by Beth Orsoff
The judge rapped her gavel again and the clerk called out, “Burns v. Just A Date, Docket Number 62397N.”
I stood up and walked to the table on the right behind the sign marked PLAINTIFF. The clerk collected my documents and handed them to the judge. She skimmed them for maybe thirty seconds before she looked up. The table marked DEFENDANT was still empty. The judge glanced at the wall clock. It was already five minutes after ten.
The judge told the clerk to check the hallway. I turned and watched the clerk walk to the back of the courtroom and stick his head out the door. That was when I noticed Molly Truitt sitting in the last row of the gallery. What was she doing here? The last thing I wanted was an audience.
Molly looked older today. When I’d met her on Monday in her jeans and T-shirt and her hair pulled back in a pony tail, I’d guessed her age as twenty-three. Today, in her black pants suit, high heeled shoes, and full hair and makeup, she could’ve passed for thirty-five.
The clerk returned to his seat next to the bench sans defendant.
“Well, Ms. Burns,” the judge said, “today’s your lucky day. Since the defendant has seen fit not to join our gathering, I’m entering a default judgment in your favor. You’ll receive written notification of my ruling by mail.”
The judge wrapped her gavel and the clerk called the next case. I never even had to open my mouth. I wish I could win all my cases so easily. I gathered my notes and extra set of documents and headed out to the hallway. Molly and the two men sitting next to her followed me outside. The younger man was carrying a large black case. When he reached the hallway, he opened it and pulled out a video camera which he handed to the older man, and a microphone which he handed to Molly.
I kept on walking. Molly and her entourage followed.
“So tell me, Ms. Burns,” Molly shouted at my back, “do you feel vindicated by this judgment?”
I ignored her and picked up my pace.
“You’re an attractive woman,” she shouted again. “Why did you feel the need to join a dating service?”
I could feel my blood pressure rising, but I kept moving.
“Do you believe all those statistics that say a woman over thirty-five has a greater chance of being hit by a bus then getting married?”
She had to be making that one up!
“Tell us, Ms. Burns, do you agree that women who join dating services are desperate?”
I stopped to turn and look at her. Then I looked at the camera. Don’t go there, Julie, you’ll regret it. I turned back and continued walking down the seemingly endless hallway.
“You must admit,” she said, “it’s certainly a sign of desperation when you have to pay someone to get a date?”
That got me.
I turned and faced her, ignoring the camera 8-inches from my face. “First of all, I’m not desperate. Second of all, I’m only thirty-two. And third, I’ve got plenty of dates, with or without Just A Date.”
“How many dates?”
“Lots,” I said and started walking again.
“How many? One? Two? Maybe three in the last three years?”
“I’ve probably had twenty-five dates in the last six months.” I hadn’t actually counted, but it certainly felt like that many. Of course it wasn’t twenty-five different men, just twenty-five dates. I’d probably only dated ten or twelve men.
“That is a lot. I guess I had you all wrong.”
“Yeah,” I said without thinking, “I’m not desperate, I’m just romantically challenged.”
She paused a moment then smiled. “You’re right.”
Oh shit. I smiled at Molly for the first time that morning. “You know I was just kidding, right? There’s no such thing as romantically challenged. I made it up.”
“Of course there is,” she replied. “A woman who dates tons of men, but never has a relationship with any of them. No one man is ever good enough. They all have something wrong with them. It’s a great story.”
“No,” I said, this time without the smile. “There won’t be any story because I’m not romantically challenged.” That’s when I noticed the other people in the hallway staring at us. I decided to cut my losses and sprint to the exit.
Molly and her camera crew followed me down the stairs and out to the parking lot, Molly shouting all the way. “Then why can’t you find just one?”
“What are you, my mother?”
“Just a hard working reporter trying to get a story.”
“You told me you were a freelance journalist.”
“I am,” she said. “I’m on assignment.”
“For who?”
“Hollywood Tonight.”
“Why would Hollywood Tonight be interested in me? I’m not a celebrity.”
“They run human interest stories too. Especially during the holidays. Don’t you want to be on television?”
“No, what I want is to be left alone!” I hurried across the parking lot in the direction of my car. This time Molly didn’t follow.
As I pulled out onto the street, I caught a glimpse of Molly and her camera crew setting up their gear in front of the courthouse sign. She was wasting her time. Hollywood Tonight would never air this. There was no story to air.
* * *
I slipped into my office only an hour and twenty minutes late and immediately called Kaitlyn.
“How did it go this morning?” she asked. “Did you win?”
I told her about my default judgment and the appearance of Molly Truitt. “You don’t really think Hollywood Tonight would air it do you?”
“Of course not. There’s nothing to air. It’s not like you talked to the woman.”
“Well, not really. I mean, I did deny some of the allegations.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t give her any information.”
“No. Except I might’ve mentioned that I went on twenty-five dates in the last six months.”
“That’s not a story. That’s just dating when you’re over thirty.”
“True. But the complaint I filed with the court is a public record.”
“Yes, but all it says is you joined a dating service, you were promised six dates, you had two, and the company went out of business. No story there. Companies go out of business every day.”
“Keep going. You’ve almost got me convinced that my entire life is not about to be revealed on national television.”
“Jules, you know I love you, but you have to trust me on this. Your life isn’t interesting enough to be the basis for national news.”
“Not even seedy tabloid news?”
“Not even The National Enquirer. Now just forget about it and concentrate on your date with Joe. When is it again? Saturday?”
“Yes, but it’s not a date. I’m just taking him to lunch to say thank you.”
“Uh, huh.”
“It’s true!”
“Have it your way,” she said. “Just call me afterwards with an update.”
I promised I would and hung up.
It really wasn’t a date. Joe might not be a bartender anymore, but he was still a wannabe.
Chapter 59
The Non-Date
I called Joe Friday afternoon to confirm our lunch plans for Saturday. We agreed to meet at Johnnie’s in Santa Monica at one o’clock for the closest thing to New York pizza either of us had found in L.A. Since this wasn’t a date, I decided I could wear jeans rather than my usual black pants. It was just coincidence that the first pair I pulled out of the closet were the jeans that made me look thin.
When I arrived at the restaurant at two minutes to one, Joe was already waiting. He was wearing blue jeans and a navy sweatshirt. Obviously he didn’t think it was a date either.
“You’re prompt,” I said.
“I was afraid if I was late, you might not wait.”
“I’d have given you ten minutes.”
“I’ll remember that.”
After a heated debate over whether good pizza actually needed toppings and if so, which one
s, Joe and I compromised by ordering a half pepperoni, half cheese pizza. After we polished off most of the pie, the waiter cleared our dishes and placed the check on the table next to Joe. I reached across and grabbed it before Joe even had a chance to sneak a peek.
“I’ll take that,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I wasn’t going to pay.”
“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you?”
He folded his arms across his chest and grinned. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Just for that, you’re not getting any ice cream.”
“Ice cream? I didn’t know you were buying me dessert too.”
“I was going to, but not anymore.”
“Pleeeease,” he said. “I promise to be good.”
“Sorry, you blew it.” I left the money on the table and walked outside. Joe followed.
“Surely there must be something I can say to change your mind.”
“Nope.”
“How about a challenge?”
Hmmm. “What kind of a challenge?”
“A game,” he said. “Loser pays for dessert.”
“That’s fair, as long as I can choose the sport.”
* * *
“You want to play a video game?” Joe said when I led him to the arcade at the Santa Monica Pier.
“Skee-Ball,” I said. It was one of my hidden talents. I’d won a Skee-Ball championship when I was in the third grade. Skee-Ball machines are hard to find, but I knew they had them here. Or at least they did five years ago, which was the last time I’d played.
“What’s Skee-Ball?” he asked.
“You’ve never played Skee-Ball before?”
“I’m not sure. What is it?”
“A cross between bowling and archery.”
“This I gotta see.”
I led Joe to the back of the arcade. Luckily, the Skee-Ball machines were still there. It was the only spot in the building that wasn’t crawling with pre-pubescent boys. Skee-Ball was way too low tech for anyone under twenty-five.
I inserted my quarters into the slot and eight small wooden balls whooshed down the chute. “You score points by rolling the ball up the hill and into the numbered circles. The higher the number, the better.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to throw the ball into the circles?” Joe asked.
“This isn’t baseball. You have to roll it.” I picked up a wooden ball and demonstrated the proper Skee-Ball technique. Then I handed Joe a ball so he could try it. He wasn’t as bad as I thought he’d be for a first-timer. We both took a few more practice shots, then I started a new game.
I won the first match 180 to 120.
“Best two out of three,” Joe said.
He won the second two matches 190 to 160 and 200 to 180.
“Want to play best three out of five?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “You’re getting too good.”
“Beginner’s luck.”
I wasn’t so sure. “Tell me the truth. I promise I won’t get mad. Have you ever played this game before?”
“Well, once you showed it to me it did seem a little familiar.”
“You liar! You knew how to play all along, didn’t you?”
“I’m taking the fifth.”
“Too late. I already know you’re guilty. Since you cheated, I win by default.”
“That’s not fair. You picked the game.”
“That was when I thought you didn’t know how to play.”
“No, you picked it before I told you I didn’t know how to play.”
I was hoping he wouldn’t remember that detail. But I was not so easily deterred. “Yes, but I won the first match. I never would’ve agreed to best two out of three if I knew you were scamming me.”
Joe considered that for a moment. “Okay. I’ll buy the ice cream, but only if you take me on the roller coaster.” The Santa Monica Pier had rides as well as video games.
“Done,” I said and we shook hands on it. I would’ve gone on the roller coaster anyway.
* * *
By the time we left the Pier, the sun had begun to set and the air was getting chilly. I was wearing a long sleeve shirt, but I was still freezing. Joe must’ve noticed me rubbing my arms.
“Do you want my sweatshirt?” he asked.
God, yes. I’d been eyeing it jealously for the last hour. “No, I can’t take your shirt.”
“Sure you can. I have a T-shirt underneath.”
“Won’t you be cold in just a T-shirt?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve been hot all day.” Joe pulled off his sweatshirt and handed it to me. I caught a quick glimpse of his stomach before he pulled his T-shirt back down. Even after half a pizza, it was still flat.
I yanked the sweatshirt over my head. It was just as warm as I’d imagined, and it smelled good too – a combination laundry detergent, sea air, and Joe.
We walked back to the car in comfortable silence. Usually, by this point in a date I couldn’t wait to get home. But then again, this wasn’t a date.
“Thanks for lunch,” Joe said when we reached my car. “I had a really good time today.”
“Me too,” I replied and meant it. I wasn’t ready for the day to end so on impulse I asked, “Do you have any interest in going to the movies tonight? I’m dying to see the new George Clooney movie.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t. I have plans tonight.”
“Hot date?” I asked without thinking. I really needed to work on that.
“I should probably take the fifth on that one too.”
I agreed. I’d already been deflated. I didn’t want to know any more.
“Maybe we could go one night next week,” he added. “I’m off Thursday and Friday.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’m sure I can rustle up another movie partner.”
As soon as I could no longer see Joe in my car’s rearview mirror, I pulled out my cell phone and called Kaitlyn. As I’d suspected, she and Steve were going to see the new George Clooney movie. Kaitlyn loved him even more than I did. We agreed to meet in front of the Century City multiplex at seven o’clock.
* * *
By the time the credits rolled, I’d recovered most of the good mood I’d had before Joe blew me off. Steve, Kaitlyn, and I walked to Houston’s to add our name to the waiting list, then we headed to the bookstore to kill thirty to forty minutes until our table became available.
Borders was packed. Unfortunately, it had a lot less to do with Los Angelenos being avid readers (most weren’t), and a lot more to do with it being the only store in the mall that was still open at ten o’clock at night. It was too crowded to browse comfortably, so I bought a magazine with George Clooney on the cover and told Kaitlyn to meet me outside when she was finished.
I settled in at an empty table at the edge of the food court. From that vantage point, I could see the entrance to the bookstore and still people watch the crowds at the outdoor Brazilian restaurant next to the theater. I half expected to see Greg. It was his new favorite date spot. Instead, to my astonishment, I spotted Joe. He’d traded in his blue jeans and T-shirt for black jeans and a gray sweater. It must be his standard outfit since he’d worn something similar on our first date.
The woman standing next to him was tall, thin, and blonde. She wore a black miniskirt, stiletto heels, and a low cut blouse. What she lacked in natural assets she made up for with a push-up bra. I hated her already.
I wanted to walk up to Joe and say hello so I could see the bimbo up close and he’d be forced to introduce me. That would be interesting. I could even make his life really difficult by offering to return his sweatshirt. which I was still wearing. But then Joe would see me at Century City alone on a Saturday night. That would be humiliating.
I was still concealing myself behind my magazine when Kaitlyn interrupted.
“Why are you holding the magazine over your face? I only knew it was you because George Clooney was on the cover.”
“Sit down
and be quiet,” I whispered. “I’m trying to hide.”
“From who?” she asked in her normal loud speaking voice.
I yanked her down into a chair and shushed her. “From Joe. He’s here with a woman who’s definitely not his sister.”
“Where?” she said and stood up.
I pulled her down again and described what both of them were wearing. She sat up in her chair and scanned the crowd on the terrace until she found them.
“She’s definitely a date,” Kaitlyn said.
“Thanks a lot.”
“Why do you care? You don’t want him.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want him to want me. Besides, we had a really good time today. I was actually reconsidering the whole wannabe thing.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“No, and I’m glad I didn’t since he’s obviously dating someone else.”
“You’re hopeless,” she said and stood up. “I’m going to find Steve. Why don’t you go to the restaurant and check on our status and we’ll meet you over there.”
I waited until I saw Joe and his date move inside before I went back to Houston’s. The hostess told me there were still five parties ahead of us. I was walking back to the bookstore to tell Kaitlyn and Steve that they didn’t need to rush, when I saw Joe and his date walking towards me. There was nowhere to hide. And there was no point. Joe had already seen me.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” he said.
“Me neither,” I replied. It could’ve been worse. At least he didn’t have his arm around her.
Joe introduced me to the bimbo, whose name was Barbara. “But everyone calls me Barbie,” she said. I didn’t need to wonder why. Although all of my Barbie Dolls had been natural blondes. This one was overdue for a touch-up.
“So you decided to see the movie tonight after all.”
He didn’t say “by yourself,” but I knew that was the implication. I didn’t look like I was on a date. Besides being alone, I was still wearing my jeans and his sweatshirt. But that didn’t stop me from lying. “I told you I’d rustle up a date.”
“I never doubted you,” he said.