Romantically Challenged (19 page)

I shot Simone a we’re-going-to-have-to-discuss-this-later look, but she’d already fixed her gaze on piece of lint clinging to the hem of her skirt. She and Greg were getting awfully chummy lately. I still thought that Simone could keep a secret, but Greg definitely couldn’t. He was the biggest gossip I knew.

“We’re just going out for a drink,” I said. “It’s no big deal.”

“Does that mean you’re not interested in my information?” Greg asked.

“Of course I’m interested. Spill it.”

“According to Carr Geary and Rogers’ receptionist, your man is thirty-six, divorced, no children and is a very nice guy. She says he doesn’t date a lot, but she thinks he’s definitely ready to settle down and get married again.”

“He’s perfect,” Simone said.

“They’re all perfect on paper. Let’s see how the first date goes before we start planning the wedding. By the way, how did you come by this information?”

“Pillow talk,” Greg said and took a huge bite out of his bagel.

I shook my head in disgust while Simone gave him an appreciative glance.

* * *

When I arrived in the lobby precisely at seven o’clock, Steve Rogers was already waiting. He was wearing the same casual Friday outfit he’d been sporting the week before, except this time he left out the white T-shirt underneath the short-sleeve, plaid button-down.

“I thought we could go to O’Grady’s,” he said, “if that’s okay with you?”

“Fine,” I replied.

O’Grady’s was an Irish pub on the first floor of our building. I’d been there a few times when I’d first started at Rosenthal & Leventhal. But that was six years ago. I’d always thought it was too close to the office for true relaxation. I must’ve been the only person in the building who felt that way. The place was packed.

Steve led me through the throng at the bar and into the restaurant. The hostess, whom I assumed from her accent really was Irish, greeted Steve warmly and led us to a booth. The three other parties waiting ahead of us didn’t look pleased.

“I didn’t know this place took reservations,” I said.

“They don’t,” he said. “Lori did me a favor.”

I guess that meant he was a regular.

When our waitress arrived, Steve ordered a Killian’s Red and I ordered a glass of sauvignon blanc.

“Don’t you like beer?” he asked.

“I do, I just felt like wine.” I wasn’t about to tell Steve that although I liked beer, I couldn’t make it through half a bottle without belching. I could never figure out how guys trained themselves not to do that. If I got to know Steve better, I’d ask him. Assuming, of course, he didn’t spend the evening belching in my face. I no longer took good manners for granted.

Steve spent the first hour peppering me with the usual first date questions about my job, my family and where I was from. He even asked follow-up questions, proving to me that he had actually listened to my answers. I was impressed.

When we ordered the second round, Steve suggested dinner too, and I agreed. Two hours later we were sipping Irish coffees and I still thought he was a nice guy. In the three hours we’d been together, he hadn’t said or done anything rude or offensive. This guy was a keeper for someone. I just didn’t think that someone was me.

It’s not that he was unattractive, I just wasn’t attracted to him. But I thought it was a good sign that my opinion of him was improving as the evening wore on. Of course, that might’ve had something to do with the wine and the spiked coffee.

Beach Blanket Bingo

Although I’d had two dates that week, I still had no plans for the weekend. And neither did Kaitlyn. It was nice when life worked out that way. I picked Kaitlyn up Saturday afternoon and we headed to the beach. Since neither of us could afford a $3,000 per month membership at a private beach club, we had to slum it at the state park with the rest of the working stiffs.

After Kaitlyn had arranged our towels so that we were perfectly aligned with the sun, we lathered up with sunscreen. I applied a thin layer of SPF 15, while Kaitlyn doused her body in SPF 45. After three months of tanning,  Kaitlyn was still only one shade past milky white. I was my usual end of the summer golden brown.

“Dylan’s clearly history,” Kaitlyn said. “But the lawyer sounds like he has potential. What’s his name again?”

“Steve Rogers. I’m thinking he’s probably not Jewish.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s from Michigan, has five brothers and sisters, and Rogers isn’t exactly a Jewish name.”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything. I’m from a large mid-western family named La Rue, and I’m part Jewish.”

“Your great-grandmother was half Jewish and you were raised Roman Catholic. It doesn’t count.” I don’t know why she refused to believe me about this.

“So what if he’s not Jewish? You’ve said before you’d marry someone who wasn’t Jewish.”

“It’s not really about religion. He’s just not my type.”

“Maybe he could be if you gave him a chance.”

She was starting to sound like my mother. “Even setting aside the wardrobe issues—“

“Which are easy to fix.”

“Agreed,” I said. “But he has no edge.”

“Then you’d probably like Adam,” she said. “He’s got lots of edge.”

“Is that the E-Cards guy?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s his last name again?”

“Rosen.”

“Jewish, right?”

“Yup. And he’s from New York. He’s actually back there this weekend for his nephew’s bar mitzvah.”

“How many times have you gone out now?”

“Three,” she said, “if you count the time we just met for coffee.”

“That counts. But why are you wasting your time with him when you know you’ll only marry someone Christian?”

“I didn’t find out he was Jewish until the second date.”

“His last name is Rosen and he’s from New York. You couldn’t have guessed?”

“I suspected, but I wasn’t sure. Not until he told me about the bar mitzvah.”

“Then if you knew on the second date, why go for a third?”

She rolled over onto her stomach and handed me her sunscreen to rub onto her back. “Because he’s a lot of fun. But I know I need to break it off. We had the religion conversation before he left, and he told me he would only marry a shiksa—”

“That’s a non-Jewish girl.”

“I know,” she said, and probably rolled her eyes but I couldn’t see behind her sunglasses. “Anyway, he said he would only marry a shiksa if she converted because he wants his kids to be Jewish and just raising them Jewish wouldn’t be enough, which I didn’t really understand.”

“It’s because in the Jewish religion, children are considered to be the same religion as their mother. Technically speaking, even if the kids are raised Jewish, if the mother isn’t Jewish, then neither are the kids. Although I think the Nazis took a much more inclusive view of Judaism.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Sorry,” I said. “But I’m Jewish so I’m allowed to make those bad jokes. What I think is really funny is that a nice Catholic girl like you is dating a nice Jewish boy from New York and I’m dating a good Christian man from Michigan. Too bad we can’t switch.”

Kaitlyn sat up on her elbows and peered at me over the top of her sunglasses. “Why can’t we?”

“Because I’m an olive-skinned brunette and you’re a freckle-faced red head. I think they’d notice.”

“I don’t mean show up for each other’s dates, I mean fix each other up.”

“Don’t you think they might be a little offended if we called them and said ‘Hi, I don’t want to go out with you anymore but I’d love to set you up with my girlfriend?’”

“We can’t do it like that.” I could practically see the gears shifting in her head. “What we need to do is go out with them again and arrange to run into each other somewhere. That way you can meet Adam and I can meet Steve.”

“And what? We start flirting with each other’s dates?”

“No, they’re not going to hit on us. We wouldn’t want them if they did.”

“True.”

“After the next date, we break up with them. Then, after we’ve waited a respectable amount of time, maybe two or three days, I’ll call Steve and ask him out and you can call Adam and do the same.”

“You’ve never asked a guy out in your life.”

“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t,” she said.

“What makes you think even if we did ask them out, they’d say yes?”

“They’ve just been dumped and two days later some cute girl calls them up and asks them for a date. Of course they’re going to say yes.”

Probably. “Assuming that’s true, don’t you think it’s a little manipulative?”

“You’re the one who said if we told them the truth they’d be offended. We’re just sparing their feelings.”

I loved that about Kaitlyn. She could justify anything.

The Sting

Steve picked me up Saturday night at eight o’clock. This time he wore brown chinos, a tan, button-down Polo shirt, and penny loafers. Still too preppy for me, but I knew Kaitlyn would love it.

At my request, Steve had made dinner reservations at Ocean Avenue Seafood. Kaitlyn told me she and Adam would be having dinner two doors down at I Cugini. The plan was that after dinner, we’d each suggest to our respective dates that we try The Perfect Cup, a new coffeehouse on Ocean Avenue, where we would accidentally bump into each other. After that, we’d leave it to fate, at least until we reconvened for breakfast the next morning.

Steve held open the door to his dark blue Mercedes and I sunk into the supple tan leather upholstery. Perhaps I’d been too hasty in agreeing to pass him on to Kaitlyn. I could always tell her I’d changed my mind. It wasn’t too late.

* * *

This time, I peppered Steve with questions. He told me stories about growing up on a farm in rural Michigan as one of six children with his homemaker mother and minister father. He said his passions were religion, politics and music, preferably Classical or Christian Rock. His hobbies were golf in the summer, snow skiing in the winter and watching sporting events all year round.

He seemed surprised when I told him I was Jewish. He said he thought I might be Italian. I got that a lot. Especially in the summer, when I have a tan.

By the end of the meal, I knew this would be our last date. Our backgrounds could not have been more different, we had few common interests, and after half a bottle of chardonnay I still didn’t want to jump his bones.

After dinner, we walked the length of the Third Street Promenade, enjoying both the window shopping and the people watching, before heading to The Perfect Cup. The place was crowded and tiny. After fifteen minutes of standing by the door, a table for four opened up and I wanted to grab it, but the waiter wouldn’t allow it. He said it was reserved for parties of three or more. I couldn’t mention in front of Steve that we would be a party of four any minute.

Steve and I were seated at the next available table for two and I made sure to grab the chair with the view of the entrance. If Steve noticed me constantly glancing at the door, he didn’t mention it. We ordered two coffees and a slice of chocolate mousse pie. We were still waiting for our dessert when Kaitlyn walked in with a man I presumed was Adam.

  He looked younger than his thirty-five years. He was tall, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He wore blue jeans, a black T-shirt with a black blazer, and those hip, rectangular-framed, eye glasses showing up all over town. Although Adam didn’t quite fit Kaitlyn’s description, physically at least, he was my type.

Kaitlyn played her part perfectly. She scanned the restaurant as if searching for an empty table. When she spotted me, she said something to Adam and nodded in my direction. I turned away but kept her in my peripheral vision.

When she was halfway to the dessert counter, I glanced in her direction with what I hoped was a surprised expression. Steve turned around and followed my gaze.

“Who’s that?” he asked when Kaitlyn waived.

“A good friend of mine,” I said and waived back. “It’s so weird that she would turn up here.”

Kaitlyn brought Adam over and introduced me, and I presented her to Steve. The quarters were too close for them to stand in the aisle and chat, so they returned to the entrance to wait for a table. Unfortunately, the next seats available were by the front window. They were only ten feet away, but the two tables between us made a group conversation impossible.

When the waiter slipped the check onto the table, I snatched it up and paid the bill. Steve objected, but I ignored him. Buying coffee and dessert was the least I could do for a guy I was about to underhandedly pass off to my girlfriend.

“Do you mind if we say goodbye to my friend before we go?” I asked Steve when we stood up to leave. My plan was for us to sit down at the now vacant table next to Kaitlyn and Adam. I wanted to have at least a short conversation with him before I called him and asked him out.

“You go,” he said. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll wait for you by the door.”

I couldn’t barge into Kaitlyn’s and Adam’s conversation on my own. I needed Steve to talk to Kaitlyn, while I chatted up Adam. Rather than attempting it alone, I waited at the table for Steve to return, then just waived to Kaitlyn and Adam on our way out the door.

* * *

Half an hour later Steve was driving around my block for the second time. I’d told him that my neighborhood was safe and he didn’t need to park and walk me to the door, but he insisted. A space on my street opened up on the third pass.

I thought we’d say goodnight at the entrance to my building, but Steve insisted on seeing me all the way to my apartment door. I hoped he wasn’t expecting to be invited in. As far as I was concerned, he was Kaitlyn’s guy now. I wasn’t going to spend an hour smooching on the couch with my best friend’s future date.

I unlocked my door and left my hand on the knob. “I had a nice time tonight,” I said. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Me too,” he said. “And thank you for dessert.”

He bent down to kiss me. It seemed mean to give him my cheek when he was clearly aiming for something else, so I gave him a quick kiss on the lips, but no tongue. He just stared at me for a few seconds, then said goodnight.