“I don’t know,” I said. “A thrift store?”
“Oh, my God!” he bawled. “You. Are. Killing me! You are not wearing a thrift-store dress to La Fille. What does this Drew person look like, anyway? Have you stalked his Facebook or anything?”
“No. He probably doesn’t even have a Facebook; he doesn’t seem like that sort of person.”
“There must be some pictures of him online.” Austin pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to find him.”
“Is that necessary?”
“Kind of,” he said as he tapped away at his phone screen. “You know, so I can see what your date looks like. That will help when we pick your outfit. What’s his last name?”
“Parker. Wait a minute—you’re telling me that what my date looks like will play a role in what outfit I get? Are you serious?”
But now Austin was ignoring me as he scrolled through what I imagined would be a lot of Drew Parkers. It seemed like a common enough name.
“Is this him?” He turned the phone to me.
“No,” I said immediately. “That guy looks about twenty. At the most.”
“Didn’t think so, but it says he’s in Sausalito, so I wasn’t sure. Hold, please.” He went back to his phone.
“I thought you were going to help me find a dress,” I said. “Not be browsing your phone all day.”
“This is hardly all day. Hmm. Wait a sec. Is this him?”
He turned the screen to me again, and this time I was confronted with two photos, side by side. One was of some guy on a stage, playing guitar, with some sort of mask covering his face. The picture was captioned with: The mysterious bass player from FoV. The second picture was a grainy photo of Drew, like someone had taken the picture on a phone from some distance and then zoomed in. The quality wasn’t great, but it was definitely Drew. The caption under this photo read: Is our mystery man Drew Parker?
“That’s him,” I said, pointing to the photo on the right. “I don’t know who that is, though. What website did you find that on?”
“It’s just someone’s blog about the underground music scene.”
“Well, what little I know about Drew leads me to believe he is not the sort of person who would be into underground music.”
“No? What kind of music do you think he likes?”
“I don’t know. Bon Jovi? The Eagles? I’m really just guessing here. But I highly doubt he’s into punk rock or anything, and he’s certainly not that person in the mask.”
Austin looked at the screen, squinting. “I mean, the quality of these pictures sucks shit, but... I don’t know... I can see a resemblance in body type. It could be him.”
“It could also be any number of other people. And even if it was him, does that matter? We need to find this dress.”
“You’re right.” Austin looked at the phone one last time before sliding it back into his pocket. “Despite the shittiness of the picture quality, I can tell that Drew is hella hot. Like, damn, girl, damn. You’re going to be the envy of the whole restaurant. We need to get you something sexy.”
“As long as it’s under fifty dollars, that’s fine.”
“You’re making this about as difficult as it could be,” Austin said, “but come on; I think I know just the place.”
***
Just the place turned out to be Mannequin, a clothing store in the Marina that Austin’s friend, Kip, managed. It was an upscale sort of store, where most things had a price tag well over fifty dollars, but Austin whispered to me not to worry about the price; Kip owed him a favor and I could get whatever I wanted.
Kip was helping another customer when we came in, so Austin steered me in the direction of the dresses, like he owned the place.
“I’m going to have to recommend going with the little black dress. Because you can’t go wrong with that,” he said as he pulled some dresses off the rack. They were all black. He handed me one with long sleeves, two with short sleeves, another couple that were strapless.
“Don’t you think I should go for some color?” I asked.
“No. Not with the dress. You can accessorize with color. And shoes. I’m sure you need shoes; you’re not going to be wearing those weird-ass shoes with the toes.”
“I don’t even have those anymore,” I said. There had been a brief phase of my life where I tried wearing those minimalist shoes that were like gloves for your feet, a look that Austin had mocked mercilessly.
He ushered me into one of the dressing rooms. “Show me each dress,” he said, “even if you think it doesn’t look good.”
I smiled to myself as he left. He knew me too well; I had been hoping I could try the dresses on, come out, and tell him that none of them were quite right and we’d probably have to go somewhere else.
The first dress was one of the strapless ones, with a plunging neckline that made me feel as if my breasts were going to pop out at any given moment. No. I didn’t care how much Austin raved about it, I wasn’t wearing this one. I changed out of it without bothering to show him. The second dress, with short sleeves, fit better and didn’t have such a low neckline, but it still wasn’t quite right.
“Let’s see,” Austin called. “I’m waiting.”
I opened the door and he appraised me. “Turn,” he said. I turned.
“It’s cute. You don’t realize how lucky you are to have the figure you do—anything will look good on you. But... I don’t feel like this is the one.”
“This isn’t my wedding, you know. It’s not like we have to find the perfect dress. Just something that looks nice.”
“Well, that one does look nice, but... I’ll know it when I see it.”
I went back in and tried the other dresses on. The last one I tried on was the long-sleeved one. It had a scoop neck and stopped mid-thigh. The material was soft and very form-fitting and not like anything I would normally wear, but I liked it. I really liked it.
And because I liked it so much, I felt a little shy when I stepped out of the dressing room. Austin didn’t say anything right away, but then gave a low whistle and clapped.
“There it is,” he said. “That’s the one.”
Then came the matter of shoes. The customer Kip had been helping had left, so he came over as Austin and I were looking at shoes.
“Darling!” he said. He was tall and lanky, with bleached-blond hair. “I can now dedicate my full attention to you. Let me see what you’ve picked out. And give me the details: where are you going, who are you going with, what is the relationship like?”
They both listened attentively as I answered his questions. “I’m going on a date at La Fille, with this guy whom I don’t really know, and I think that answers your third question.”
Austin rolled his eyes. “You are, like, leaving out soooo many details.” He pulled his phone out. “Just look at this guy!”
Kip took the phone, stared at it, widened his eyes, dropped his jaw, and then grinned at me. “Damn, girl!” he said. “Better throw in some sexy underwear to go along with that dress.”
“Or, better yet—no underwear,” Austin said.
I covered my face. “You guys are too much. I don’t know what kind of date you think this is, but... I will definitely be wearing underwear.”
I ended up getting a pair of strappy sandals in a deep shade of cerise with a three-inch heel, which was about as high as I felt comfortable wearing. Any higher, I’d be likely to sprain my ankle or trip and fall flat on my face. All in all, I was happy with what I got, and grateful that Austin had agreed to meet up with me and help me out, because if I had gone on my own, who knows what I would’ve ended up getting.
***
My phone rang while I was getting ready that evening, and when I looked at the screen, I saw that it was Grace.
“Hi, Grace,” I said. I had just slipped the dress over my head and was standing in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the back of my bedroom door. I could only imagine what Grace would say if she knew what I was wearing.
She wouldn’t disapprove, necessarily, but I knew she’d think it was risqué, and maybe not what I should be wearing out on a first date.
“I just wanted to call and check in and see how you were doing,” she said. “And also thank you again for helping me with the house. The church came and got the rest of the donation stuff; they sent a van over and picked it up. Loaded it all onto the truck for me—I didn’t have to do a thing.”
“Oh,” I said. “The church?” I tried to keep the trepidation out of my voice, but it was hard to; Grace had been one of Joshua’s loyal followers until the end, so it was hard to think of her attending a different church.
“Yes,” she said. “Our Lady of Perpetual Grace. It’s the next town over. A small church, but a lovely group of people. I’ve been going there for quite some time.”
“You have?”
“Yes. I go on Sunday mornings now, but they also do a Saturday afternoon mass at four o’clock, and I used to go to that when Joshua was still alive. He thought I was at my knitting group, but that’s actually on Thursdays.”
“I see,” I said, and I smiled a little, happy for Grace that she had managed to do something she wanted to do, even while letting Joshua think that he had all the control. “That’s good, Grace. I’m glad you have them.”
“They’re a great group of people. They’ve been very supportive during this time.”
We chit-chatted for a little bit, and then she asked me if I had any plans tonight. I hesitated, not sure if I should tell her about Drew, because then she might ask how I met him, and I still didn’t want to tell her about the journal. But I could tell her what I was up to without getting into the specifics, and I wanted to share the news with her, because I knew she would be happy for me.
“Well,” I said, “I’m actually getting ready to go out on a date.”
“A date! That’s wonderful. With who?”
“His name’s Drew.”
“Is this a first date? Or is he someone you know?”
“It’s a first date.”
“And how did you two meet?”
“Uh... he was working security at the yoga festival, and we bumped into each other there.” That was a satisfactory answer, and also not a lie. I just didn’t need to let on that I had known about Drew before the festival had ever started.
“I won’t keep you long, then,” Grace said. “But I hope you have a wonderful time tonight. And maybe we can figure out a time to get together. You know that you’re welcome here anytime.”
“Thanks, Grace,” I said. “And yes, I’ll plan on coming to see you soon, okay?”
“That would make me very happy.”
We got off the phone and I continued to get ready. I couldn’t help but think about Grace, though, and the fact that she was there alone. Did she want to get out of that house? Sell the place and live somewhere different? She’d been there her whole life, after all—why on earth wouldn’t she want some sort of change? I kept this in the back of my mind as I brushed my hair and looked at my face, trying to decide whether I should put on makeup or not. The next time I went over to see her, we could talk about whether or not she wanted to stay there. It was a lot of land, and if she didn’t want to stay on, she could make a decent profit from selling it. She was older, yes, but she deserved a chance at living a life she wanted, no matter how old she was.
Chapter 9
Drew
For dinner, I chose to wear a three-piece Tom Ford Windsor sharkskin in charcoal. This was La Fille, after all, so dressing down was not an option. I put a dark-pink silk hanky in the jacket pocket and wore a black tie with pink flamingos on it, my subtle little tribute to the John Waters film of the same name.
I wasn’t exactly sure how I expected tonight to go, other than I found myself looking forward to it more than I usually did because it seemed there was now an extra layer to the situation. I’d never had any type of connection with a first date before, but now I did, however tenuous a connection it might be.
Having some sort of belief in a higher power would be helpful in a situation like this, because I could say that God had answered my prayers, or that the universe was trying to tell me something, or whatever other hokey, New Age, woo-woo shit you wanted to conjure up. Unfortunately (or not), I believed in the here and now, in what you could see, smell, taste, touch—and that was about it. I didn’t go around preaching this gospel to others, nor did I expect them to see things my way, but I was a firm believer that this was the one and only life you got, and there was no bearded grandpa in the sky, sternly watching your every move, ready to smite you when you were least expecting it.
All this really meant for this current situation was I was trying to take it at face value. The strangeness of it could not be denied, but life could be strange sometimes. That didn’t mean some sort of esoteric explanation was needed. Gwen had found a journal that my sister had put my contact information in. Gwen had gotten in touch with me about it. The fact that we’d also run into each other at the yoga festival didn’t really matter.
Still, though, I did wonder how things would have gone if the journal was not a factor here, if I had just seen Gwen at the yoga festival and that was it. I probably would have asked her on a date, not just because she was smokin’ hot, but because there was something intriguing about her, and I liked a girl who didn’t just fall all over herself when in the presence of an attractive male. Guys who aren’t used to that sort of behavior always think how great it would be to be the sort of man that women get in a tizzy over, but it’s actually not as wonderful as one might think. Sure, there’s the whole power trip of it—look how your mere presence is affecting her!—but it gets old pretty quick.
So it was not Gwen’s looks that had me so intrigued, because I’d gone on plenty of first dates with plenty of gorgeous women. Perhaps it was the fact that Gwen seemed like someone who wasn’t actually aware of her appearance, which was rare for a woman, at least the ones I knew. Or maybe it was something else; I didn’t know. But I was going to use tonight to try to figure it out.
***
What I had not been expecting was for her to look as stunning as she did, which probably sounded completely contradictory to what I had been thinking about earlier, about appearance and not falling all over yourself because someone looked good. I might’ve been falling all over myself on the inside, but I just straightened my shoulders and smiled a little as she approached, kept the expression on my face friendly but relatively neutral. Her outfit was simple but gorgeous: a little black dress, stopping just above mid-thigh length, scoop neck, long sleeves. Tight, and showing off every curve. I could tell, as she walked toward me, that she was not the sort of woman who was used to getting dressed up like this, and the looks that every guy threw her way seemed to surprise her.
“Wow,” I said. “I couldn’t get any more cliché right now, but you look amazing.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Um, you look nice, too.”
I held the door open for her and we stepped inside. Russell, the maître d’, smiled at us as we walked in.
“Drew,” he said. “Glad to see you. And you are...?” he asked, looking at Gwen.
“Gwen,” she said.
“Have you been to our restaurant before?”
“Definitely not,” she said, gazing around. The interior of La Fille was elegant yet also a bit rustic, intimate, with low lighting, dark wood, white linen covering each table. “But it looks pretty nice.”
“Well, we hope you’ll enjoy your evening. Follow me, please.”
He took us to a table by the window, pulled out the chair for Gwen, and handed over the wine list and menus.
“Jeff will be your server tonight, and he’ll be right over with a basket of breads,” he said. He patted me on the shoulder before he walked away.
I looked across the table at Gwen, whose face was softly illuminated in the golden light from the two votives in the middle of the table. There was a strange fluttering sensation right in the area of my solar
plexus, which I was not accustomed to. I took a sip of water.
“This place is pretty fancy,” Gwen said, gazing around. “I’ve never been here before. Since they’re on a first-name basis with you, I’m guessing you come here a lot?”
“I wouldn’t say a lot, but I have been here before. I like to go to all sorts of places, not just the fine-dining establishments.”
A part of me was toying with the idea of not mentioning anything about the journal, of just enjoying this night as a date. But that was not the point here; that was not the ultimate objective. The ultimate objective was to get answers, and if I was going to do that, it would require bringing up some (possibly) uncomfortable topics.
But the time to bring it up just didn’t seem right. Not when we ordered drinks, or browsed the menu, or placed our order: oysters on the half-shell for an appetizer, arugula salad with chèvre, seared elk loin for me and roasted swordfish for Gwen. The conversation flowed; she was easy to talk to, and I liked making her laugh.
“So, what made you decide to become a yoga teacher?” I asked.
“It just sort of happened. I was taking college courses and working part-time, but I had a lot on my plate and would sometimes wake up with my lower back and shoulders so tight that I felt like I could barely move. So I made an appointment for a massage and took a yoga class, and the yoga class helped me a lot more. I kept going back, and then eventually someone said I should take a teacher training, and I did.”
“Wait a second—you had a massage and a yoga class, and then yoga class was better? Really?”
“Really.”
“Damn. Must not have been a very good masseuse.”
Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever taken a yoga class?”
“Uh... sort of. I’ve had massages before, though, and I can’t imagine anything better than that.”
Neither of us said anything for a moment, and I wondered if she thought that last statement was some sort of innuendo, which it sure sounded like to me after I’d said it.
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