“Thanks for dinner.”
“My pleasure.” We find a table and he ignores the tray in front of him, concentrating on my nose. Never has he looked at me so intently! And those eyes! I’m seeing him in a tux at our wedding, his eyes in our son’s head, a head covered with hair that is my color, definitely in more abundance than that atop Seth’s—
“I suppose you’re wondering what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Now, I’m close to panting. I didn’t know there was an agenda. Should I have caught some clue that there was an agenda? If Brea was feeling better, she would have caught it. I should have analyzed the conversation more. Mental note: Listen to the answering machine at least six times.
“No, I wasn’t really wondering. I thought you just invited me out for dinner. We’ve been friends a long time now, right?” My hope is that this dissuades him from telling me something I don’t want to hear.
He spills his Coke—he’s endearingly clutsy at times—and rises to go fetch some napkins. I shove an olive in my mouth and imagine our conversation to come.
“I need patent help on a project I’m working on. There was no one else I could call. No one else I could trust.” Seth looks away for a moment. The emotion is too great.
“You know I’m here for you, Seth.” I curl my hand over his. “Do you have the drawings yet?”
“Right here.” Seth pulls out schematics, and our eyes meet again, as if for the first time. He shoves aside the blueprints and kisses me hungrily over the table.
I return his kiss feverishly.
My eyes drop to the paperwork on the floor. “Your product is incredible. An unmet market. You’ll be wealthy beyond your wildest dreams,” I say, breathless from macking.
“It will make us wealthy, Ashley. Which is why I bought you this to say thank you.” He holds up a two-carat princess-cut diamond ring—set in platinum, of course. “Will you marry me?”
“Oh yes, Seth. Yes.”
“Ashley, are you all right?” He sits down across from me again and mops up the mess. “I thought it would be good to talk over dinner,” he says, his eyes all business once more.
My heart’s pounding, and I try to steady my breathing. It wouldn’t do to die of a heart attack now. Not now. “Go ahead, Seth.”
“You’ve been singing in the worship band sometimes.”
“Yes,” I say slowly, flushing a little in pride. “I’m no Jaci Valasquez or anything, and my work schedule doesn’t allow for the practice time lately, but—”
He cuts me off. “The other gal who sings with you, Arin?”
My smile fades. “Yes?”
“Do you think,” he pauses. “Well, do you think she would go ever out with me?”
Breathe. Breathe. Don’t show disappointment. But I can’t talk. I can’t force the words I don’t feel, and I realize why I could never be a trial lawyer or a poker player. I shrug an answer, but my heart is broken. I didn’t realize until this very moment what Seth meant to me. His quiet intellect . . . and searing blue eyes . . . and gentle smile captured a part of me. It happened so subtly over the years I never had time to notice. We have so much history, I took it for granted.
“Has Arin ever mentioned me?” Seth prods, puncturing that sharp object into my heart farther.
“She’s only twenty-four,” I say, feeling the distinct desire to point out his baldness and age, but I clamp my mouth shut, hoping her age will be enough to stab his over-inflated, egotistical, insensitive balloon . . .
He nods eagerly, blindly. “She’s beautiful, don’t you think?”
Oh, to wring his neck. To just reach my hands around his scrawny little throat and shout, YOU ARE SINGLE FOR A REA-SON. I THOUGHT YOU WERE A SEASON MAN, BUT YOU ARE A REASON MAN IN THE WORST WAY! My salad suddenly looks wilted and I’m debating how to get through the next half-hour, but my anger is simmering, brewing to a slow boil.
But suddenly I have this surreal calm. I am in control. I continue with all the composure in the world, like Glenn Close, Academy-Award-winning actress with maybe a little Fatal Attraction thrown in. Without the bunny. “Arin is very beautiful,” I say calmly. Maybe a little scarily calm. “Arin also has a boyfriend at Stanford. In medical school,” I add. But I get nowhere. If Seth had any sense of Season in him, it’s long since buried under the multitude of Reasons. He could teach Clueless 101.
“Is it serious?” Seth asks. “Between Arin and her boyfriend?”
“Are you serious?” I don’t mean to sound nasty, but can this man be so completely dull-witted? Can he possibly think a gorgeous twenty-four-year-old woman, with a boyfriend who resembles Hugh Jackman in doctor form, would be interested in his balding science-fiction self ? Every part of me wants to start shouting his list of reasons off for the benefit of the restaurant’s crowd.
“So you’re saying you don’t think she’d go out with me.” Seth stabs a cherry tomato with vigor. He obviously still has hope within him despite my non-answer, and I want to snuff it out with my heel.
“I can’t really say what she’d do. Why don’t you ask her?”
“I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
Too late. The crying kids in the restaurant become louder. Unbearably loud. And I can’t stomach the thought of one more bite sitting across from Seth. “You know, I’m not feeling very well, and I have a lot of work that I brought home with me tonight. Good luck with Arin. Sorry I can’t be more helpful, but I don’t know her that well. She’s a little young for me to be close friends with. And maybe for you to date.”
He doesn’t catch on that I’m gathering up my things, preparing to flee. “I thought maybe because she liked allegory and science fiction we might make a good match. She also likes to ski, I heard.”
I like to read romance novels, but you don’t see me calling up Fabio.
I rise, preparing to let loose a comment worthy of this night. But my heart softens at his furrowed brows, and my fingers massage my purse strap. Lord God, give me Your grace here when I feel like slicing him to ribbons! “Seth, um, you’re a . . . great guy. Who’s to say what Arin might do? But you don’t seem like the kind of person to go after another man’s girl.”
“Thanks, Ashley. I appreciate your honesty.” He doesn’t believe a word of it, but he appreciates it all the same.
“No problem,” I breathe, singing “Chain of Fools” in my head. “See you Sunday?”
“Sunday,” he affirms.
I wouldn’t mind if I never see a Reason again. I leave the restaurant thankful I didn’t spend one red cent on this “date.” This wasn’t even worth a new lipstick. I’m embarrassed to call Brea and tell her what a yutz I am, but I won’t make it through the night without her emotional support. Besides, she’ll have some good bald jokes, and tonight I will relish every one of them. Two-carat princess-cut—Seth would buy a cubic zirconia and tell me about the deal he got on QVC just to add insult to injury.
Mental note: Do not expect blood from a turnip.
6
Saturday night arrives—if I had a date it would take forever to get here but, alas, I don’t, and it’s snuck up on me like a deadline. It’s talent night at the local Starbucks, and I debate a thousand times if I should go. Seth will be there, which discourages me, but I figure I can’t run from him forever. He doesn’t know what I feel any more than Arin knows about his secret crush.
I check the TV guide first, and there’s nothing worth staying home for. Which is really saying something. It wouldn’t have taken much; even a Growing Pains reunion would have worked. Kirk Cameron in puberty was all I was asking for, but I got nothin’.
I head to the coffee shop, determined that I will not perform under any circumstances. I’m thankful I never signed Kay Harding’s infamous clipboard under duress. The blank clipboard is my ticket to freedom.
First Community Church’s Open Mic Night at Starbucks is our attempt at showing the world we Christians are fun without the alcohol, without the drugs, without the sex. We are in Silicon
Valley, so fun is relatively tame anyway. If it weren’t for the sales and marketing people, the Christians would blend right in. It’s perfectly acceptable for a weekend’s entertainment to include video games or RISK. You don’t have to be Christian. Being an engineer is quite enough.
I’m a Trivial Pursuit gal myself, but engineers, while they know the universal language of math, are quite naive on useless facts. The singles group has played a few times, and I’m always left realizing I barely know that WWII took place but can repeat verbatim a cover story from People magazine back in 1988. There has to be a market for that kind of talent somewhere, wouldn’t you think? Maybe there’s a don’t-repeat-this-fashion-era-mistake think tank or something in Washington.
Entering the coffee house, I order a tall double latte and find my way to one of the tables next to the other singles without better plans. We smile at each other, a bit embarrassed we’re here, but then Kay starts the show and things loosen up a bit. Kay’s great as emcee because she loves what she does, and she doesn’t care what anyone thinks. To have that ability must be so liberating. I covet it. To be able to get up in front of this group and belly dance would be so empowering.
“Welcome to the second bi-annual Open Mic Night for First Community’s singles group!”
Shouts and hollers rise, and it’s sounding like the Trigonometry Olympics from high school. I’m hanging out with the Mathletes now! The barristas behind the counter roll their eyes and I’m wishing I could just ignore stuff like that, just not even notice it happening. Our group doesn’t get that we’re comical. Why do I have to see it? Apparently, I’m the only one who does. God, could You just give me some special blinders for that? Make me socially inept too, so I can enjoy myself ?
I want to go through life thinking Christian Colin Firth will be along anytime I’m ready. That he’d gladly put up with my bigger-than-J. Lo bum and sorry social schedule, stealing me away to an idyllic life on some tropical island, where he would be endlessly awed by my unyielding knowledge of Johnny Depp trivia.
Sigh.
“First up for tonight’s show is Seth Greenwood.”
I clap politely, wondering if Seth has any idea he dissed me. Seth has two beakers in his hands, and he proceeds to show us how salt added to water makes an egg float. I raise my eye-brows. Now that ought to impress Arin. It’s too bad she’s not here. I’m having Glenn Close bunny thoughts again. Let’s move on, shall we?
“Next up,” Kay consults her trusty sidekick, the clipboard. “Please welcome Sam Wong, who will be performing the Spock Dying Scene from Star Trek.”
Sam has dressed his portly self in a Star Trek uniform and, quite frankly, he looks more like a navy Teletubbie than a Vulcan, but I suspend reality for the enjoyment of the scene.
Sam sputters and wrinkles his drawn-on Vulcan eyebrows for emotion, talking to an unseen Captain Kirk. “Don’t mourn. My sacrifice is logical. The needs of many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.” The drama increases as Sam pretends to die, gives Spock-the-Vulcan fingers, and tells him to live long and prosper. Then he pushes the button on a tape machine where a rousing edition of “Amazing Grace” is played on the bagpipes.
The crowd goes wild, and I wonder how anyone is going to follow this—the grand finale of all engineer performances.
“Jake, you’re up, buddy,” Kay says.
Jake stands up and bows before actually doing anything. I swear I do not turn for the barrista’s reaction this time. Progress. I’m making progress.
“May I have a beautiful assistant, please?” Jake is looking directly at me, and I immediately check my purse for something I must have left at home. It’s useless though; Jake comes toward me. “Ashley, will you do me the honor?”
He takes my hand and lifts me up. Unfortunately, playing with my purse has wrapped the strap around my ankles, and I feel the top half of me going forward but, unable to untangle my feet, the bottom half is firmly planted back at the chair. I grasp Jake’s hand, desperately trying to stay off the hard tile floor, but it’s useless. I tumble into an ungodly pretzel position and pull Jake down on top of me. Immediately followed by my double, thankfully-cold latte. The whole room roars with laughter and, for once, we have the approval of the barristas who are clapping wildly.
As ladylike as possible, I wait for Jake to remove himself from my torso, and then uncross my legs and lift myself off the floor gingerly. I smile as if I’d enjoyed the whole scene, but I am mortified and can’t bear to look up. Jake, being a typical Silicon Valley male, quickly makes matters worse.
“Correction. I need an attractive assistant who can stand up by herself.” He laughs and grabs another woman from the giggling audience, wiping the excess coffee from his jeans. I sheepishly climb back into my seat and take the ribbing that is so richly deserved. Patting the coffee on my khakis, I know the exercise is futile. Color-safe bleach is my only option.
The worst part is that now I’m committed for the entire evening. I cannot possibly leave early without risking another big laugh.
Jake reads, from memory, a sonnet by Keats to his new, better-coordinated assistant. She blushes, and I wonder if maybe bowing out in clumsy fashion wasn’t the better alternative to having Jake under the delusion that he is a romantic. With all the waitresses he’s stiffed and extra dollars that have been added to bills for Jake’s sake, he fails miserably in the role of Romeo. Unless there’s a woman who finds home-cooked canned-chicken burritos a sexy alternative to gourmet dining.
Just when I think my evening can’t get much worse, in walks Arin sans Boyfriend. She’s wearing a darling pair of colorful capris on her size-two frame and a fitted T-shirt with flip-flops—in January—and it’s a look that works for her. She sits beside me and twists her gorgeous long blond hair. The action catches the attention of the entire room, and Seth is practically hyperventilating.
Her smile is bright and excited. “What did I miss?”
“Seth Greenwood did a science experiment, Sam Wong died as Spock, and now Jake is reading poetry.” My voice is monotone.
“Which one is Seth again?”
Ah, vindication. “He’s the bald guy over there.”
“Oh.” She looks and turns away uninterested. “Nothing too exciting yet, huh?”
Kay Harding laughs, overhearing our conversation. “Well, Ashley did some gymnastics for us. Don’t be so modest, Ashley, it was the best thing all night. She tripped all over her own feet.”
I grin and give one of those half-laughs. Arin gets it, and she knows it’s not funny. Even though she’s twenty-four and darling and men bow at her feet as if she’s royalty, I like her anyway. Sue me.
“Ashley fell and spilled coffee, and you all thought that was funny?” Arin asks with almost a Southern drawl to the question.
“Of course it was funny,” Kay explains like a math equation. “You’re too young to remember, but Nancy Reagan was always doing that in her day. The news would play it at night and we’d laugh.”
“I think that’s terrible. Ashley could have been hurt, burned even. Not to mention her feelings from being laughed at. Isn’t this a Christian group?” The cutesy smile leaves Arin’s face, replaced by an angry frown. She has this Rene Zellweger quality. Both guys and girls love her, and despite my history with Seth, I like her, too.
Kay clicks her tongue and goes back to emceeing.
“Ashley,” Arin says loudly. “Let’s sing a song up there!”
I shake my head wildly. “I couldn’t. I have no talent. Where’s your boyfriend?” I ask, hoping to put off the idea of me performing anything other than a patent explanation.
Arin pouts. “The boyfriend is studying. On a Saturday night. Can you beat that? I told him it’s a good thing he’s cute.” She places two tiny fists on her non-existent waist. The last time my waist was as small as hers, I was graduating from sixth grade. I look again. Maybe not even then.
“Come on, Ashley. It will be fun. What do we have to lose? We sing every Sunday.”
&n
bsp; “That’s different.”
“The karaoke machine is up there. Come on.” Arin gets up and pulls me out of my seat. Keep in mind, I’m still soaked with coffee and now I’m standing next to a darling, size-two blond. We won’t even mention Seth’s presence. Mental note: Don’t be so picky about television entertainment on a Saturday night.
Kay’s clipboard suddenly clears as everyone is mystified by the sight of the young, enigmatic Arin joining our group and heading to the stage. We are The Reasons, after all. She hasn’t a one.
She opens the karaoke book and finds us a song. The music starts, and before I know it, we’re crooning a kissing song by Cher.
“Ooooh Oooh Oooh,” I sing, as Arin goes for the wild part. At the end we break into a pile of giggles, and I realize with total shock that I really enjoyed myself. “Let’s do it again!”
“You pick this time.” Arin and I are still giggling, and our humor is infectious because this crowd of stagnant engineers is going crazy. More so than for Spock’s dying. At this rate, we could outpace The Matrix. My ego is soaring by the minute.
“‘The Macarena!’” I yell.
The music starts, and our hand motions are immediate. Who would have guessed this group would have known “The Macarena”? We shimmy and wiggle until the song ends, and once again I can barely breathe from laughing.
“Ashley, I didn’t know you could dance.” Seth is standing beside me.
“‘The Macarena’ isn’t really dancing,” I explain. “Even a patent attorney can do it.”
“Hi,” Seth says to Arin. “I’m Seth Greenwood.”
Arin nods. Even the way she nods is cute. “Nice to meet you. Wasn’t Ashley great? I knew she rocked inside that lawyer front. There’s a wild woman just waiting to get out.”
I swallow past an enormous lump in my throat waiting for his answer. He’s not looking at Arin, but at me, and I suddenly can’t believe I danced and sang in a local Starbucks. Do I have no shame? I start to laugh again at the thought.
“I’ve seen glimpses of her wild side before,” Seth winks. “You should have seen her at the water slides last summer.”
What a Girl Wants Page 5