Friends

  The three of us split the check and left the restaurant. Joe said goodbye at the entrance and disappeared into the late afternoon shopping throng.

  Once he was out of sight, I turned to Kaitlyn. “So? What did you think?”

  “I think he’s a good guy and you shouldn’t rule him out just because he’s a caterer.”

  “I’m not ruling him out because he’s a caterer. You know I love it when a guy can cook.”

  “Then why are you ruling him out?” she asked.

  “Who said I’m ruling him out?”

  “Because if you weren’t, you would’ve told him you wanted to see him again.”

  She knew me too well. “I have to. He’s a wannabe.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s a caterer.”

  “That’s his day job, or half of it, but he hasn’t given up the dream.”

  “Who cares as long as he has a day job.”

  “I do. Scumbag used to have a day job too.”

  “That was your fault for letting him quit.”

  “Yes, and I’ve learned my lesson. No more wannabes, and that includes Joe. Even if he is cute and can cook.”

  * * *

  When I arrived home from work Wednesday night, I found a message from Joe. My answering machine told me he’d called at four o’clock. He had to know I’d be at the office in the middle of the afternoon. Obviously he was testing me to see if I’d call him back. I called Kaitlyn instead.

  “Why do you always assume the worst?” she said. “Maybe he’s working tonight and that was the only time he could call you.”

  “Then why didn’t he call me in the office?”

  “Maybe he didn’t have the number.”

  “Yes he does. He called me at the office after our lunch date.”

  “Then maybe he lost it,” she said, clearly exasperated. “Why do you care? You’ve ruled him out anyway.”

  “I know. But I’ve been thinking maybe we could be friends. It’d be nice to have a friend who could cook.” Kaitlyn was as useless in the kitchen as I was.

  “I’m pretty sure he wants to be more than just your friend, Jules.”

  “Maybe so. But its friendship or nothing.”

  “And you’re going to call him back to tell him that?”

  “No, I don’t want to do it over the phone. I’d rather tell him in person. Soften the blow.”

  “Good thinking. Otherwise he’d really be devastated.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  * * *

  Joe arrived at my house Sunday morning as good looking as ever in dark rinse jeans and a spotless white T-shirt. I met him at the door dressed in my white cotton cargo pants and a mint green tank top in a vain attempt to show off my slightly muscled arms. I’d started working out with five pound weights at the gym and although I was still a long way from buff, I wanted recognition of the pain I’d endured for the small amount of definition I’d acquired. Just because we were only going to be friends, didn’t mean that I wanted him to stop looking.

  “So where are we going?” I asked as we climbed into Joe’s Jeep. Not an SUV, but a real Jeep with a vinyl roof and plastic, zip-out windows.

  “The best breakfast place I know,” he said.

  “Which is?”

  “My house. Assuming that’s okay with you. I figured now that you knew my whole life story it would be okay for us to meet in private.”

  “You did, huh?”

  “Yes. If I were going to murder you I wouldn’t do it at my house. Too obvious.”

  “But maybe that’s just what you would want people to think. Then they wouldn’t suspect you.”

  “No, they still would. I’d be the last person to have seen you alive.”

  “But how would the police know that?”

  “I’m sure your friend Kaitlyn would tell them. Don’t tell me you didn’t tell her about our plans?”

  “No, I told her. But maybe you were planning on killing her too—too keep her quiet.”

  “That’s a great idea. Where does she live? We can stop and pick her up on the way.”

  “She’s not home.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Too bad. I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with just breakfast. We’ll save the double homicide for another day.”

  It was eighty-five degrees and sunny. A perfect day for a drive with the top down. We wound our way west along Sunset Boulevard and I had to fight to keep from singing along to all the Beatles songs blaring from the car stereo. I’d just glimpsed the Pacific Ocean when Joe turned off Sunset onto a tree-lined side street. After a succession of lefts and rights, I quickly lost my bearings. I’d never driven through the Pacific Palisades before and had no idea where we were.

  Joe pulled into a circular driveway at the end of a cul-de-sac and parked in front of a huge peach stucco house with white shutters and a red-tiled roof.

  “You live here?” I didn’t think bartender/caterers made that much money.

  “It’s my aunt’s house. I live in the guesthouse out back.”

  Joe led me down a gray flagstone path, around the house, and out to the backyard. I followed him past the patio and the Olympic-sized swimming pool, to a cottage in the corner of the yard. It was the same color and style as the main house, but a quarter of the size. Joe led me inside and gave me the tour. The living room, kitchen, bedroom and bath were all decorated in cream and beige with occasional splashes of turquoise and peach.

  “My aunt decorated this place years ago,” he said.

  “I assumed. You didn’t strike me as a turquoise and peach kind of guy.”

  He flashed me his perfect smile and led me back to the kitchen. “What do you want for breakfast?”

  “What are my choices?”

  “Eggs, an omelet, pancakes—you name it.”

  “How about a bagel?” I asked.

  “Sorry,” he said. “No bagels. But I have English muffins.”

  “Do you have blueberry muffins?”
/>   He opened the refrigerator and scoured every shelf. “I’m out of blueberries. How about banana muffins?”

  “I hate bananas.”

  “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wait here,” he said and grabbed his keys from the counter.

  Now I felt bad. “You don’t have to do that. An English muffin is fine. Or pancakes. Whatever you feel like making.”

  “No, I promised you the best breakfast in town and I intend to deliver. I’m sure my aunt has some. I’ll be right back.”

  I settled into the overstuffed living room chair and read the travel section of the Sunday paper, careful to make sure the newsprint didn’t stain the cream cushions. Joe returned a few minutes later with a pint of blueberries.

  From my perch on the high-backed kitchen counter stool, I watched Joe measure, mix, pour, and fold. Then I licked the batter bowl while he squeezed orange juice and ground coffee. Half an hour later we were sitting at a wrought-iron table on his aunt’s patio eating warm blueberry muffins and cold strawberries with cream. I could get used to this.

  When we’d finished eating, Joe disappeared into the guesthouse. He returned a few minutes later carrying two towels, which he spread out on the lounge chairs next to the deep end of the pool. I grabbed my purse and joined him in the sun.

  “Do you want to go for a swim?” he asked after we’d settled in.

  “I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”

  He turned on his side to face me. “You don’t need one,” he said with a wicked grin. “It’s a private pool.”

  I hadn’t intended to have the “just friends” discussion until the end of the day, but if he was planning on us getting naked, then I needed to move it up. “Listen Joe, I think we should talk.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “It’s nothing bad. I just think it would be better if we didn’t get romantically involved.”

  “It’s only a swim, Julie. Don’t make more of it then it is.”

  Typical man. “Joe, I’m not looking for an afternoon quickie. I’m looking for a relationship. Something potentially long-term.”

  “I’m not making any promises, but I don’t have any commitment phobias, if that’s what you’re worried about.”