Getting to Happy

by Terry McMillan

  Blind Date

  Brunch is what we agreed to. At one of my favorite resort hotels. It’s on a cliff and overlooks the entire valley of Phoenix. Today is so clear I can actually see it. I’m driving up the side of this mountain like a tourist. I feel great. In fact, I would go so far as to say I’m stoked. None of which has anything to do with Jasper. I leave for Paris in three days. I’ve already packed about ten books. They’re too heavy. Some probably won’t make this trip. I can’t even sleep in my bed because it’s covered with clothes. I don’t care. I can’t decide what to take. I want to make sure everything I wear projects what I’m feeling and makes a statement about who I am when I walk down those Parisian streets.

  I valet park. I’m tempted to check my makeup and hair in the ladies’ room, but convince myself I haven’t changed since I left home twenty minutes ago. I’m wearing something forgettable. A peach top. Cantaloupe pants. Gauze. Layered to camouflage my stomach and my behind. I don’t want Jasper to get any ideas I’m trying to lure him. I’m also starving, as I forgot to eat breakfast. I was too busy trying on shoes. Most for comfort, a few with heels. I have every intention of doing in Paris what I hardly ever do in Phoenix. Dance. Hear live music. Walk. Read a whole book. Eat out alone. And be still.

  I’m also relieved. Bernie’s on her way to Palm Springs. She sent the three of us an e-mail at six o’clock this morning, said we probably wouldn’t hear from her for the next twenty-eight days and not to worry. John was driving her. How about that? I used to hate him almost as much as I did James. Unlike James, John has redeemed himself. We’re all praying Bernie’s able to break free from those pills and that the time she spends at that place is what she needs to jump-start her way back.

  And then there’s Miss Robin. Word on the street is she ran into a blast from the past and has been tweeting ever since. “We have a connection,” she wrote in the subject line of an e-mail I was all set to delete because I thought it was another of her stupid jokes. However, my instincts told me to open it. “Michael is the same kind, sweet, thoughtful man he always was. There have been quite a few major improvements in other areas, if you get my drift. I like him. A lot. I particularly like what he stands for. He’s been making me laugh, which is pretty hard to do, considering my employment status. He also suggested I not rush to look for another job. That I give myself more credit. You guys have pretty much been telling me the same thing. I’m getting there. Sparrow likes him, too. So do Romeo and Juliet, which is always a good sign. They can smell a scumbag. Michael remembers you guys and hopes we can all have dinner one day soon. And guess what? He still dances! I think I might want to keep him. He makes me feel good inside. At our age, it doesn’t take a long courtship to know if your key fits. And Savannah, please don’t snicker or lecture me this time. Be happy for me.” I responded with three smiley faces and one of those pumping red hearts.

  I suppose I should be nervous, but I’m not. If I were secretly praying Jasper might be husband number two, maybe I would be. I don’t care if I ever get married again. That much I do know. I just want to get this over with so I can get home and pack a little more. I haven’t even considered jewelry. I already have an exit strategy. If he turns out to be a creepy crawler or acts like a nerdy white guy because he’s a surgeon, I’ll be respectful and figure out a nice way to wade through the forty-five minutes to an hour I’ve set aside before thanking him for a lovely meal and yes, maybe we could get together again sometime. In case he turns out to be a nice guy, maybe I’ll make a new friend. I don’t have many of those of the male variety. I hope his teeth are straight. And white. If not, they could turn into my focal point which would make it difficult not to stare. Doctors and dentists are notorious for having jacked-up teeth. Why is that? I always wondered.

  I don’t see him anywhere inside. I do, however, see the back of a black man in a pink polo shirt taking a sip from a glass of something. He’s outside on the terrace. “Hello, Jasper,” I say and hold out my hand. He stands up, shakes my hand like he hasn’t seen me in years.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Savannah. For a minute there, I thought I might be getting stood up.”

  “That would be rude, Jasper. I was raised better.”

  “Well, hats off to your parents for good home training. Do you mind sitting out here? Can’t beat this view, can we?”

  “I was thinking about that on the drive up here. This is fine.”

  I’m surprised Jasper is more handsome in person than he is in his picture. Which is clearly dated. His hair is still black and kinky but there’s a whole new family of gray making a home along his temples. I find it grossly unfair that God rigged this whole thing so men seem to get better-looking as they get older and women simply age out. Why is it that their wrinkles make them sexy and more distinguished while ours make us look old and unattractive?

  ”Have you ever eaten here?” he asks.

  “Yes, but it’s been a while.” I didn’t want to say what I was thinking: that it was with the son-of-a-bitch I was married to even though he was lovable back then. I remind myself to smile. I don’t want to come across as if I’m just going through the motions. At the same time, I’m not interested in trying to get below the surface with this man. I don’t care how good he looks.

  “What are you in the mood for?” he asks.

  “They used to make the absolute best Caesar salad.”

  “That sounds good,” he says. “I’ll have the same. How about a glass of wine?”

  “It’s a little early for me. A glass of sparkling water with lime would be nice.”

  He flags a waiter. “So, Savannah. Have you ever been on a blind date?”

  “No, I haven’t. What about you?”

  “Once.”

  “Was it weird?”

  “Well, that’s a matter of opinion. I married her.”

  “So it worked out pretty well.”

  “For about fourteen years it was fine.”

  He orders our salads and a large bottle of Pellegrino with lime on the side. So far, he seems pleasant enough. I still wonder if he’s as normal as he appears to be. He probably has a dark side. You never see it at first. They always put their best foot forward out of the starting gate. Anything to get an A when the date is over. I’ve fallen for this tactic once too often. He’s probably sizing me up, too, looking for my obvious flaws, or, like me, waiting for me to say the one stupid thing that will turn him off so he’ll have to figure out how to tell Thora and Bert why he’s not going to make that follow-up phone call.

  “Thora told me you have two sons.”

  “Yep. Both in college. Maxwell’s a freshman at NYU and Kenan’s a sophomore at Boston U.”

  “That’s where I went for undergrad!”

  “You know, I do remember Thora mentioning that. Who knows, this could be a link we’ll share forever. Wait. Don’t take that the wrong way. I’m trying to loosen up. And failing.”

  “Why are you nervous?”

  “Because I’m a little rusty.”

  “I haven’t been on a date in twelve years. How’s that for rusty?”

  “May I make a suggestion, then?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  “How about we not think of this as a real date. This way we can get rid of all those superficial expectations and just relax.”

  “That gets me out of the hot seat.”

  “That makes two of us. We could think of this as the beginning of a budding friendship.”

  “First I need to decide if I want to be your friend, Jasper, or if I want you to be mine.”

  “I hear you. Then let’s see what we can learn about each other today and take it from there. How does that grab you?”

  “As long as you don’t get too personal.”

  He rakes his bottom lip with his teeth and then tilts his head to the side as if I wasn’t listening to what he just said. I think he’s flirting with me! He may not realize he’s doing it, but he is. I forgot how this works. I’m too old to blush and yet my fac
e is heating up. Maybe I’m reading more into this than I should. “So what made you want to practice medicine, Jasper?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Honestly.”

  “It might sound strange, but I always found science and biology fascinating. It helped me discover how our bodies work, how everything is connected and how—because of science and technology—some things can be fixed. I wanted to be a human mechanic, so to speak.”

  “And here I’m trying to learn how to change my oil.”

  He cracks up. His teeth are as straight as dentures. And wedding-dress white. I bet he uses those strips. He must have had braces when he was a teenager. His voice is raspy. It suits him. I’m not giving him points for being attractive, because he can’t help it. Isaac had the same kind of magnetism.

  “Technically, I’m a retired orthopedic surgeon although I travel all over the world, mostly to third world countries with a group of volunteer doctors. We treat people who’re victims of disasters, various deformities, all of whom have no access to medical treatment. I work on children, mostly. But I teach at the Mayo Clinic here in Phoenix.”

  “That’s really wonderful, Jasper.”

  “Okay,” he says, leaning forward, and he looks me dead in the eye. “Ask me anything you want.”

  “First, I have to be honest.”

  “Okay.”

  “When I told my girlfriends I was going on a blind date, one of them told me about a website that had about two hundred date questions. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to know about you, if anything, so I picked about twenty or thirty of them, in case you turned out to be boring and we had nothing to talk about.”

  “Am I boring?”

  “So far you’re not.”

  “Neither are you. So, go ahead. Ask me anything.”

  The waitress brings our salads and pours us a glass of water. We squeeze our limes at the same time. “I only remember a few of them and it feels a little silly to me now.”

  “Come on. This might be fun.”

  “Okay, but don’t answer them if you don’t want to.”

  He looks excited.

  “What’s the last book you read?”

  “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.”

  “No shit? Whoops, sorry. I didn’t mean to swear.”

  “No shit, and I did. What about you?”

  “Brief Interviews with Hideous Men.”

  “I hope it’s fiction.”

  “It is,” I say. “What’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen?”

  It looks like he’s mentally traveling through a scrapbook. “Too many to pick just one,” he says. “But. Fiji and Kenya. That’s two, so fire me.”

  At least he has a sense of humor and he’s not a nerd or a fuddyduddy. I still sneak an occasional peek at my watch. I know how charm works. It’s right up there with sex appeal. I’m wearing an invisible repellent to keep them away from me. For now.

  “How do you measure success, Jasper?”

  “Doing what you love even if the pay isn’t good. And you?”

  “We’re on the same page on that one,” I say. “How do you measure happiness?”

  He thinks about this one. And as if he’s talking to himself, he says: “It’s a feeling of calm that comes from inside. When you figure out what’s important. When you have nothing to prove. Giving everything you do everything you’ve got and being satisfied, regardless of the outcome. What about you?”

  I take a long sip of water. I hadn’t considered answering these questions when I was going through them. “When you’re willing to surrender to goodness and joy. Give yourself permission to feel it. Not holding yourself hostage for making mistakes. Doing what you love. Doing for others. Learning to cherish the beauty of right now. When you can make yourself smile and laugh without depending on anybody else.”

  “I like yours. Maybe we can combine them.”

  I look at him like, what?

  “Come on, Savannah. You’re intelligent enough to know what I meant. So don’t even go there.”

  “Your three worst qualities?”

  “My three worst qualities? Hard to narrow it down to just three. Okay. One: I’m impatient. Two: I’m opinionated. And three: I’m a perfectionist. And I’m listening,” he says, putting his chin in his hands.

  “I’m impatient, opinionated and I, too, am a perfectionist. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to add two more.”

  “Be my guest. I could’ve kept going, too, you know. But I wouldn’t want to frighten you off.”

  “I’m shaking like a leaf. I’m prone to gossip and sometimes I’m not as empathetic as I could be.”

  “Who is?”

  “What about your best qualities?” I ask.

  “I’m not the one to answer that. Yours?”

  “I’m brutally honest. I’m prone to gossip and I’m definitely opinionated. It’s how I know where I stand. Last one?”

  “Are you in a hurry?”

  “No. I just have a million things I have to do today. I also have to be somewhere in less than an hour.”

  “Did you have a time limit set for me? Tell the truth.”

  “Of course not,” I say as I finish the last of my salad.

  Jasper hasn’t touched his. I feel his eyes on me. I’m almost afraid to look up. “This was delicious,” I say. “Why aren’t you eating yours?”

  “I seem to have lost my appetite, which is strange because I haven’t eaten since this morning. I loved those questions. I hope we can do this again one day?”

  I look at my salad. One day? “Maybe we can, Jasper.”

  “Once more with feeling,” he says. “Look, I’ll be frank. I know a lot about you, Savannah, which is why I wanted to meet you.”

  “What is it you think you know about me?”

  “You’re independent and smart and interesting. You know who you are. I respect the topics you explore on your shows. I know you collect black art—and so do I, by the way. You’re an avid reader. And from what I can tell, pretty open-minded. Did I mention that you’re also beautiful?”

  “Thank you, Jasper. Especially for the nice things you said about my work.”

  “How much time do we have?” He’s got a smirk on his face.

  “About twenty minutes or so.”

  “Tell me. What kinds of things do you like to do in your spare time? Was this question on that list?”

  “No. You mean as in hobbies?”

  He nods. Nibbles on a long leaf.

  “I don’t really have any specific hobbies.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I don’t.”

  “Have you ever golfed?”

  “No. I’ve been thinking about taking lessons. I take it you do?”

  “Every chance I get. Maybe we could go out on the driving range one day. I could teach you a few things.”

  “Wait! I do have a hobby. I love to travel.”

  “I don’t know if traveling is what I’d call a hobby. I could be wrong. I’d like to hear about some of the places you’ve been. Maybe another time. For now, how about this: Where’s your next trip?”

  “Paris. I leave in three days. For two weeks.”

  His eyes widen and brighten. “Right on! Paris is probably my most favorite city in the world. In fact, I almost moved there. Have you been before?”

  “Twice.”

  “Do you speak French?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Neither do I. If you don’t mind my asking, are you going with someone?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Good for you, Savannah! My kind of woman! Forgive me. I just haven’t met very many sisters who travel the world solo. That’s all I meant. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

  “No offense taken.”

  “God, I sure wish I could go. We could hang out in one of those fabulous lounges and have a drink and sit on a sofa and listen to live music and talk some and boogie some and then chase it with a fe
w shots of espresso and maybe walk along the Seine . . .”

  “Earth to Jasper. That sounds very intriguing but right now we’re here in Phoenix and it’s been very nice having brunch with you.”

  He folds his hands, leans forward and looks directly into my eyes. “Before you go, can I ask you one last question just to satisfy my curiosity?”

  “It depends on the question.”

  “Of course Thora told me you’re a recent divorcee.”

  “That I am.”

  “I also understand we’re not supposed to talk about our divorces. Was this a no-no on the list?”

  “It sure was.”

  “If you don’t want to answer this, you can tell me to go to hell and that’ll be the end of it.”

  “Okay.”

  “So what made you want to divorce him? Unless it’s way too personal.”

  “He bored me to death.”

  “That’s the same reason my wife wanted to split! But she was right. I was boring as hell back then. I was working seventy, eighty hours a week. It’s one of the reasons I retired. I made a horrible husband. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

  “And he was a porn addict.”

  “There’s that.”

  “Are you on good terms with your ex-wife?”

  “I would say so. After years of pure hell. Time does help you heal. What about you? We’re breaking the first-date rules, Savannah.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not a date, remember?”

  He hunches his shoulders. It is what it is.

  “Anyway. We parted ways on pretty good terms. It’s his post-divorce actions that have gotten me a little pissed. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I hated my wife’s guts for years because it turned out she’d been having an affair with one of my best friends. End of divorce stories. Okay?”

  I nod.

  “Trust me. Pretty soon he’ll just be someone you used to love.”

  “If only.”

  “Well, whether you realize it or not, you’re already starting a new life, for lack of a better cliché.”

  “You don’t know that, Jasper.”