Just Three Dates

by David Burnett

  Neither spoke for a moment.

  “Emily’s fine…she knows that our mothers have…plans…”

  “Something to drink?”

  “Whatever you’re drinking.”

  Mark ordered a Coke and the two of them stood silently, watching teenaged boys showing off for their girlfriends, doing cannon balls into the pool, each one seeming to try to splash more water onto the deck than had the one before, and they stepped back to avoid being soaked. The afternoon sun blinded them and they took refuge under a large umbrella.

  “Much better,” Mark said. “Even sunglasses are no match for the sun today.”

  Karen sipped her drink.

  “Who was the blond girl you were talking with?”

  She mentally kicked herself as the words left her mouth. They’d just been introduced and she was sounding like a jealous wife.

  “I mean, I’ve seen her around, but I don’t know her name, and I…” Her voice trailed off as she realized there was no way to make it sound any better.

  Mark studied her face as if trying to understand her question.

  “Her name is Sandra Montgomery. She had a…mathematics question.”

  “Oh, oh, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business anyway and of course I’d never pry into your work.”

  Mark smiled politely. “It’s quite all right. It wasn’t work. She wanted free advice and posed, she said, a totally hypothetical question.” He paused and Karen thought he had said all he planned to say, but he continued.

  “Hypothetically,” he grinned, “if a blond woman is married to a blond man, what is the probability that they would have a child with black hair?”

  “Is that a math question?”

  “It’s a question of probability. Probability and genetics.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  Mark sipped his cola.

  “Zero, based on my limited knowledge of genetics, of course. I did add that the environment and other factors, as well as genes, impact hair color, but she seemed rather unhappy with my response. Can’t imagine why. It was all hypothetical.”

  Karen chuckled. “She did leave rather abruptly.”

  “True.”

  Several moments passed in silence. When Karen could no longer take it, she spoke.

  “Well, our mothers have been talking and I guess we’ve both agreed to…to three dates and…” The whole plan suddenly seemed incredibly silly. Her face felt warm and she knew it was not sunburn.

  “So what would you like to do on our first date?” Mark looked away as he spoke.

  “Aren’t you supposed to suggest something when you ask me out?’ Karen was teasing him, trying to elicit a real smile.

  “Our mothers asked us out, so we really should consult with them, but I’m afraid of what my mother would suggest.” He paused, staring out at the beach. “House-hunting or…”

  “Shopping for baby furniture.” Karen choked as she heard herself speaking and she felt certain her face was turning purple with embarrassment.

  Mark didn’t respond, and, after another long, awkward moment, Karen cleared her throat.

  “I work at the Memorial Arts Center, and we have a new exhibit opening next weekend. Would you be interested in accompanying me to the opening gala on Friday night? I mean, I have to attend, anyway, but it would be nice not to go alone…”

  “Going alone is terrible, isn’t it,” Mark said in a sympathetic voice. “And corralling a friend into going with you is almost as bad.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I’ll be happy to accompany you. What is the exhibit?”

  “It’s a Monet exhibit. We’ve assembled twenty-five of his paintings from all over the world. Are you familiar with Monet and his work?”

  “Of course.”

  Mark looked offended and Karen silently berated herself. Snob, she thought.

  “You’ll enjoy the exhibit then, I expect.”

  They agreed that Mark would call for Karen on Friday at seven thirty.

  ***

  As he walked toward his car, Mark looked back over his shoulder. Karen was standing beneath a tree near the club’s entrance, waiting for her mother.

  After making their date, neither one had found anything more to say. They’d stood by the pool for several moments while Mark studied his glass of Coke, and Karen alternated between gazing out at the ocean and, what Mark could only assume was studying her pedicure. Finally, she had excused herself to walk on the beach.

  Mark had watched her stroll down to the water and dip her toes, testing the temperature before wading in. He had turned to speak to a friend, and had not seen Karen again until he was leaving the club. She had declined Mark’s suggestion that he wait with her.

  “If Mom sees us together…once she starts talking, it’ll be an hour before either of us is able to leave.”

  On the plus side, Karen was more attractive than he’d expected.

  He chuckled. She needed a better portfolio. Even the picture of her in the swimsuit didn’t do her justice.

  He turned away and strolled across the parking lot, frowning as he approached his car.

  Monet? Was he the one who tossed paint toward the canvas and called it a painting? Or did he paint people’s bodies in the shapes of rectangles? He shook his head. He’d avoided the required art appreciation course until his last semester in college and had basically slept through the lectures. If Lucia had not majored in art…

  He shook his head to clear his mind. Surely he could find a book.

  He suddenly smiled.

  “Vicky,” he said aloud, remembering a friend of his who worked at the museum. “She manages the museum’s bookstore. They will publish a catalog of the exhibit.”

  The one thing Mark did know about a major exhibition was that the museum would publish a book, the catalog, that would contain photographs of all of the works on display, information about each one, a biography of the artist, and, perhaps, scholarly essays concerning the artist, his work, and the period in which he lived.

  “Vicky can get me an advance copy. At least I won’t seem to be a complete dunce.”

  He paused as he opened the door to his Corvette and stood outside for a moment, allowing the hot air to escape. The palm trees that surrounded the lot provided no protection from the summer sun, and the interior was sweltering. He should have left the top down.

  “I’ll say I need the catalog for…for a friend.” He chuckled. “A hypothetical friend.”

  He climbed into the car and flipped on the air. He sighed.

  “Why do I care if Karen finds that I’m illiterate when it comes to art?” he mumbled. “Mom said she’s an artist, so I’ll wager she needed a tutor to make it through remedial algebra.”

  The things he did to make his mother happy.

  The Catalog

  “They’re not on sale yet. Not until Friday night. If you’ll come to the gala, I’ll have one waiting for you.”

  When did Vicky become a stickler for rules? When they were in college, if mischief was to be made, she was the ringleader. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to post the book online or anything.

  “Vicky, please…”

  “It’s policy, Mark. I’d need a really good reason to let one go early.”

  Mark sat in his office, his feet propped on his desk, a pile of tests, which he should have been grading, laying on the desk, and a cup of tea waiting beside them.

  He frowned. He and Vicky had been talking on the telephone for fifteen minutes and she had not budged from her refusal to provide an advance copy of the Monet catalog.

  “Look, I’m a big fan of Monet’s work, but I’ll be out of town and I’ll miss the exhibition and…”

  “A fan?” Vicky laughed. “Tell me three things about Monet. Start with his first name.”

  “Uh…Pierre?”

  “Claude.”

  “Okay, Claude. He was…French and…uh, he painted…portraits, and…”

  “Pooh. Big fan, my hind fo
ot,” she exclaimed. “Tell me the real reason you want the book early.”

  Mark sighed. He’d hoped to avoid this. Vicky and Karen both worked at the museum, and if Vicky were to run to Karen with his request, then it would be pointless.

  “I’ll tell you the truth.”

  “Uh-huh. Right.”

  Mark could imagine the look of skepticism on her face.

  “You could have led with the truth.”

  “Anyway…the truth is, I’m accompanying a lady to the gala, and I don’t want her to think I’m ignorant when it comes to art.”

  “You are ignorant when it comes to art! You don’t know the difference between water color and oil, between classic and cubist, between da Vinci and Grandma Moses, between—”

  “All right,” Mark snapped. “I don’t want her to realize I’m ignorant as soon as I enter the building.”

  “I’d have thought that Lucia…”

  Mark released the breath he was about to hold, anticipating what would come next, but, thankfully, Vicky seemed to catch herself before she said too much.

  “Come on, Mark, I’m just teasing you.”

  “I’ll do anything to repay you. Just name it.”

  “All right.” Vicky gave a deep, exaggerated sigh. “Since you’re my friend, and only because you’re my friend…and at the risk of losing my job, of being turned out of my apartment…of having to beg for money on Meeting Street…I’ll sell—no, in the interest of helping one of my best friends find everlasting love and happiness…”

  Mark groaned and Vicky laughed.

  “…and in the interest of educating an upstanding member of the community about…”

  “Vicky, please.”

  “…the wonders of French impressionism, and in the interest of…”

  “Enough, Vicky, enough,” he begged as he imagined an evil grin on her face.

  “I’ll give you a copy of the catalog.” She paused for a beat. “I’ll even have it delivered to your office this morning.”

  “Thank you.” Mark sighed in relief.

  “You’re so very welcome…Just one thing…Who is she?”

  “Who is who?”

  “Mark, you are not that obtuse. You know very well—Oh, just tell me who you are bringing to the opening. Otherwise, no deal.”

  Several moments of silence passed as Mark considered a way out. Surely there was some way…

  “I’ll do anything to repay you,” she muttered in a lowered voice as though impersonating him. “Your words, Mark. Less than a minute ago. So…who, Mark, who? Tell me who you are bringing.”

  He closed his eyes as he silently counted down from ten. Some way…any way…surely…

  “Sorry, Mark. Going once, going twice…”

  “Karen Wingate.” He almost whispered her name as if he were afraid someone would overhear.

  “What about Karen?” Vicky demanded.

  “I’m accompanying Karen to the opening.”

  “No, no, I want the truth or it’s no deal. Who are you bringing?”

  Mark didn’t reply, bracing himself for Vicky’s realization that he was serious.

  “Oh. My. God…You are dating Karen Wingate.”

  Mark dropped his head into his free hand and groaned as he imagined Vicky’s eyes growing large and her hand clapping across her mouth to stifle a scream. Sometimes she could be such a…such a…girl.

  “We’re attending the opening, Vicky, that is—”

  “You are dating Karen Wingate. I can’t wait to tell my mother.”

  “What? Why would your mother care?”

  “Oh…well, you know, she always liked you, Mark…said you were ‘a catch’ or something. In fact…Never mind…Just tell me how this happened? I need details!” Thankfully she didn’t have him on speaker or he was quite certain she’d be clapping like a small child…a small girl child.

  Mark closed his eyes, wishing he’d never called. This was all his mother’s fault.

  “You’re older than she is…so you haven’t been friends forever. I doubt you are a friend of her best friend…or even her best friend’s boyfriend…so you didn’t meet at a party. She can’t balance a checkbook, so please tell me you’re not trying to teach her calculus.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine, she and my sister know each other.”

  “A blind date?” Vicky roared. “The Ice Queen meets Frosty the Mathman? What a fairy tale that would be.”

  “I don’t appreciate—”

  “Mark, you know I’m teasing you. I love you to death, but you have to admit that you are not particularly eager to express your feelings, and Karen…I can’t wait.” There was a pause. “Your sister thinks you’re a good match?”

  Mark wished she would stop prying, but Vicky was, well, Vicky.

  “Our mothers.” The words slipped out. He had not intended to tell her that.

  “Your mothers?”

  Mark moved the telephone away from his ear as Vicky squealed.

  “They want you to marry her, don’t they?”

  Mark’s head was beginning to ache and he massaged his forehead.

  “Don’t they? The woman who won’t date the same man twice, and the man who hasn’t smiled at a woman since, well, probably since high school,” Vicky whooped.

  “I smile at women,” Mark’s retort was almost lost in the sound of her laughter. “I smile at you.”

  “Of course, you smile at me,” Vicky cried, “but my mama doesn’t want me to marry you. I’m like the big sister you never had.”

  Mark raised his eyes toward heaven, not sure what his relationship with Vicky had to do with anything, but the laughter continued.

  Finally, Vicky seemed to regain control. She coughed twice and cleared her throat. “’Course, it might work. It just might work.”

  “We agreed to three dates.”

  “And you need to know all about Monet to make certain she will show up for date number two.” She broke out in laughter again.

  “Vicky…”

  “I’d suggest that you smile like you mean it when you lie to her about enjoying the exhibit. That would boost your chances even more than becoming an instant expert on Claude Monet. Pushing past her defenses to kiss her good night might help too.”

  “Vicky, I really need to go…”

  “Mark, don’t get me wrong. I love Karen, I really do. I love you both, but are you actually telling me that you’re considering marriage to a woman you barely know simply because it will make your mother happy?”

  Doesn’t she have work to do, Mark wondered. He prayed someone, anyone other than Karen, would knock on Vicky’s door.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, if not, why be concerned about your first impression?”

  He’d asked himself the same question.

  “Vicky, I always like to make a good impression—”

  “Garbage. Total garbage…”

  “Wait,” he said as she interrupted. “I don’t know why I agreed to go out with her. I’m getting older. I’m lonely. For some reason, I suspect I’d enjoy sipping a glass of wine by the fire on a cold evening, talking to her about…whatever. I don’t know.”

  “Talking to her? Not what I’d be dreaming of after a glass of wine in front of the fire.”

  “She is pretty, you know.”

  “That you noticed is a good sign, Mark…And I know how it is. I had similar feelings a couple of years ago before I married John. I’ll send your catalog over this morning. It’ll be our secret, and I’ll see you at the gala.”

  Sounded like she was going to let this go. That was a relief.

  “Good-bye, Mark, and good luck.”

  “Good-bye, Vicky.” Wait. What? What did she mean by good luck? But it was too late to find out…he’d already hung up the phone.

  ***

  That afternoon, Karen had invited Vicky to stop by for supper.

  When Vicky rang the doorbell, Karen was standing in the middle of her living room, wearing a dark red evening gown
with bare shoulders and a plunging neckline, holding a matching silk scarf in one hand.

  “Come on up.” Karen called through the speaker mounted beside the door. “I want you to see my new dress.”

  Karen lived on the second level of a building on King Street, above a law office which took the entire ground floor. Her apartment was at the top of a stairway, reached through a door at one end of the building. She popped the lock so Vicky could ascend the metal stairs.

  When Vicky knocked on Karen’s door, Karen smoothed her dress and flipped the scarf around her shoulders. “It’s open,” she called.

  “What do you think?” Karen asked as Vicky entered. “Mom brought it back from New York.” She tugged at the material at her neckline, trying to pull it closed. “Will I be expelled from Charleston society if I wear it on Friday?”

  “It’s absolutely beautiful,” Vicky exclaimed. “My old prom dress will look like a Salvation Army reject.”

  Karen rolled her eyes. “I saw your new dress, remember? You look fabulous in it.” She tugged at the material again. “I wish it didn’t…show so much.” She looked down at the dress. “Actually, it would look better if I had more to show. What do you think?” She raised her head. “Should I wear it?”

  “Are you crazy? Of course you should wear it.”

  Karen smiled, reassured. “Mom lent me this necklace.” A deep red ruby hung from the gold chain she’d fastened around her neck, falling to the middle of her chest. She handed Vicky a picture torn from a magazine. “I’m having my hair styled tomorrow afternoon. What do you think?”

  Vicky looked at the picture. “Fantastic. You’ll look terrific.”

  Karen eyed her friend. “Seriously? You’re not just trying to make me feel good?”

  “Not fair.” Vicky placed her hands on her hips. “I’ve always told you the truth. Do you remember that blue gown you bought last year for the opening of the Paris Exhibit?”

  Karen nodded. “You told me I looked pregnant.”

  “And?”

  Karen could feel herself blushing. “That night, three, no, four old witches, all of whom knew I was not married, had the nerve to ask me if I were expecting.”

  “I wouldn’t lead you astray.”