Bad Boy

by Olivia Goldsmith

  “Let her see it?” he whined. “Tracie, you’re getting me nuts. This is cruel and unusual punishment. Maybe we should cancel this. I’m so behind on my work. And I’m not feeling well all of a sudden.”

  “Don’t even think about getting sick,” she warned him, “or it’s back to airports for you. Anyway, she’ll love you over this. It will make you seem like a conqueror. You can have anyone, but you picked her.”

  “But I might also be picking up someone else,” he whined. He still didn’t get it.

  Tracie rolled her eyes. “Jonny, this is what dating in the new millennium is all about: cruel and unusual punishment. Now do you get it?”

  “I got it. So I’m going to meet her in front of your building at five-thirty.”

  “But be sure not to come until about quarter to six,” she said.

  “But . . . ah. Okay,” he agreed.

  “See ya. Wouldn’t wanna be ya!” Tracie sang out, using Encino-speak again. Only after she had hung up and gone back to work did she notice that the light for line two had gone out. Phil! She shrugged. She didn’t know where to reach him, but Phil would call back.

  Beth was primping while Tracie, Laura, and Sara watched the operation. “You ought to brush out your hair,” Sara suggested. Tracie handed her a blusher and straightened up her collar.

  “I already have, Sara. Thanks. God, I’ll probably sweat like a nervous pig,” Beth said. “I wish I’d brought my perfume.”

  “You want to borrow some of my Giorgio?” Laura asked, rummaging through her bag.

  “Thanks, but no,” Beth said. “I already put on White Shoulders this morning. Together, they might curdle. Is he really cute, Trace?”

  “Yeah. He’s cute . . . in a kind of James Dean way.” Tracie figured she could plant that in Beth’s mind.

  But Beth asked, “Who’s James Dean?”

  “Some dead guy. An actor, right, who made sausages?” Sara said.

  “You’re so lucky, Beth. I haven’t been on a date in four months. Tracie, why don’t you ever fix me up with somebody? Doesn’t Jonny have friends?” Sara asked.

  “Tracie never used to know anybody good,” Beth said. “Laura, where did she find this guy? I’d never heard of him,” Beth pointed out as she applied some mascara.

  “She’s manufactured him,” Laura told the girls, then grinned over their heads at Tracie. Tracie gave Laura a warning look, then looked at her watch. “You’re going to be late,” she told Beth. “And Laura and I are going out for a drink.”

  Beth panicked. “You’re kidding! I still have to tweeze my left eyebrow. Who has a pair of tweezers?” she asked. “I look like Gorilla Girl.” Laura handed her the tweezers while Tracie sneaked a peek out the window. Whatever time Beth got there, Jon had to be a little later. God, she hoped Beth wouldn’t be too disappointed or diss him too badly.

  “It’s already twenty to six,” Tracie announced. “You were supposed to be there ten minutes ago.”

  “Make him wait. They’re always late for us,” Sara said.

  Beth plucked two invisible hairs from her eyebrows, returned the tweezers, picked up her bag, and was ready to run. “Hey, if we go to the elevator bank, we can see them meet across the street,” Sara said.

  “Let’s go,” Laura agreed.

  So Laura, Tracie, Beth, and Sara wove around the homeward-bound stragglers in the hall. They got to the elevator and Beth pushed the button. “Wish me luck!” she cried.

  Before they could answer, the doors opened and she got in the elevator. Just then, the disgustingly beautiful Allison dashed into the hallway. “Hold the elevator!” she called. “I’m late.”

  “As if I give a shit,” Sara murmured, but of course one of the men in the car hit the open button, hoping that for just a few moments he could stand beside Allison and drink in her aura. Beth was standing beside Allison, and her glow faded, but Tracie refused to acknowledge that.

  “Have fun,” Tracie said. “He’s a dreamboat.”

  The three remaining women watched the door close on her hopeful face. First Sara, then Laura, and finally Tracie drifted over to the window. They waited a few minutes, looking out onto the street. Soon enough, Beth was below them. They watched as she crossed the street and stood alone in the twilight.

  “If that son of a bitch doesn’t show . . .” Sara said under her breath. “You know, Beth’s had it so rough.”

  “He’ll show,” Tracie said grimly, hoping she was right.

  “She looks really great,” Laura said a little wistfully, her nose almost pressed to the window. “So thin.”

  “Ha! I hope he comes at her from the front and doesn’t see her ass first,” Sara said.

  “Sara!” both Laura and Tracie cried.

  “Just joking,” Sara said.

  Below them, Beth stood there, shifting from one leg to another, trying to lean against a light pole nonchalantly. The girls all watched in silence for a few more minutes. Despite her nerves, or because of them, her face had that first-date brightness that turns into a glow when women fall in love.

  “If he doesn’t show, I’ll kill you, Tracie,” Laura said.

  “If he does and he’s good-looking, I’ll kill you for setting up Beth before you thought of me,” Sara grumbled.

  “Hey, hey!” Tracie soothed. “Don’t get so excited. You probably won’t even like his looks.”

  Just then, Tracie saw him chaining his bike to a railing just around the corner. God! She hoped they hadn’t noticed him yet. Like an idiot, he had the motorcycle helmet lashed to the handlebars. She had to tell him everything, including not to take the Schwinn to the date. It was amazing that he didn’t get arrested for public lameness. Tracie watched as he grabbed the helmet, ran down the street, and then slowed at the corner. She saw him check his reflection in the drugstore window. Luckily, Sara and Laura still hadn’t spotted him. So that when he made the turn and swaggered across the street, there was nothing to link him to the Schwinn.

  “There he is,” Laura said. Down below, Jonny crossed the street and approached Beth. Clearly, they’d made contact and were introducing themselves. Tracie stepped back from the two girls and surveyed their reaction.

  “Oh God. He looks great!” Sara was saying. She put her face up closer to the window and cupped her hands around the side of her head to cut down the reflection and get a better view.

  “Nice sweater,” Laura commented.

  “Nice jacket. I saw one like that last year in Ralph Lauren,” Sara continued. “Looks like the guy’s got some bucks. Not to mention a nice set of pecs.”

  “He’s got a helmet! Does he have a motorcycle?” Laura asked. Tracie remembered that Peter had a motorcycle.

  “Where’s his bike?” Sara asked.

  “He probably parked it around the block,” Tracie said truthfully; then, to distract them, she added, “You know, he just broke up with someone.”

  From the window, they watched Jonny and Beth talking. Jon put his hand in his pocket and pulled something out, putting it right in front of Beth’s face.

  “Is that a lighter?” Sara asked. “But Beth doesn’t smoke.”

  Tracie rolled her eyes as Jon put the Pez dispenser back in his pocket. She’d have to kill him later. Then he reached out and touched the end of Beth’s hair. The two of them laughed over something. And, in the silence by the elevator bay, loneliness began to envelop the three women. Tracie couldn’t help but remember how excited she used to get when she’d first met Phil‌—how she’d spend an hour trying on every possible outfit. She remembered how happy she’d get just seeing him. That reminded her. “Laura, come on. We’ve got to go,” Tracie said. “I’ve got only twenty minutes for a drink and then I’ve got to meet Phil.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve got a story due.” Sara sighed.

  “I guess I’ll get to work on my resume tonight,” Laura said. “That, and read the want ads.”

  The three women all sighed as one and then each turned her back on the window and walked away.
>
  Chapter 22

  A waitress stood at the table and looked expectantly at Jon and Beth. She looked at least a hundred and ten years old, one of those women who would work until the day she died.

  They were at the Merchants Café, the oldest restaurant in Seattle, and their waitress was probably even older. Jon was nervous, but so far, he hadn’t blown it. Before he’d left work, he had called and had another quick review session with Tracie. She was going to show up and observe from a distance, to help him through. He was determined to do this perfectly: remember the lines he was supposed to say, compliment the appropriate odd thing, and avoid any mention of his dietary habits. He would carry no luggage, and he wouldn’t hang off any rock walls.

  But somehow, as he looked across at Beth’s pretty face, all the tutoring became a mishmash in his head. For a moment, he felt sad and wondered why all the charade was necessary. It just increased the gulf between them. But he had to admit that Beth was really cute and she was looking at him with more interest than he’d gotten from a woman in a long, long time. He told himself he was going to have to tough it out. He was absolutely committed to making all the right plays.

  By now, the waitress was tapping her foot, impatient for their order. Jon remembered that there was something he was supposed to do when Beth selected her meal. He tried to think quickly, reviewing what it was. Something about veal? No. For a moment, he panicked. Then he remembered. He’d have to wait until she selected her choice.

  “I’ll have the Dover sole,” Beth said to the waitress.

  “Are you sure you want to order that?” Jon asked, proud that he’d remembered in time.

  “Why? Isn’t it fresh here?” Beth asked him.

  Wait. That wasn’t part of his tutorial. He realized, too late, that in Tracie’s scenario, his date ordered something very fattening.

  “All of our fish is fresh daily,” the waitress said hostilely, as if any discussion of the fish reflected on her honor.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sure it is,” Jon said apologetically. He hadn’t meant to insult the Merchants Café. How could he explain? Thinking quickly, he said, “Uh, I’ll have the sole, too.” He didn’t particularly like sole, but it was a good peacemaking gesture. At least he hoped so.

  “It comes with salad. You want potatoes or rice?” The waitress took the rest of their order without comment and then left, shaking her head. Meanwhile, Beth was staring at him, a half smile on her face.

  “You’re weird. You warn me not to have the fish and then you order it, too?”

  Jon shrugged. Okay. He’d screwed that up, but he wouldn’t screw up anything else. He tried to think of what James Dean might do. He probably wouldn’t have ordered the sole. What had Tracie taught him? He looked across at Beth. She did have pretty eyes, dark, with a fringe of darker lashes, but he knew he wasn’t supposed to say that. So when the waitress returned to the table and put two salads down, Jon took the old woman’s hand to stop her. He looked at Beth. “Doesn’t she have the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen?” he asked his date.

  But, even as the words were out of his mouth, he realized with a sinking feeling that it was very clear that the waitress’s eyes were not beautiful. In fact, they were hardly visible, buried as they were in the folds of her wrinkled face.

  “Oh, yeah. She absolutely does,” Beth agreed, probably to make the woman feel good. Or because she thought Jon was trying to be sweet.

  “Thank you,” the waitress responded. Well, he hadn’t made Beth jealous, but at least he’d made up for his fish insult. What next? This was so difficult. He sighed. Once the waitress left, he began to fiddle with his salad, afraid to speak and afraid of the silence.

  “That was considerate,” Beth said, using the voice that he’d heard all his life. “You’re a sweet guy.”

  “No I’m not,” Jon said with more force than he meant to use. Beth blinked the eyes he was not supposed to comment on. Great. Next he’d start babbling about his luggage and the Unabomber. She’d run screaming from the restaurant. Get a grip, he told himself. Beth was saying something about the place and he had to get out of his head and respond. “Are you from Seattle?” he managed to ask. God, that was lame, but at least it got her going. She began talking about each of the places she’d lived. But he got distracted. Because out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tracie enter the place with Phil and take a table on the other side of the restaurant. Oh, no. She had told him she would be there for him, but somehow he hadn’t imagined Phil along with her.

  Of course, she wouldn’t be coming alone and he supposed that Phil‌—odious as he was‌—was better than Laura. In case he blew this, he didn’t want the woman he’d accidentally tried to pick up to watch him go down in flames.

  Tracie surveyed the room, caught his eye, and then waved to him discreetly. She slipped into a chair with her back to Beth and Jon. Then Jon realized that Beth was asking him a question.

  “Huh?” he asked like a lunkhead.

  “What kind of bike do you ride?” she repeated.

  “A Schwinn . . . uh . . . Could you excuse me a minute?” he asked as she laughed.

  “Yeah, sure, Jonny,” she told him. He gritted his teeth. He hated that stupid name. He got up and started to walk toward Tracie’s table, but Beth interrupted him. “I think the men’s room is that way,” she said.

  “Oh, thanks. Yeah, right.” He walked off in the direction that Beth pointed in, then managed to hide himself for a moment in the hallway and doubled back. He crouched, then ran to Tracie’s table. He stuck his head up between Tracie and Phil. He’d just blank Phil out. Phil, and all the smooth Phils of the world. Jon focused on Tracie.

  But he couldn’t blank Phil out, because when he raised his head to Phil’s eye level, Phil did a complete double take. If he’d had something in his mouth, it would have been a spit take. Though he was in no mood for jokes, Jon readied himself for the insult.

  “Whoa, little dude! Is that Jonny?” Jon didn’t bother to respond, but Phil continued. “Tracie, he looks good. I mean for him, he looks really good!”

  Jon just decided to ignore him. “It’s going all wrong,” he told Tracie.

  “Oh, really?” she said sarcastically. “Could it have been when you flicked your Bic at her?”

  “It wasn’t a Bic it was a Pez.”

  “Well, that makes all the difference,” Tracie told him, but the sarcasm was lost on him.

  “Okay, okay. I screwed up but how do I fix it?”

  “How do you know you have to?”

  “She’s already told me she thought I was a nice guy.”

  Phil laughed. “Uh-oh,” he said. “You can take the dweeb out of Nerdland, but you can’t take the nerd out of the dweeb.”

  “Thanks, Yoda,” Jon snapped.

  “What were her words exactly?” Tracie asked.

  “She said I was ‘a sweet guy.’ ”

  Phil laughed. “Shit!” Tracie said. She rarely used expletives, so Jon knew it was as bad as he thought it was. He’d tried to do his part. He’d tried to do everything she told him to. He’d tried to follow directions, he really had. The hair, the clothes, the restaurant, the things he was supposed to say, and not supposed to say, but it still wasn’t working. Maybe he should consider a career in a monastery.

  Despite his nervousness, he realized he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop. “And she didn’t order veal Parmesan, the waitress is older than my grannie, and when I pulled the beautiful eyes bit, she thought I was being sweet.” He banged the table with his fist. “Why do they always think I’m sweet?”

  Tracie tried to reassure him. “Calm down. Don’t worry. They’ll feel you’re heartless enough eventually. This is only your first try. Just think of this as a practice. Did you do the phone number trick?”

  “What trick?” he asked.

  Tracie glanced over at Phil, then glanced back at Jon. “The one I told you about,” she said. She took his hand and wrote on it with her finger.

  “Oh, ye
ah,” Jon said. “Yeah, I mean, no, but I will.” Despite himself, he turned his head toward Phil, who, if he had to witness this humiliation, could at least be useful. “By the way, Phil, do you ride a Yamaha?”

  Phil looked at him with disgust. “No, I play a Yamaha. I ride a Suzuki.”

  Jon had to get back and had no time to be as snotty as he would have liked. “Great. Thanks,” was all he had time to say before he scurried back to the hallway. There he stood up, looking around for a woman to talk to before he wrote on his hand. But there wasn’t a woman around, and even if there had been, Beth couldn’t see him. He had to do something, so he just took out a pen and scribbled a phone number on his hand. Walking the way James Dean did in Giant, he swaggered back to the table, where their fish had already been served.

  “I started without you,” Beth told him. “I hope you don’t think that’s rude.”

  “No. Not at all.” He put his hand out to reach for the tartar sauce and almost knocked it over. Beth caught it and held his hand for a minute. “Oh. Thanks,” he said.

  Beth colored and looked down. She noticed his hand. “Isn’t that Tracie’s phone number?” she asked him.

  Goddamn it! “Uuh . . . yeah. Sometimes I forget it,” he said as smoothly as he could. He figured he’d better change the subject. “So, to answer your question, I ride a Suzuki.”

  “A 750?” she asked as she put a piece of endive in her mouth.

  Her mouth was very sexy. It was pouty, or whatever word women’s magazines used when talking about fluffy lips. She had a very red lipstick on, and for some reason, it gave Jon a real tug in his lap. “Uh, yeah.”

  “I didn’t know Suzuki made a 750. My brother rode a Harley.” She finished her fish. “He said Japanese bikes were all crap.”

  “Well, that seems kind of ethnocentric.”

  He looked down at his own fish. It was cold, and he’d never wanted it in the first place.

  “Don’t you like your fish, Jonny?”

  God! Every time she called him that, he thought she was talking to someone else. “Uh, yeah. Well, no. Not really,” he admitted. “I just ordered it because you ordered it. But I’m not a vegetarian or anything,” he assured her. There was a silence for a moment. He had to say something. “You have very nice earlobes,” he said at last. “Very shapely.”