Chapter Ten
Right after meeting Eve on Tuesday night, Sheldon had a renewed faith toward meeting more women. He expected less from Eve, considering all the unnecessary religious talks, but she was thoughtful and they had the most lighthearted talk any stranger couldn't have. Even her son, Ethan, was a delight.
He thought it was the start. Soon, all the succeeding women will be checking all the requirements off his list that he wouldn't be able to make out a decision. He feared that accomplishing his obligation would not come into fruition, and he'll end up breaching his contact with Mary and be done with women all in all.
His renewed enthusiasm was at a hundred percent right after Amy dropped him outside the meeting place. This time he'll be meeting a woman named Freya who—like the others but excluding Amy—was not familiar to him in any other way. Just the name and the meeting place, that's all.
The hundred percent shriveled down to seventy-five when he was still outside the establishment. Amy was long gone and he doesn't have any way out of this mess. Looking up, there was a signage Lazy Hog with dim neon lights highlighting the name. He surmised that this place might be outdated with how it's facade does not look modern at all.
And then he remembered Howard's adventurous tales from his bachelorhood. How he would narrate his accounts of strip clubs and prostitution and alcoholic beverages and other escapades that he had long forgotten intentionally because of how graphic it was. He recalled Howard's mentions of the equivalence of neon lights and strip clubs. If it isn't neon, begone! as he always says. The reference was still ambiguous for him at that time.
Now, that is neon, he thought as he gulped real hard, white-knuckling his messenger bag. Is this a strip club?
He should have obeyed Howard's warning, but he can't simply walk away from this. He's here now, might as well get it over it quickly and easily. He felt beads of cold sweat forming on his neck and forehead as he clutched the door handle. He pushed through the door and was surprised by what he saw.
It wasn't a strip club at all. There was no prominent music blaring in the background. No electro dance, funky music at all. No flashing, epilepsy-inducing lights around him. Not much people, too, considering it was only 5:45 in the afternoon.
What welcomed him was the soothing, soft jazz playing in the backdrop, top it up with subdued lighting coming from orbs suspended from the ceiling, causing the ambiance to be agreeable for his own eyes. A long bar counter was situated at the far corner, parallel from where he entered, alongside with bar shelves boasting with high-quality liquor for the masses. He wouldn't consider himself to be a drinker but the profusion of hard spirit and liqueur and wine build onto the authenticity of the place.
He regarded the place as something drawn right out from the 1920s speakeasy milieu, complete with secretive impression and ridiculous names. He thought it'll be the endmost drop-off zone of moonshine and absinthe from the likes of Al Capone and his mafia.
That led for his seventy-five percent plummet down to a below average fifty percent. The place was decent but not as decent as a serene library or an aromatic coffee shop. Not his go-to meeting place at all. There was an inherent fear that he was in the Prohibition Era and, any time, this place might be busted out by police looking to detain zealots of alcohol bootlegs.
Scouting the area, he saw a wave that might be aimed at him. There was no other person trying to catch his attention, so that woman must be the one he's supposed to meet.
He dragged his legs across the room, fleeting through the sea of unoccupied tables and occasionally occupied bar stools. Drawing near the woman, he slowed down his pace and stood still, opposite from her chair. "Sheldon!" she announced as if they've known each other for years.
He smiled a polite smile and asked, "Hi, are you Freya?"
"You got it right, buddy!" She slapped her hand on the table, causing it to tremble lightly. "Why don't you sit?" she offered, while still beaming at him.
"Umm…. thank you." He settled down in front of her.
Noting his sixth date, her features were isolated insofar that he'd never seen it in previous dates. Her hair: blonde—peroxide blonde—almost sufficient to light up the room. Definitely bleached. No visible tattoos; there might be some lying below her blazer. What was that flickering in her nostril… Oh, God, a piercing! The size of it was not that distressing; it was just a stud, but still, what if it develops into an infection?
And her drink: deep amber liquid in a lowball glass. He's lost at what her drink may be. An old fashioned drink perhaps. Might be a Negroni. But he can't clearly see if it has anything mixed into it, possibly a citrus rind or ice to top it up. And, of course, he can't rule out whiskey served neat.
Accompanying her beverage was a platter of onion rings, nachos, and curly fries; the juxtaposition of her and her choice of food. Onion rings and nachos, yay, but, curly fries? No, not that one. Memories of suspicious, lone curly fry mixed in with his regular fries resurfaced, images crawling through his brain. Dark times, indeed.
Fifty was weighed further down to twenty-five percent. Twenty-five. At any other occasion, twenty-five was his threshold for considering on going home; he was making an exemption just for this.
"You might want to order something." Sheldon's daze was interrupted by her. It's creepy at how her gaze felt like it was boring into his skin. It's like he's being stripped naked by Freya.
"Uh… I'll pass. I'm full from all the eclairs I ate before leaving the office." His posture stiffened from his blatantly lie. Although his facial tics—the one which indicates his fabrication—were kept at bay, there were still manifestations of his dishonesty. He can't seem to control it all.
There were no eclairs or any other pastries in his office, for that matter; it was just a ruse to cut back the minutes that he'll be spending in this spooky God knows what. However, Amy offered him some Chex Mix on the way to Glendale, which he took with enthused heart, but he supposed it wouldn't aid him throughout the evening. Truth be told, the Chex Mix wasn't enough to satisfy his rumbling stomach.
"Oh, okay… drinks?" Freya offered, scouting the area for any servers.
"No, thanks. I don't drink," Sheldon quickly dismissed, frantically waving his hand to stop her. Realizing that a beverage may, at least, help him in soldiering through their time together, he conceded, "Although, sparkling water wouldn't be so bad."
A server approached him, and he deliberately listed his order: sparkling water on a highball glass with ice and a lemon wedge. Sounds juvenile, but that's the only drink he can handle right now. Better not screw this up, he thought as he watched their server walk out of their sight.
Turning back his head to her, he started, "I apologize Freya, but I do have a lot on my plate lately. Why don't we start with our objectives." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, pausing for her to start talking.
"Alright." Freya straightened up her back and began with her story.
Same old, same old. She got the upper hand when Sheldon learned her occupation leaning towards the sciences: dentistry. Pediatric dentistry, to be exact. He saluted the healthcare providers; not without them would he be able to keep his incisors healthy, as well as his wisdom teeth removed.
But still, she worked in pediatrics. An average of ten kids each day; that's a lot of rowdy tiny people. More and more children every single visit.
Adequate higher education and choice of university in Pennsylvania. Enough to grant Freya her DMD status. Now that he can think of it, she was not wearing any other kind of blazer; she was wearing a blazer with her name on it—like what any doctor would wear.
From Glendale, too—another advantage for his part.
It wasn't her credentials that plagued him most. Mind you, she was more than qualified and might be one of the few women with a chance to be his wife. It was the meeting place that made him ill at ease. It had a different ambiance to it—something like a two-fold identity. There was a possibility of that place to be a front to an illegal massage parlor or an illegal goods trading, perhaps. Either way, it does not sound good in any degree.
The room started filling in for the first fifteen minutes—patrons and newcomers alike. The soft jazz playing in the background turned into something bass heavy and no soothing effects. He thought it was from his sparkling water causing his insides to tremble but was alarmed further when it came from the bass of the music. He can hear the music gradually gain its volume as much as the chatter of the crowd provoked it back.
He was almost at a zero percent. If it wasn't for his sparkling water, he could shut down right in the middle of their conversation.
Before too long, he explained to Freya his current dilemma. Gently but with a bit of strength as she probably can't hear him through the blend of noises, he told her how he's afraid none of this would work. Even without the music and the crowd aiding his anxiety, he still couldn't fathom a universe spent with her.
He tried his best to be as respectful to her and as grateful for the company. Unlike the disastrous predecessors, he was brave enough to tell her it was not working. He didn't just walk away like none of it happened. He didn't go through his tirades and offensive jabs, which caused a few painful comebacks.
He left the place peacefully with no disputes and name-calling. Freya was sensible and let him off the hook despite his promise. She disclosed that she was not interested in men at all and was just forced to meet him. The revelation got his eyes wide as a saucer. He wasn't able to down his sparkling water to the last drop, but he was thankful for the escape.
Pushing through the crowds, he was welcomed with the busy streets of Glendale. The warm, summer breeze challenged his windbreaker. A mix of red, orange, and purple fused the sky, making a striking display of the sunset from the west.
He's got no date to finish the night with, no friend to take him home, and most importantly, no bus pants to make any public transportation viable. He's got nowhere to go.
He dragged his limp legs across the carpeted floor, hoping that he'd be able to reach his apartment without plunging down the stairs. A long, demanding day merits to have a peaceful and effortless place to succumb into. Instead, what welcomed him was four flights of stairs, causing his legs to wobble from just looking at it. When the hell will this stupid elevator work?
Sometimes, it was energizing to walk up and down his apartment, get some exercise, but most of the time, the lack of an elevator was just pure bullshit. He's paying for the monthly services fee for this building, they might as well fix the elevator.
With his weak hand, he keyed into his apartment. "Hello, sweetie!" A familiar voice rang through the walls, warming his soul. His energy managed to give his fiancee a big smile, albeit a weak one.
"Hi, Penny," Leonard greeted as he dropped down his satchel and approached Penny. He positioned both his hand on her waist and gave her a quick kiss.
"How was USC?" Penny asked, dragging her hand across his shoulders.
Leonard exhaled wearily and slumped his shoulders. "I never knew talking to people continuously would be this exhausting," he disclosed.
"Tell me about it," Penny joked, laughing at how lightweight Leonard was in terms of social interactions. Even from her waitressing days, there were endless social interactions. From customers, coworkers, strangers, there were no breaks whenever she's on her shift. Similar to her new job right now. She's traveling from doctor to doctor, pleading them to consider buying their drugs. She's a social butterfly, every interaction was just a piece of cake.
It was the opposite for Leonard. "I don't know how you do it, Penny." He pulled away and plonked down the couch, resting his body.
"I'm used to it, sweetie," she explained, "and don't worry, it's just a one-time thing."
"I don't know if I can do that again," he doubted. "What time did you arrive home?" he questioned, peeking at her from his spot.
"Around 5:30. Why?"
"You fetched Sheldon? " Leonard insisted, expecting she'll say yes. He supposed Sheldon would call Penny to drive him home.
"Fetch?" Penny glanced at Leonard nervously laughed. "Why would I fetch Sheldon?"
"He didn't call you?" Leonard shot up from his inclined position, worry manifested in his voice and body language.
He instantly retrieved his spare key and left the apartment in haste, leaving the door ajar. Penny followed just behind him, trying to assuage any of his fears.
"Leonard, I'm sure Sheldon's home. He might have hopped on a bus," Penny reasoned out behind Leonard as he fumbled for the door.
"He didn't bring his bus pants," Leonard rattled, unlocking the door. After he swung the door open. "SHELDON!"
His voice echoed through the place. Lights were still turned off. No appliances working in the background. Nothing peeking from the hallway. No sign of Sheldon.
"Oh, shit!" they cursed in unison.
The buzz of the bustling street was not foreign to him; Pasadena has a fair share of busy streets, including Los Robles. There were plenty of incidents where he needed to wander the streets at night just to get to his destination.
What he thought as he was walking down the sidewalk was a prophecy-like experience for him. It eluded him right as soon as he went back to California.
Why didn't he get a car? Sure he can afford one.
He grappled through driving from Houston to Galveston, why can't he do it in California? There were a lot of reasons that he can think of. Maybe because he had no other way out of Houston but drive. Or maybe because he was brimming with adrenaline when he decided to drive in his hometown. Either way, there was no excuse that he operated a car, and he was not able to think of any bad things precipitating from driving.
But, surprisingly, it was the company that elated him whenever he's being driven about. Despite being a recluse his entire life, he never truly admitted it to himself that he needed someone. And just the idea of someone tolerating him for what he's being, where he's coming from, resuscitate his chafing heart.
All these years, he thought he was giving Leonard or Penny or whomever it may be to accept the gift of Sheldon—letting them cherish his persona while it lasts. But instead, the reality of it was quite the opposite. He was given the gift of his friend, holding it in high esteem, for him to function fully. He could not deny it any further.
He halted on a street corner, not quite sure if this was the street he needed to take.
He recalled when she was driving him along Glendale, Amy was looking at this direction when she said as a matter-of-factly, "I live right there."
It was a possibility since the street was lined up with houses and residential buildings, he just does not know what building was hers or if she lived in a house. But pretty sure, Amy said she lived in an apartment similar to his.
It was nearly 7 pm, and Amy usually goes home from around this time. But she had to play chauffeur for Sheldon and was home at 6 pm. She just hoped that he will be fine with his date and not cause any commotion.
Now that she could think of it, the main reason that he requested her to give him a ride was because he does not have his bus pants ready. He also casually mentioned that all of his friends were busy, and he could not think of anyone better to ask for a ride but Amy.
That pleased her. And while she's already wearing her comfy nightgown, a bowl of pasta salad was waiting for her, and an episode of Brain Games eagerly waiting to be played, she would not think twice if and when Sheldon needed a ride.
Sheldon was a special man, so much so that Amy couldn't imagine a universe where he does not exist.
Even though they've been apart for more than two years, Sheldon still held a part of her. Their communication is not one would consider something as conventional. They've exchanged emails numerous times a week, checking in on each other. Even if they've rarely communicated through Skype or phone calls, their friendship didn't falter.
Settling herself down her couch, she grabbed her remote and turned on her show. As the lights flicker from the television, she soon grabbed her dinner and munched on it on end. Disregarding any outside distractions, she was immersed in what she was watching, when suddenly, a thump rang through the room.
It was just the TV, she thought, but there was another thump. She roamed her head frantically around the room as she feared that she was being haunted by spirits. She rose up and backed up to the wall slowly when another thump echoed.
With relief, she surmised it was coming from her door. She relaxed her body and approached the door, pausing her show for a second. On her toes, she glanced at her peephole, only to be welcomed with a man she's well familiar with.
"Sheldon!" Amy greeted in shock. He was covered with a sheen layer of sweat, hair ruffled, lips pale. He was no longer wearing his windbreaker.
"Hi… Amy, good evening," he panted between words, leaning his hand on the doorframe to support himself.
"What are you doing here?" It almost came out as an accusation but, in reality, she was shocked to be visited by Sheldon. He could have called, she wouldn't be angry. And when did he know where I live?
"I have something to say to you..." The words trailed off of his lips.
Amy peeked her head around the hallway, thinking that Sheldon might be held hostage and forced to get to her and hold her hostage, too. "Can't it wait tomorrow, Sheldon?"
"What if I told you that I'm entering the second phase of my contractual obligation to my mom." He didn't respond to the question, instead, he started with his own tirade. It has to go out.
"Um… that sounds great." Weirded out, she cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips. What is he talking about? Such unusual phrasing from Sheldon.
He sighed in relief, mistaking the bewildered reaction of Amy to be a reaction of someone who's on board with his idea. "Good… now, when do you want to get married?"
Woah, Sheldon's made up his mind!
Thanks for reading!