by Howe, Violet
Christopher looked both surprised and embarrassed. He sat back in his chair and took a sip of wine as he looked at the patrons around us then back to me.
I tried to stop laughing, but it was damned good wine. The harder I fought for composure, the more it eluded me.
I mean, never in my entire life has anyone told me they wanted to bathe me. Is this a thing? A fetish? To bathe people? I’ve never heard of it. Don’t get me wrong. I love a good bubble bath as much as the next girl. But on the first date?
Had I somehow given him the impression I was up for a bath? I stopped laughing and dabbed my running mascara with the black napkin.
“Excuse me,” I said, leaning toward him across the table “but what exactly did I do or say tonight to make you think I was the kind of girl you could take home and bathe on the first date?”
“What do you mean?” he answered. “I find you beautiful, and I want to bathe you. It’s a sensual thing.”
“I’m sure it is. But I don’t want to be bathed by someone I barely know. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the ladies room.”
I gathered my shawl and my purse and tried to walk as dignified as possible, although the remnants of the wine fuzz gave me a slight sway I couldn’t control.
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and wondered how the evening had plummeted so abruptly. Maybe I overreacted. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. I mean, I could overlook his other water obsession, so why not this?
Perhaps it was that he expected it so quickly. Sure, I wanted him to find me attractive. I had certainly hoped he would kiss me good night. I might have even invited him in for a few minutes when he dropped me off. But I wanted him to desire spending time with me. To desire getting to know me. To find out who I am and what makes me tick. Share who he is and what makes him tick. Then, perhaps if our ticks lined up and our interests matched, maybe just maybe after we’d held hands and swapped spit—cuddled and petted a bit, trusted and shared—I might consider letting him bathe me.
Bathing seems so, I don’t know, personal? So intimate. Even more so than sex in some way. I would have to feel completely and totally comfortable with someone to lay there and be bathed. Definitely not a first date event for me.
When I returned to the table, Christopher had paid the check and stood waiting for me. We left the restaurant in silence, and after only two stops to dry the car, he pulled into my driveway and cut the engine.
He looked at me intently, resting his left arm across the steering wheel and reaching over to put his right hand on my knee. I didn’t move it, but I didn’t necessarily want it there either.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he said. “I didn’t mean to. I find you attractive, and I wanted to see more of you.”
“Evidently so,” I said, shifting my leg out from under his hand.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, yes, I did want to see more of you, but I meant it like I wanted to go out with you again.”
I nodded and smiled, unsure how to respond. I looked out the window and away from him.
“So,” he said, “can I come inside for a while? No bath, just talking?”
I turned back to him, wondering if I was an insane, unreasonable person making too much out of this. There were so many wonderful things about him, so much I liked. Here was a handsome, wealthy, interesting man being straightforward and upfront with me about what he wanted. Hadn’t I asked for that? Hadn’t I wished for a straight shooter? So why couldn’t I get past him offering to bathe me?
I didn’t know. But I couldn’t. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I answered.
“Okay. Well, can I see you again?” he asked.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea either,” I answered. Part of me felt guilty for turning the dude down. He’d been a perfect gentleman right up until he became Mr. Bubble. Even after, really. Polite as ever. Not pushing the issue or getting offended.
“Okay,” he said. “Well, I bought you a gift. I intended to give it to you after your bath, but since that won’t be happening, I’d like to go ahead and give it to you now.”
He reached into the tight space behind my seat and pulled out an unmistakable pink-striped Victoria’s Secret bag.
My eyes widened in shock as I sank back against the window away from the bag.
He reached inside and pulled out a sheer, white mesh thong with a bright pink satin rose prominently placed right above the G-string in the back.
“I got this for you today. I’ve been picturing you in it all night long. Paul showed me a picture of you, so I got the large to make sure it would fit. I can’t stop imagining how fine your deliciously round derriere would look in this. Especially after a nice, hot bath.”
“Okay, good night. I would say thank you for a lovely evening, but I’m a bit creeped out right now. Take care, and please don’t bother to call.”
I hauled my deliciously round derriere out of the super-clean Porsche, mentally noting I probably wouldn’t want to ride in a car so low to the ground all the time anyway.
As I came around the front of the car he yelled, “Here!”
I shouldn’t have turned, but I did, instinctively reaching to catch the pink-striped bag before it hit me square in the face.
“The gift was for you,” he said. “I want you to have it. If I don’t get to see you again, at least I can picture you wearing it. If you change your mind, you have my number.”
Mr. Bubble pulled away, carefully avoiding the water on the side of my street. Between the car and the bath, this guy has some serious issues with cleanliness.
So yeah. I don’t do blind dates. Or baths. I think I’ll be a shower-only girl from here on out.
Thursday, October 10th
I debated over how much to tell Melanie today. She and Paul both wanted so badly for last night to go well. It was downright awkward to tell her I didn’t like their dream date because he wanted to bathe me and dress me in a thong he bought me before we ever met. A large thong, I might add. (Never mind it was the correct size. That’s not the point.)
The details ended up spewing out as we stood by the coffee machine. After she got over her initial shock and we laughed a bit, she apologized profusely and said she might murder Paul.
“It’s not his fault, Mel. I’m pretty sure Christopher didn’t tell him about his fetish for bubble baths, and I don’t think he called Paul to get a size before making the thong purchase.”
“Are you kidding me?” Mel asked. “We’ve been married almost fifteen years. The man has no clue what size panties I wear. He doesn’t have a clue what to get you, trust me!”
“Well, chalk it up to another dating adventure and a new pair of panties I doubt I’ll ever wear,” I said.
“Hell, I’d wear ’em,” Mel said. “He’s not gonna know either way. Why turn down Victoria’s Secret?”
I laughed with Mel about it, but I couldn’t shake feeling a little depressed about the whole thing. I tried to go into it without expecting much, but then it seemed so good. I think I got my hopes up. I thought for a little bit that I had finally found someone to be excited about again. It’s been a long time since I felt that way.
Not that I haven’t had dates here and there that went well, but I don’t remember really feeling excited to be with someone since Dwayne. Well, in the beginning with Dwayne, that is. All I felt in the end was a stabbing pain in my chest.
We’d known each other our whole lives, but it wasn’t until our senior year that Cupid struck. It was the first time I’d ever been in love, complete with all the giddy, giggly, silly-ass things we say and do at that age. I wore his class ring on my index finger with a Dr. Scholl’s corn pad stuffed beneath it so it wouldn’t fall off. I drew hearts with our initials inside them all over notebooks, book covers, and chalkboards.
I’m embarrassed to say how many times I wrote my name as Tyler Davis, practicing so many variations of a capital D that I could have been a calligrapher if I only needed to do that one letter. I eve
n scribbled out Mrs. Dwayne Howard Davis a few times on scraps of paper when no one was looking.
I thought I was moving up in the alphabet. Warren gets called last for everything. Davis was near the top. I chuckled out loud at the memory of my young priorities. Once you get out of school, the world is no longer structured in alphabetical order. But at the time, I thought I was scoring a great coup in upward mobility.
We were together three years. My last year of high school and my first two—well, my only two—years of college. By the end of our first year, I had already built the white-picket fence in my head and named the babies I thought we’d raise together.
The ringing of the office phone sucked me back into present day, the nostalgia of puppy love still wafting through my brain.
It was Rob, one of our grooms for March. He seemed upset but polite as he explained he and his bride, Megan, would not be getting married after all. He wanted to cancel the wedding contract and any vendors already booked, including the photographer, venue, caterer and florist. I extended my sympathies and told him we’d take care of the cancellations.
Laura said she’d put the file aside to sit for a day or so. Sometimes couples make decisions in the heat of an argument or a moment of doubt that change after they make up. Better to hold off canceling until they’re sure the wedding’s not happening than to stress out trying to rebook vendors after releasing them.
So later this afternoon, Megan called. She was freaking out, asking Laura if everything had already been canceled. Laura assured her nothing had been done yet.
But then she asked if she could change the groom’s name on the contract instead of cancelling. She wanted everything she had booked—the venue, photographer, florist, and caterer. All the details arranged for her and Rob—flowers, menu, cake, linens. She wanted the same wedding but with a different guy. Seems she went back home for a wedding shower and ran into her high school sweetheart. Old flames die hard, I guess.
The whole thing hit really close to home. Partly because I’d been thinking about my old flame, my first love, and partly because I thought I knew a teensy bit about what Rob was feeling.
“Poor guy, huh?” Laura said.
“Yep,” I answered, still mulling over my own memories.
“Well, at least he knows now. Better than after he married her, right?”
“I guess,” I said. “Doesn’t make it any easier, though. My boyfriend dumped me and got married a month later. At the time, I wasn’t thinking he had done me any favors.”
“He got married a month later?” Laura lifted her eyebrows almost to her hairline as she sank bank in her chair. “Whoa. Was he already seeing her while you two were together?”
“I think so. I certainly didn’t know about it. In fact, I thought he was going to propose. He said we needed to talk, and I started practicing my acceptance speech in my head. I was even cursing myself for not having my nails painted to look pretty for the ring. That wasn’t what he had in mind, though.”
“What did he say? He just told you he was marrying someone else?” Laura had leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands as she propped her elbows on her desk.
“No! I got the ‘I think we need time apart’ speech. The ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ and my personal favorite, the ‘I feel like we have so much life ahead of us that we can’t really be tied down and make a commitment to one person’ speech.” Funny how I could remember how I felt that night as though it happened yesterday.
The air had left my lungs when he spoke, and I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Like the world spun an extra loop or tilted too far to one side or something. Nauseous and dizzy.
“One day he was my whole world. The next day he wasn’t even on my planet.” I could feel my throat tighten as Laura shook her head in commiseration. “I was a mess for weeks. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t drink. Couldn’t sleep. I lost fifteen pounds in two weeks. I probably could have fit into a size six for the first time in my life if I’d been able to drag myself to a store to shop.”
“But wait, how did you find out he was getting married?” Laura asked.
“His grandmother told me,” I said. “Mama sent me to the store to buy milk. Probably to get me out of the house more than anything. I ran into his grandma in the grocery store and was stupid enough to ask how he was doing. I mean, I thought he might have been taking it hard, too.”
Mrs. Dolores had given me a huge hug, squeezing me tight and telling me how much she missed me, which ripped my heart anew. I had thought she would be my grandma, too. That his family would be my family.
“She’d always been real sweet to me,” I told Laura. “I hate that she had to be the one to break the news. She looked so confused when I asked how he was doing, and then she said she thought somebody would have told me already.”
I had no idea what she was going to say, but I remember wanting to put my hands over my ears because I was sure it was nothing I wanted to know.
I could still hear her voice in my head, sweet and apologetic as she’d leaned in close and patted my arm. “Honey, Dwayne got married. Last weekend. He’s on his honeymoon in New Orleans right now.”
I felt as though the blood had stopped rushing through my body for a moment. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. I thought I might pass out right there in the potato chips aisle.
“It had only been one month, Laura. One month since he gave me his speech about being too young to commit and having our whole lives ahead of us. I thought he just had cold feet and needed time to figure things out. Three years together and one month after he broke up with me, he got married. I guess he figured it out, didn’t he?”
I felt the anger wash over me again. You’d think after five years I’d be totally over it and it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. But he was my first love. I gave him my heart, my dreams, my virginity. In return, I got betrayed. And it still hurts. I think maybe it always will.
Laura was staring at me with an intense expression.
“People in my hometown probably still talk about me running out of that store like I was on fire,” I said. “I have no idea who I bumped into on the way out. I just knew I had to get out.”
“So is that when you moved away from home?” she asked, her voice a quiet whisper.
“Yep. The very next day. I packed my clothes and kept running. I quit college, quit my job, left my mother standing on the porch crying, and I ran.”
“Why Orlando? Did you know people here?” Laura asked.
“Nope. Didn’t know a soul. We came to the Magic Kingdom the summer before I turned thirteen. The summer before my dad died. I had happy memories here. I couldn’t think of any place I’d rather be.”
“Wow,” Laura said. “I had wondered what made you move away from your family and come down here on your own. I had no idea, honey. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Me too.” I smiled, trying to lighten the conversation. I suddenly felt self-conscious that I had just poured my life story out to my boss. “But I’m okay now, right? It’s all good.”
“I guess. It obviously still bothers you,” Laura said. “Have you talked to him since then? Did you see him after that?”
“No, I haven’t. He’s still right there in that little town working at his dad’s lumber yard. Right where he swore he never wanted to be. Two kids, I think. Maybe three by now. I don’t really keep up with him.”
“Is that why you don’t go home much?” Laura asked.
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s like I associate home with bad memories, so I don’t want to go back, you know?” I stood up and cleared my throat, ready to end my impromptu therapy session. “I’m sorry I got into all that. I guess he’s just been on my mind the last couple of days for some reason, and then with Megan doing what she did . . .”
“Oh, no. Don’t apologize. I would like to think we could talk and share things together without needing apologies. I’m glad to have a little glimpse or a little insight. And I, for one, think he made a dreadful mi
stake. But his loss was my gain, and I’m so happy you’re here with us.”
I smiled and nodded back at her, feeling the tightening in my throat I always feel when Laura is sweet to me. She and Lillian both make me want to cry. Just for completely different reasons.
Friday, October 11th
A frantic text message summoning me to a bride’s room fifteen minutes before photos start is never a good sign.
I knew something was off when I entered the room. No excitement. No laughter. No last-minute preparations or animated chatter. Just an eerie quiet.
Janet, the bride, stood gazing out the window. From the look of the yellowed tulle and the ruffled, tiered skirt of her wedding gown, it was an antique or a family heirloom. She didn’t turn to acknowledge me when I entered. The silent bridesmaids returned my greeting with briefly fleeting pasted-on smiles, which faded as their eyes widened and flicked toward the bride. I got the distinct impression something was horribly wrong, and they expected me to fix it.
My mind raced through possibilities. I scanned my memories for details of their relationship and any signs of trouble. They were an older couple, both in their late forties. Her first marriage, his third. Maybe she was having cold feet?
“Janet? Honey? Is everything okay?”
She turned then, and I was struck again by what an attractive lady she was. Her soft, honey blond hair framed her face in beautiful waves straight from a hair product commercial. Her brilliant green eyes had sparkled and danced when we met, but today they seemed paralyzed in sadness. The lines in her pretty face were a little more prominent.
It confused me. Janet had been so happy to get married. Overjoyed to find love late in life. Excited about every little detail of the wedding. I couldn’t figure out what had changed.
When she spoke, I had to lean in to hear her despite our close proximity. “I found this dress when I was twenty-three. I was helping my friend shop for her wedding dress and envious of her getting married. I saw this gown hanging there, and I wanted more than anything to try it on. I went back to the store the next weekend all by myself. I put it on and knew this was the dress I wanted to wear in my wedding. I wasn’t even dating anyone at the time, but I bought it. I put it on layaway and never told anyone. I figured I could hold onto it until I got married. I didn’t think it would be twenty-four years, you know?”