Romantically Challenged (18 page)

“Then tell me about the people you’ve dated.”

“There’s nothing to tell. They were just guys.”

“What was wrong with them?”

“Nothing was wrong with them. They just weren’t right for me.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” I knew she wouldn’t let up and I would have to tell her something. Since Ronald was as good an example as any I said, “The last guy I went out with was a complete chauvinist. You would’ve thought he’d just stepped out of a time machine from the 1950s.”

“Why?” she asked. “Because he offered to pay for dinner?”

“No, that part I liked. It was his outdated ideas I had a problem with.”

“And the other ones? What was wrong with them?”

“The one before him was too effeminate. Before that, I don’t remember.” Two should be enough to satisfy her.

“Just line ‘em up and shoot ‘em.”

“I’m sure I’ll meet the right one.” At least I wanted to believe that. “Give me some time.”

“You’re not getting any younger, Julia. Don’t you think maybe you’re a little too fussy?”

I knew it! I knew she would turn this into a criticism about me. And then she wonders why I never tell her anything. “No mother, I don’t think you can be too fussy when it comes to the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.”

“What if you never meet the perfect person?”

“I didn’t say he had to be perfect. I just said he had to be the right one for me.”

“What if you never meet the ideal man who is just right for you?”

“Then I’ll be single forever. But I’d rather stay single than marry someone I don’t want to marry, just so you can tell your friends that I’m married.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Freedom Returned

I felt free. True, I was driving to the office. But at least it was a Tuesday morning instead of a Monday morning, the Rosebud case was over, the dreaded parental visit was behind me, and my date with opposing counsel wasn’t until Friday night. Life was good.

I was cleaning up the Rosebud files to send to storage when Simone came into my office. She settled herself in one guest chair and stretched her long legs out across the other.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked.

“I don’t, but Rosenthal might.”

“Didn’t you hear? He went to New York for the weekend and his flight back to L.A. was delayed. He won’t be in the office at all today.”

This day was getting better and better.

“But enough about Rosenthal. I want to hear about your weekend with Mom and Dad.”

I gave Simone the highlights.

“I love it,” she said. “You spent all day dealing with annoying car salesmen just so you didn’t have to talk to your parents.”

“I talked to my parents. We just talked about the cars we were test-driving instead of anything controversial.”

“Well I’ve got some news for you that ought to make your mother happy.”

“What? You found me a husband?”

“Maybe,” she said. “If not, he should at least be a good date.”

Simone told me how she’d met Dylan. She and her fiancée Todd had spent the weekend at Todd’s beach club. Todd had left early Sunday morning to play golf with some of his buddies and Simone stayed. She was lying on a lounge chair by the pool when a man sat down next to her and started flirting. Naturally, Simone flirted back. When he asked for her number, she admitted she was engaged, but told him that she had a friend she’d love to set him up with.

“I can’t believe he agreed to it,” I said.

“It took some cajoling, but I convinced him. It really wasn’t that difficult. All guys think that attractive women are only friends with other attractive women, so all he really agreed to was to trade one attractive woman’s phone number for another. No biggie.”

“You gave him my number?” This was getting out of hand.

“Of course not. I would never do that without asking you first. So can I?”

“I don’t know Simone. You don’t know anything about this guy.”

“I know he’s tall and very cute. He’s personable. He lives in Brentwood. He’s a real estate broker. He’s single. And he makes enough money to afford a membership at a $3000-per- month private beach club.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not a jerk.”

“He can’t be worse than the last guy. Just go out with him once, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

* * *

I drove to Gianni’s (yet another Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills with European ambience) on Thursday night straight from the office. I didn’t have time to go home and change, so my navy suit and white silk blouse would have to do. I went into the bar area and looked for a tall man with a black suit, gray shirt, and no tie, the outfit Dylan told me he’d be wearing.

It wasn’t a helpful description. This was Los Angeles. Ten of the fifteen men in the bar were wearing black suits. Four of them wore ties, so now I was down to six. One was short, one was bald, and two were with women. I had it narrowed down to two, but I couldn’t figure out which one of them was Dylan. I decided I would wait at the bar and let the right man come to me.

I sat down at the only empty bar stool and ordered a glass of cabernet. Neither man even looked in my direction. I was debating whether I should say something to one of them, and if so which one, when one of the men got up and left. I paid for my wine and was about to walk up to the other man, when someone else walked up to me.

He was tall, cute but not gorgeous, and wore black pants and a gray shirt. I’d noticed him earlier sitting by himself at a table in the corner.

“Julie, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Hi, I’m Dylan. Nice to meet you.” We shook hands. I must have looked perplexed because he added, “I left my jacket in the car.”

 “I wish I knew you were going to do that. I was looking for someone in a black jacket.”

“I know. I saw you walk in.”

“Then why didn’t you come up to me sooner?” I thought he’d say something like “I wasn’t sure it was you” or “I was working up my nerve.”

He said, “I liked watching you scope the room. It was very entertaining.”

Another jerk. Hadn’t I met my quota yet? “That’s what I’m here for,” I said and gave him a fake smile.

“I’m glad to hear that. If the evening goes well, I’ll have to call Simone and thank her for setting us up.”

If I called Simone right now I wouldn’t be thanking her.

How shocked would this guy be if I just got up and walked out? I could. It wasn’t like he was a friend of Simone’s. He was really a complete stranger. Hmmm. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t do it. It was too rude. Even for this guy. I glanced at the clock on the wall above the bar. It was only 8:15. With any luck, I’d be home in time to watch
CSI.

I listened to Dylan’s stories about his job, his ex-girlfriend and his ex-girlfriend’s annoying cat. He must have written me off too. Otherwise, why would he spend half the evening talking about his ex-girlfriend?

Around the time our entrees arrived, Dylan must’ve either run out of stories or gotten tired of the sound of his own voice. I’d bet on the former. Or it’s possible he was just hungry and wanted me to do the talking so he could eat. He started asking me questions about my job and my travels.

I was in the middle of a story about a trip to Europe I’d taken with Kaitlyn after we’d graduated from law school when he leaned over to the couple at the next table and said, “It’s pronounced Title-ist, not Tit-list.”

All three of us just stared at him.

“Sorry,” Dylan said to the man, “but I’m a big golfer and I just wanted to let you know the correct pronunciation of the name.”

The man at the next table was obviously, and rightfully, annoyed. I was sure he and his dinner companion were on a first date too because when they were next to me at the bar, I’d heard him ask her how she liked to spend her free time. That was definitely a first date question.

The man said, “Thanks for the tip,” and returned his attention to his dinner partner.

Dylan turned back to me. “I just couldn’t listen to that guy massacre the name.”

Why were you eavesdropping on the conversation at the next table when you should’ve been listening to me, your date? I listened to all your boring stories. The least you could do is pretend to listen to my mildly entertaining, if not completely mesmerizing, tale.

“What is Titlist?” I asked, making sure I pronounced the name correctly.

“A company that makes golf equipment. I have a set of their clubs. They’re terrific.”

“How long have you been playing?” I knew nothing about golf and had no interest in the sport, but I didn’t want to keep talking when he made it so obvious that he wasn’t listening. I’d let him talk so I could eat. At least the food was good.

I was relieved when we’d both finished our pastas without another incident. I planned on turning down coffee and dessert, so the end of the evening was in sight. Until the busboy came over to clear our plates and accidentally dropped a fork in Dylan’s lap.

“You idiot!” Dylan screamed.

The restaurant became momentarily silent as the other diners stared. The busboy grabbed the fork and smiled apologetically.

Dylan continued his tirade. “You think just picking it up makes everything okay?”

The busboy appeared neither to speak nor understand English, but he realized from the tone of Dylan’s voice that it wasn’t good. He quickly cleared the rest of our plates and hurried towards the kitchen. I wished I could go with him.

“Don’t you walk away from me,” Dylan yelled after him. “I can have you fired for this.”

“Dylan, it was an accident.”

“Don’t defend him. If he can’t clear a table without dropping the silverware, then they should send him back where he came from.”

The waitress arrived seconds later and the maître d’ a few minutes after that. They both apologized to Dylan over and over again in fruitless attempts to calm him down. His anger only subsided when the maître d’ agreed to take his entree off the bill.

* * *

I tried to say goodbye to Dylan in front of the restaurant, but he insisted on walking me to my car. As I fumbled for my keys, he shocked me with, “We should go out again.”

What was up with this guy? First he bores me, then he ignores me, then he embarrasses me, and now he wants a second date? I knew guys that always asked women for a second date even when they had no intention of ever seeing the woman again. But that was just because, according to them, they were being polite. I was sure that wasn’t Dylan’s motivation.

“You have my number,” I said and prayed he wouldn’t use it.

Then he leaned down toward me. I turned my head. No way was I kissing him. What was he thinking? Not only was this a first date, but he ate garlic chicken for dinner.

Dylan kissed my cheek and then moved over to my mouth. I pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Take a hint, buddy! “I don’t kiss on the first date.”

“If your friend told me she was setting me up with a prude I never would’ve agreed to this.”

“Trust me,” I said, “if she had told me what a rude jerk you were, I would’ve said no too.”

“Your problem is you’re a tight ass bitch who doesn’t know how to have a good time.”

I thought of all the nasty things I could’ve called him in return. But what was the point? Plus it was already five minutes to ten. I needed to get home to watch
CSI
and tickle Elmo.

I got off one “drop dead” before I slammed my car door shut and sped away. Even when I took the high road, I still needed to have the last word.

Thank God It’s Friday

I loved Fridays. Not only was the weekend mere hours away, but it was the only day of the week I could wear jeans to work and have breakfast waiting for me when I arrived. The firm had a standing order with the bakery on the first floor to deliver two dozen bagels and three varieties of cream cheese to the office every Friday morning. Rosenthal thought this proved to everyone what a generous guy he was. No one was fooled.

By the time I arrived Friday morning all the popular flavors (i.e., anything with seeds, raisins, or cheese) were gone. I grabbed a plain bagel and a cup of coffee and headed back to my office where I found Simone waiting for me. She was already halfway through her sesame seed bagel and coffee.

“You’re late,” she said.

“I know. I tried on five different outfits this morning trying to decide what to wear tonight.”

“I almost forgot, tonight’s the date with the lawyer. But first I want to hear about last night. What did you think of Dylan?”

I set down my bagel and coffee so I could use both hands for emphasis. “I cannot believe you set me up with that guy!”

“Why? What did he do?”

I told Simone the whole story.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “But I can make it up to you.”

“How?” With Simone, you never knew.

“Todd told me there’s a guy in his office he wants to fix you up with.”

“I’m not sure I trust your taste anymore.”

“It’s not mine, it’s Todd’s. I’ve never met the guy. All I know is that he works with Todd and he’s good-looking.”

“How do you know he’s good-looking if you’ve never met him?”

“Todd told me, so you know he must be. Guys never say that other guys are good-looking unless they’re drop-dead gorgeous.”

“That’s true,” Greg said as he walked in with his poppy seed bagel and a container of apple juice. “We’re completely clueless.” Simone moved her feet off the other guest chair so Greg could sit down.

“Then how do you know when a guy is drop dead gorgeous?” I asked.

“Because whenever we have one among us, all the women flock to him and tell the rest of us that he’s gorgeous. Then we know.”

“Do you have any gorgeous friends to set Julie up with?” Simone asked Greg.

“No,” he said. “I’m plum out.”

“What good are you?” I asked.

“Very good,” Greg said. “I have some information on your new beau that I think you’ll want to hear.”

“What new beau?” If I had one, it was news to me.

“I told him you had a date with Steve Rogers,” Simone said. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”