The Undateable

by Sarah Title

  Until he looked down in the stands and saw Bernie laughing with Marc and playing with her hair. Playing with her hair! She never did that. They were probably talking about books or hybrid vehicles or something equally dorky. Whatever it was, it sure sounded funny. She never laughed like that with him. At him, yes, but not with him. And once he told her that at the end of the month, she would be putting on a sparkly dress and choosing men in front of a room full of strangers, she definitely would not be laughing.

  Colin had to remind himself not to care.

  And then the lights went out and the music came on and the announcer called roll and the bout began.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dear Maria,

  Why can’t men be men anymore? Why do they always want to talk about feelings and use hair products? Where are all the men who want to take care of their women?

  Proud Cavewoman in Western Addition

  Dear Cavewoman,

  I realize that dating in the Bay Area can feel like a politically correct bubble. San Francisco has a proud history of nonconformity and free thinking, embracing radical ideas like women who can take care of themselves or that the societal suppression of man’s natural emotional response is bad for both men and women. However, those men most assuredly still exist. Some of them even exist around here, recent transplants from redder pastures. You can find them at overpriced cigar clubs, bemoaning the fact that women express opinions and want to be paid equally for doing the same work as men. Go on and find yourself a caveman, but don’t come crying to me when your hands hurt from rubbing that stick against a rock all day, trying to get some warmth.

  And yes, that is a metaphor.

  Kisses,

  Maria

  MARC-WITH-A-C HAD NEVER been to roller derby before.

  “I’m kind of surprised you’re into it,” he told her, stretching his arm out behind her seat. She could barely hear him over the din of the bout, but she was doing her best.

  “I wouldn’t say I’m into it. I mean, I enjoy it. Women kicking ass and all. But I don’t actually set any of these dates up.”

  “Oh, that explains it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. You seem like one of those empowered types. I can’t imagine you’d want to watch women skating around in skimpy panties.”

  “They’re not strippers.”

  “Still.”

  Bernie bit her tongue. She wanted to argue with him, to say that these women were wearing athletic gear that they gussied up for themselves, not for the arbitrary male gaze. But it was no fun arguing with these dates. Not like it was arguing with Colin. Arguing was kind of their thing.

  No, she reminded herself. They didn’t have a thing.

  “Who’re those people down there?” he asked, pointing to a small cluster of fans sitting on the floor at the curve of the track.

  “Those are the suicide seats. Good view, but slightly dangerous.”

  “You wanna go down?”

  She’d never sat in the suicide seats before. She preferred watching the action from a safe distance away. But where had that ever gotten her?

  “Sure.” She looked back at Colin, who nodded when she pointed down to the track. He didn’t get up to follow, but he seemed to get the message.

  * * *

  Marc-with-a-c was a roller derby convert. His “shut it down” was as loud as any of the pierced, funky-haired folks sitting with them in the suicide seats. Bernie was almost too caught up in the speed and adrenaline to be bothered by it.

  “Yes! Cut that bitch off!”

  It wasn’t that Bernie was a prude about cursing. She believed in freedom of expression like a good San Francisco librarian should. But something about the violence in Marc’s tone was making her not love this festive evening out.

  “Aw, come on, Ref! Get your head out of your ass!”

  That got the ref’s attention, and Bernie saw some of the other track judges look at Marc and confer amongst themselves.

  “Come on, baby! Shake that little thang!”

  “Okay, Marc, that’s a little much,” she said, even though he probably couldn’t hear her.

  He was acting like he couldn’t hear her; that was for sure. He kept hurling suggestive comments at the smallest member of the squad, calling out her small stature and her short shorts.

  Then she stopped skating.

  Right in front of them.

  She spit out her mouth guard. She looked sweet and delicate, except for that murderous look in her eyes. “You got something to say to me?”

  “Get back out there and skate, Tinkerbell!”

  “You think you’re a big man?” the woman shouted back, then made a gesture so vulgar that Bernie was momentarily impressed and distracted from the angry misogyny of her date. Still, she tried to keep Marc from jumping up, but he was quick for a big man. And then he was charging at the tiny, murderous woman on roller skates.

  That was a mistake. Almost before he got close enough to touch her, Tinkerbell pulled back and socked him in the jaw. The arena was dead silent as she made contact. As Marc stumbled backward, the audience burst into a deafening roar, drowning out Bernie’s shouts for Marc to calm down, sit down, and they should go. The crowd must have given Marc some energy, because he shook the punch off and went for Tinkerbell again. This time, he was stopped by her padded elbow.

  Bernie scooted back, trying to get out from under Marc’s stubborn rush of testosterone. Before she could get very far, she was hauled up to her feet and shoved out of the way. It was Colin. Colin, who was now pushing his way in between Marc and Tinkerbell. The crowd around them chanted and hollered. Tinkerbell yelled, “Let me at him, Colin!” Marc started to yell back, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by the two security guards who wrestled him out of the stadium.

  The crowd went wild. Tinkerbell raised her arms in victory. Bernie thought she might vomit.

  “You wanna get out of here?” Colin asked, and she nodded and grabbed his hand and pulled him outside.

  “Are you okay?” he asked once they were out of the arena and it was quiet enough to hear.

  “What the hell was that?” asked Bernie, feeling a little dazed.

  “Bernie, are you hurt?” Colin had a firm grip on her forearms and had her pinned against the wall with his intense glare.

  “No. But did you see that? He went psycho!”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “You didn’t do it.”

  “Well, I appreciate you not blaming my entire gender for one loser’s ’roid rage.”

  “Seriously. That was weird, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And look at you, all manly and stuff, breaking up the fight.”

  “Impressed?”

  “He was twice the size of that skater girl. Is it wrong that it felt good to watch her kick his ass?”

  “No,” he laughed. “Definitely not wrong.”

  “Hey, that girl knew your name.”

  “Yeah, we work together.”

  “At Glaze?”

  “No, at my sideline job in a fight club.”

  “Dang. You fashion people have layers and layers.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Should we find Marc?”

  Colin hesitated, thinking. “We should find him.”

  “Hmm. But what if we didn’t?”

  Colin smiled at her and it made her think about last night when she’d cried and he’d comforted her and then kissed her. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him when she wasn’t in emotional distress.

  So she leaned in to him and found out.

  It was still great.

  When she pulled back, Colin looked surprised.

  “Adrenaline,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “You okay?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Should we go?”

  She heard sirens and Colin must have heard them, too.

  “Yup.”

  Chapter Thirty-Tw
o

  DAY MAKEUP WAS DIFFERENT from night makeup.

  Bernie had learned that from a makeup tutorial video Jeanaeane had sent her before her very first afternoon date. Bernie had hoped day makeup meant no makeup, but no. It meant the same amount of makeup, just applied in a completely different way.

  Bernie ignored the video and just put on some mascara. But as she looked in the mirror, she felt a little bland. God, what was she becoming that her practically naked face looked bland to her. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

  Also, she liked lipstick now.

  So she put some on.

  She would wait outside for her Uber—Sunday bus service was a little wonky, which meant she’d either be two hours early or an hour late for the date. She supposed she could have asked Colin to come get her, but he hadn’t offered, and after the weird way the roller derby date ended, she couldn’t blame him for wanting to keep his distance. They didn’t even like each other. Why the hell did they keep kissing?

  She renewed her determination to Not Be Weird. They’d been spending a lot of time together, and the carousel ride at night had been romantic. It was a moment; they shared it. Last night they both had a lot of adrenaline running through their systems. Another moment. No big deal.

  He was a real good kisser.

  She shook her head. Good for him, he was a good kisser. So was she, dammit. She’d received many compliments on her kissing. Well, not many, but several. And surely for every compliment she received there were several people who just didn’t offer feedback?

  Okay. Now she was clutching at straws. But whatever. She was a good kisser. And so was Colin.

  Gah.

  “Got another date?”

  There was a distinct twinkle in Maddie’s eye as she squeezed out the door behind her. Al had her walker folded up in one hand and was holding the door open with the other. Starr barked from the front window. The dog had serious FOMO. Bernie smiled at her neighbors and moved out of the way. She took Maddie’s arm and, between her and the railing, they got down the five stairs to the sidewalk.

  “Picnic in the park,” Bernie explained as Al unfolded the walker. “How about you guys?”

  “That sounds like a good idea. What do you think, pet?”

  Maddie patted her hair. “We’re getting haircuts. And then you’re taking me to lunch. Don’t try to get out of it. I’m not sitting in the dirt when you promised me Thai food.”

  Al shrugged. “I tried.”

  “You look very pretty, Bernie.” Maddie squeezed her arm, and Bernie felt a surge go through her. What was it? Pride? Happiness? Or just the general warmth of being appreciated?

  Being appreciated for her looks. Hmph.

  “You’re scowling,” Maddie scolded her.

  “Sorry. Poker face. Got it.”

  “Or just learn to take a compliment.”

  She did have a point.

  “Let’s try again. Bernie, dear, that lipstick is very fetching.”

  “Fetching?”

  “No, you say, ‘Thank you, Maddie.’ That’s it.”

  “Thank you, Maddie,” Bernie said, obediently.

  “Next time, try to sound like you mean it,” Al said.

  Bernie laughed, at the couple and at herself. She really couldn’t take a compliment, could she? When someone complimented your looks, it wasn’t an insult to every other part of you, she reminded herself. Maddie liking her lipstick didn’t mean that her naked lips looked monstrous and it was about time she finally learned to cover them up. It just meant that Maddie liked her lipstick.

  Huh. Epiphanies.

  “Okay,” she promised. “Thank you, Maddie. I mean it.”

  “Now, are you going to be nice to your date?” Al asked.

  “Oh, don’t get her started on being nice,” Maddie warned. “Just be yourself, dear. Not fake nice, and not defensive. Just your beautiful self.”

  “Oh,” Bernie said. She kind of felt like crying. That might have been the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. “Thanks, Maddie.”

  “There you go!” Maddie said, clapping her hands. “That didn’t hurt, did it?”

  Bernie laughed and gave Maddie a gentle hug. She waved them down the street just as her Uber pulled up.

  The ride to the park wasn’t long, but it was enough time for her Maddie-high to fade and those old first-date jitters to come back.

  Her phone buzzed, and she read the message from Colin.

  Running late.

  Her stomach flipped. What was she supposed to do now? She didn’t know what her date looked like. She couldn’t even remember his name. Bob? Johann? Sanjit? It could be anything!

  Here’s today’s guy:

  Attached was a picture of a square-jawed guy with a buzz cut who was, she had to admit, very cute. Not that it mattered.

  His name is Matt. He’s in sales. I forget what. He’s normal.

  Blergh, normal. She thought back to the vegan puppeteer. He hadn’t been that bad.

  Yes, he had.

  But normal? She didn’t do normal.

  Be there in twenty. Didn’t want you to think I stood you up. ;)

  Ugh.

  Don’t think your winky face is getting you out of trouble. See you soon, unless Matt sweeps me off my feet.

  Too normal for you.

  Why are you setting me up with guys you know I won’t like??

  Quit texting. You’re on a date.

  She wasn’t on a date yet, she thought. But then they were pulling up to the entrance to the Presidio, and there was a guy with a buzz cut pulling a blanket out of his trunk. Maybe Matt. If so, she liked what he was doing to his pants, bending over like that. Not that she judged him on his physical attributes. He squinted over at their car and she gave him a little wave, figuring she could just dive down to the floor if this wasn’t her date. Because that would be totally smooth.

  It wasn’t necessary, though, because as he walked closer, she recognized his face from her phone. She grabbed her purse and went to open the door, but he got there first and held it open for her.

  “Melissa?” he asked.

  “Hi. Matt, right?”

  “Wow, you’re so much more beautiful in person.”

  “Thank you, Matt.”

  So that’s how it’s done, she thought as Matt helped her out of the car. That’s how you start a blind date.

  * * *

  The Presidio was a wonderful park with some of the best views of the city and the bay. It was one of her favorite places to walk, and she’d spent many hours there when she first moved to the city. And the sky was clear, which meant they could actually enjoy the view.

  Well, she would have been able to enjoy the view. If only the wind would leave her hair out of her face.

  “More wine?” Matt asked, holding up the bottle.

  It was a lovely wine, and she would love another glass. But the wind. So annoying. Also, she wished she was wearing pants. She wasn’t sure if she could juggle another glass of red wine while holding her dress over her knees.

  She gave up and crossed her legs, tucking her skirt between her legs. Not the most ladylike way to sit, but it was better than flashing her underwear.

  Although she was wearing some new Makeda-required underwear. Maybe it would be good to flash it. See if she could get some more compliments out of this guy.

  But right now she didn’t think Matt was interested in her underwear. He was telling her about the amazing vineyard in Napa that he’d bought this wine from, and how there was another vintage that was better, but he was saving that for his wedding day. And how he’d visited a vineyard in Argentina over the winter and he was really thinking about going into business with them.

  “Wow, Argentina. That’d be something,” she said. “Do you speak Spanish?”

  “Un poquito,” he said, and she spoke just enough Spanish to know that he meant “a little.” “There’s a foreman who takes care of a lot of that, though.”

  “A lot of the speaking?”

&
nbsp; “With the workers, that kind of thing. I won’t really be involved in that.”

  “But you’ll be a partner.”

  He smiled at her. “An investor. I’ll supply the capital. I won’t have to get my hands dirty. That’s not how business works.”

  He winked at her.

  That made her want to toss his subpar vintage wine in his smug, patronizing face. But then what would Colin say when he showed up and she was sitting alone in the wind? Instead, she took a deep breath. He wasn’t that bad, this Matt. And he was right; she didn’t know anything about business. She’d never worked for a for-profit business. And he really was very handsome.

  “So have you always been interested in wine?” she asked, politely.

  “Nah. I mostly got into it as a way to impress women.” He chuckled. How very charming he was. “I was strictly a beer guy—and domestic beers.” She thought she saw him shudder. “But I figured if I wanted to impress a better class of women, I needed to cultivate better taste.”

  She bit her tongue.

  “So tell me about yourself. What are you into?”

  She took a sip of her wine. It actually was good. It made Matt’s condescension seem a little more bearable. Or it would once she had another glass.

  Sigh. She needed to try, at least. “You know, this experience has been so strange. I feel like I can hardly remember what I was into before I was dating all the time. I read a lot. I still read a lot, just a little less. I saw my friends a lot more.”

  “But now you’re really into dating?”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m really into it.” More like contractually obligated to complete it. Even if it wasn’t as terrible as it had been at the beginning of the month. And she didn’t technically have a contract. But she couldn’t leave Colin in the lurch.

  Not that he didn’t deserve it, pushy as he was.

  Ah, who was she kidding? She couldn’t even muster up the energy to be mad at him. She’d agreed to his scheme. He was following the rules.