600 Hours of Edward e-1

by Craig Lancaster

  “Not really.”

  “Just play. You’ll figure it out.”

  Back in the living room, Donna tells me something. “Mike’s going to be in court next week—Monday.”

  “Are you going to be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you be OK?”

  “I don’t know. But I will be there, for every court appearance and for the trial.”

  “Does Kyle know what happened?”

  “Most of it. I couldn’t hide the bruises, you know. I haven’t told him about the choking.” There is not much bruising to hide now. If I didn’t know it had happened, I might not be able to see the damage at all.

  “Maybe that’s for the best.”

  “I think so,” she says. “Part of the reason I’m going to court is for Kyle. The main thing is that I want Mike to know that he’s not going to get the better of me. But it’s also a reminder to me that I’ve done poorly in choosing who I let near my son. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  Donna’s eyes have a faraway look, as if she’s seeing beyond my little living room on Clark Avenue. I sit quietly with her.

  – • –

  I had asked Donna and Kyle if they would like to stay and watch Dragnet, but Donna declined, as it’s a school night for Kyle. Maybe some other time, she said.

  Tonight’s episode is called “The Kidnapping.” It originally aired on January 26, 1967, and it is one of my favorites.

  In the episode, a woman who owns a line of boutiques has been taken captive at her home. One of her store managers, in town for an audit, is sent by the abductor to a bank to get the $75,000 in ransom. Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon are called in by the bank president, and once they determine that the store manager’s story is on the level, they get her the $75,000 and enlist her help in catching the bad guy. She agrees to help, even though she admits that she doesn’t really like her boss. The abduction ends when Sergeant Joe Friday wrestles the bad man to the ground on a freeway on-ramp. The store manager—played by Peggy Webber, who appeared in eight Dragnet episodes—is freed from the trunk of the car.

  There are two lessons in this episode: First, Sergeant Joe Friday always gets his man. Second, don’t mess with a determined woman.

  – • –

  Dear Father,

  I had a memory today that made me both happy and sad. Do you remember our trip to Midland, Texas, in the new International Paystar 5000? Even though I now know that you were enduring a difficult time, I remember how happy you seemed to be, traveling with me and spending Thanksgiving with Grandpa Sid and Grandma Mabel and watching the Dallas Cowboys. Thinking of that made me happy.

  We never have that kind of fun now. Thinking of that made me sad.

  I hope we can have fun again sometime. I found out today that I still know how. Maybe you still know how, too.

  Your son,

  Edward

  FRIDAY, OCTOBER 24

  It’s an odd and embarrassing thought that stirs me from sleep:

  What if Joy wants to have sex with me tonight? This is not an eventuality I have planned for, and it seems so preposterous (I love the word “preposterous”) that I am inclined to just lie back down and return to sleep.

  And yet, I cannot. So I watch time peel off my digital clock in the darkness as I ponder this.

  5:57… 5:58… 5:59…

  I keep coming back to what Dr. Buckley said: “I hope that’s not on the agenda for your first date.” No, it’s not. We don’t have an agenda. We are meeting at the new wine bar downtown, the one on Broadway. Everything after that is uncertain—including, and especially, the question of whether we are having sex.

  6:00… 6:01… 6:02…

  I must make a confession: I have never had sex, at least not with another human being. I am thirty-nine years old, and so, yes, I have discovered self-satisfaction. There’s no need to be excessively descriptive or gross about it. I read Dear Abby every morning in the Billings Herald-Gleaner, and I remember her saying something years ago about self-satisfaction: Half of men do it, and the other half lie when they say they don’t do it. That’s what Dear Abby said, and that’s good enough for me. Dear Abby is a very logical woman.

  6:03… 6:04… 6:05…

  Since I’ve never had sex, you can probably understand why I am wigging out about it. (I love the slang phrase “wigging out.”) Setting aside the obvious questions—How does one arrive at the decision to have sex on a first date? Does one just say, “This is a delicious salad. I look forward to telling you more about it later, when we’re having sex”?—I am uncomfortable with the idea. It seems like an irresponsible thing to do.

  6:06… 6:07… 6:08…

  Let’s say for argument’s sake that we were to have sex. This is a hypothetical situation. Where does it happen? Do we drive all the way back to Broadview and have sex at her house? We cannot have sex at this house; that simply is not a possibility. Among other potential problems, my father would be apoplectic if he found out. If Joy and I drive all the way back to Broadview, how do we have sex and leave enough time for me to get back to Billings to see tonight’s episode of Dragnet? I don’t see how it would be possible. I couldn’t have sex with that kind of time pressure. I’m not sure I can have sex at all, seeing as how I never have had it. I’m simply saying that, even if the physical act of love were possible, I would not be able to concentrate on it knowing that I might miss Dragnet.

  6:09… 6:10… 6:11…

  So what? A hotel room? That still brings up the Dragnet problem. A nice hotel, like the Crowne Plaza, might be willing to put a videocassette player in the room, but then I would have to make sure to bring my Dragnet tape along, not knowing whether I would actually need it.

  I think that would be awkward.

  Joy: “Hi, Edward. Why do you have your Dragnet tape?”

  Me: “Hi, Joy. I thought we might have sex, so I wanted to be ready. I can’t miss Dragnet.”

  Also, the Crowne Plaza is not the sort of place that would rent us a room for the sole purpose of having sex. The sort of place that would rent us a room for sex—and I don’t know how to find such a place—might not have a videocassette player to lend me. It would probably just want us to have sex and leave.

  6:12… 6:13… 6:14…

  It’s settled. We’re not having sex, even if Joy wants to. Even if I want to. There is just no way it can happen. I will have to apply the lessons I’ve learned from Dr. Buckley about saying no to this situation. I can say no to sex with Joy while still treating her with dignity and grace.

  I should practice this.

  “Sex? I’m ever so sorry, Joy, but it’s just not possible tonight. I do hope you understand.”

  “Under normal circumstances, Joy, I would love to have sex with you, but it’s simply not a good night tonight.”

  “I am appreciative of the offer, but I cannot. Perhaps I could take a rain check.”

  Yes, any of those will work.

  If she’s aggressive and grabs my wiener, though, I may have to come up with another plan. I have seen that sort of thing happen on late-night cable television, and I think it’s prudent that I be ready for it.

  – • –

  Here is something I did not know until today: Almost twenty minutes of thinking about nothing other than sex ruins you for sleep. I grab my pen and notebook and groggily record 5:57 a.m. in the space I have made for today, and my data is complete.

  – • –

  While I am eating corn flakes and waiting to hear the thump of the Billings Herald-Gleaner on the doorstep, I plot a plan for tonight—one that, as I have decided, does not include sex.

  I want to try to be romantic, but I have been reading some online-dating advice columns, and if there is a single piece of counsel that comes through consistently about first dates, it is this: Do not make grand gestures. A first date is about building a little bit of trust and rapport and walking away from it wanting to have a second date. Some of the columns I have read say no
flowers on a first date. Others say that a single red rose is a nice touch. I would like to give Joy a single red rose.

  I have also decided, on my own, to burn a CD for Joy of some of my favorite songs, especially by R.E.M. and Matthew Sweet. I am not putting overt (I love the word “overt”) love songs on the CD. I do not want to come on too strong with Joy. I will tell her that the CD is just some of the music I like and that I hope she likes it, too. I will not be trying to send any kind of message with the CD.

  Finally, I will go to get my hair cut today. I have new clothes for my online date. A fresh haircut will complete the look.

  It’s a good plan, I think.

  At 6:33, the newspaper lands on the doorstep. I rinse out my bowl in the sink, cross the living room, open the door, and pick up the paper. The forecast is calling for a high of forty-seven, which should be enough to melt away this snow if it comes true—but I won’t know until tomorrow, as forecasts are notoriously off base.

  Inside, I write down the figures from yesterday, and my data is complete.

  – • –

  Mixing a CD for Joy is more difficult than I had imagined. The R.E.M. songs go pretty well, and I end up choosing ten from across their catalog of albums:

  1. “Radio Free Europe,” Murmur

  2. “So. Central Rain,” Reckoning

  3. “Driver 8,” Fables of the Reconstruction

  4. “Begin the Begin,” Lifes Rich Pageant

  5. “Disturbance at the Heron House,” Document

  6. “World Leader Pretend,” Green

  7. “Half a World Away,” Out of Time

  8. “Find the River,” Automatic for the People

  9. “Electrolite,” New Adventures in Hi-Fi

  10. “Man-Sized Wreath,” Accelerate

  I skip the albums Monster, Up, Reveal, and Around the Sun because, although I like some songs on each of those albums, they are not as good as the others. That’s my opinion. It’s not fact, although a lot of people agree with me.

  Finding ten Matthew Sweet songs is a harder chore. Don’t get me wrong, I can find ten that I like, but I can’t necessarily find ones that I think someone else would like. Matthew Sweet can be a real downer.

  I end up choosing six:

  1. “I’ve Been Waiting,” Girlfriend

  2. “Devil with the Green Eyes,” Altered Beast

  3. “Superdeformed,” Son of Altered Beast

  4. “Come to California,” Blue Sky on Mars

  5. “I Should Never Have Let You Know,” In Reverse

  6. “Wait,” Kimi Ga Suki (the Japanese album)

  It’s a fine collection of songs. I think if Joy for some reason decides that she doesn’t want it, my disappointment will be soothed by the fact that I will get to keep it.

  – • –

  At 10:00 a.m., I walk in the door at the Great Clips haircutters on Grand Avenue. There is no line. Most of the rest of Billings is at work.

  I have had this stylist before. Her name is Heather, and she is very pretty, with big blue eyes and long, blonde, straight hair. One thing about her, though, is that her attitude varies wildly. She recognizes me and smiles and invites me back to the chair.

  “The usual?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  This is an easy job for Heather. My hair does not need styling. It needs to be cut, and she quickly does it.

  “What’re you up to today?” she asks.

  “I have an online date.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yes.”

  “I haven’t had a date in for-ev-er,” she says, drawing out the syllables, and then she starts telling me about what a disaster her last date was and how she swore off men but can’t stay away for long and that she wishes me luck and just be a gentleman and it will all work out just fine.

  Heather is fun to listen to when she feels good, like she does today.

  – • –

  On the way back home, I stop at the Albertsons on Grand and Thirteenth Street W. and buy a single red rose from the floral department. The nice lady who works there wraps it loosely in a cellophane cone and pops a small container of water onto the stem to keep it looking fresh.

  I am nearly ready for my 7:00 p.m. date.

  It is 10:57 a.m.

  – • –

  While it’s true that I am feeling a bit overeager—an odd sensation for me—it’s also true that I do have some other chores.

  For one thing, I have to eat lunch. I will not have much, in case Joy wants to eat tonight at the wine bar downtown. It’s not just a wine bar. I have been reading up on it, and apparently, the place—it is called Bin 119—has very good food, too, including something called lobster mac ’n’ cheese. I don’t know if that sounds good or not. I don’t have seafood very often—only at my monthly dinner with my parents, and not at every one of those. I’ve had lots of mac ’n’ cheese; it was one of my favorites when I was a child, with the box of noodles and the powdered cheese that would turn gooey when mixed with butter and milk. I do not think that kind of mac ’n’ cheese would taste good with lobster. But that’s just my opinion. It’s not necessarily a fact.

  I have spaghetti for lunch.

  – • –

  At 5:00 p.m., I start trying on all of my new clothes again. I have two purposes. First, I need to ensure, again, that none of it is defective. If there’s a zipper that doesn’t work or a button hanging by a thread or a small tear at the corner of a pocket, now is the time to know. Second, I need to choose what I’m wearing tonight.

  In the end, I choose the George Foreman pinstripe suit and the white shirt with blue stripes, with no tie. I think it looks dressy, yet easygoing. I also think I look too round and puffy. This is not something I thought about before I decided to look for dates on the Internet, but now that I am an active Internet dater, I may have to incorporate some belly control into my daily routine. I could start doing sit-ups. That would give me something new to count and whip my stomach into shape. The thought of this makes me happy.

  It is 5:37 p.m. and I am dressed for my 7:00 p.m. Internet date with Joy from Broadview.

  – • –

  After putting the mix CD in my front coat pocket—and then checking twice more to make sure it is there—I decide to do some last-minute brushing up on Internet dating, just so I know as much as possible about what will happen tonight.

  On one website, I find an article called “Everything You Need to Know Before You Go on That Online Date.” At first, I am not interested, as the article plainly says that it is written for women over forty, but then I remember that Joy is forty-one and I think that it might benefit me to consider things from her perspective.

  By the time I finish reading the article, however, I wonder why any woman would ever want to go on an Internet date. The person who wrote this article does not seem to like dating or to expect much from it. She says that men don’t want to date older women and that the only way a man will show genuine interest in someone is by stalking her, which alarms me, because I don’t want to stalk anybody.

  Finally, the writer suggests buying the book He’s Just Not That Into You, by Greg Behrendt. She says that it will reveal everything about men and what they think.

  Regardless of what happens tonight, I must read this book. I would be very interested to know my feelings about dating women.

  I immediately go to Amazon.com and order it.

  I think I now know more about Internet dating than I want to know. I hope Joy hasn’t seen this article. Why would she come?

  – • –

  It is very easy to get from the house on Clark Avenue to the wine bar downtown. After backing out of the driveway, I head east on Clark down to Sixth Avenue W., make a right turn, then an immediate right on Yellowstone Avenue, then a right on Seventh Street W., pass by Clark Avenue, and then make a right on Lewis Avenue.

  I have driven in a circle, but I also have taken all right turns.

  Lewis rides down through the tree-lined neighborhoods of centra
l Billings, crosses Division Street and becomes Fourth Avenue N. downtown. At the corner of Fourth and Broadway, I can see the big Billings Herald-Gleaner building, where people are inside compiling the things I’ll need tomorrow, including my weather data and Dear Abby.

  I turn right on Broadway, cross over Third and Second Avenues, and pull into a diagonal parking spot across from the wine bar.

  As I shut off the ignition, the digital clock in my Toyota Camry flips over to 7:00 p.m.

  – • –

  Bin 119 is impressive, and busy.

  Joy does not seem to be here yet.

  I find an open table at the far end of the place, and I sit down facing the door, so I can see her when she comes in.

  It’s a very nice table—very modern, with leather-bound seats. I like it. The soft lighting and dark-wood decor remind me of Dr. Buckley’s office, and I like that, too.

  I look at my watch. It’s 7:03.

  I may have to prepare myself for the possibility that Joy is not as punctual as I am. If I work hard at it, I’m sure I can do this. Dr. Buckley says that all people have things they are good at and not so good at and that if I like someone, I should appreciate his or her good points and forgive the bad. This makes sense to me. Dr. Buckley is a very logical woman.

  At 7:05, a server comes by and asks if I would like a menu or to order a drink. I tell her that I’m expecting someone and will wait, thank you.

  Five minutes isn’t too late, right? That can be the difference between a well-set clock and a haphazardly set one. While I don’t understand why anyone would want a clock that doesn’t tell exactly the correct time, I know that some people don’t give such things a lot of thought. Maybe Joy is one of those people.

  I read somewhere that giving someone fifteen minutes of leeway on an appointment is the polite thing to do, and so I resolve that I will give Joy until 7:15 before I start to become annoyed at her.

  On the other hand, I remember that when Jimmy Johnson was the coach of the Dallas Cowboys, he considered a player late to a team meeting if that player wasn’t in the room five minutes early, and he would dock the player’s pay. Jimmy Johnson would not tolerate someone’s being fifteen minutes late, and he won two Super Bowls. Clearly, there is politeness, and then there is what works.