I woke the next day with minimal expectations for the evening. It was an emotional defense mechanism I had developed after being dumped by Shirley after Lisa: don't expect too much, so you won't be hurt as much when it ends. It was hard not to think to myself that Ms. Barnes had accepted my invitation out of a combination of guilt for saying something innocently that I took offensively, and because I had insisted. It was impossible to convince myself that I was asking Ms. Barnes out on a date because I wanted to be with her, since I was doing this to apologize for my bad behavior and insulting her innocent mistake. We were both probably thinking to ourselves that we were doing the other a favor.
Nevertheless, I decided to at least make a decent showing and not embarrass Ms. Barnes by dressing a little more upscale for the office: slacks on the higher end of business casual; a button-down shirt that could accept a tie in a fashionable way; a blazer that I could toss over the office chair with the aforementioned tie in a pocket for later; and a shave. I didn't want to go completely overboard and have my management think that I was dressing for an interview with a rival company at lunchtime, because I hadn't been with the firm long enough for them to think more than five seconds about replacing me with a recent graduate lower on the pay scale. Work was busy enough to keep me working through lunch and to keep my mind off of my evening's activities.
Just before normal quitting time, I got a message.
dbarnes: Are we still on for tonight?
I had not dared to contact Diana over the messaging system. I did not want to be discovered sending message after message to a coworker when I was supposed to be head-down on my latest assignment. Also, I didn't want to discover that Diana had come to her senses during the evening and chose to cancel, so I did not tempt fate by contacting her first. I responded immediately before she could possibly fear the worst.
davidg: Absolutely. Just have to finish things here and slip out before the boss gives me an overtime assignment.
dbarnes: Take all the time you need. PM me when you're ready. Ill be here.
davidg: Will do, shouldn't be too long.
I was another ten minutes, just basic tidying up so that I could pick up tomorrow without needing to spend an hour trying to find out where I left off the day before. I sent her a message to inform her that I was on my way after a stop in the restroom first. I knotted on my tie, tossed on my blazer, checked my reflection in the restroom mirror to make sure I did not appear to be a psycho-killer, and headed down the stairs and exited into the Accounting department lobby.
Diana Barnes had chosen to impress.
I found Diana waiting in the lobby area in a navy blue dress suit and low pumps, her neck-length auburn hair freshly brushed. She was transferring her small purse from hand to hand nervously as she waited. The dress was definitely a step in the more conservative and formal direction from the one I remembered her wearing the day before, but well shy of the night at the opera type. It was an outfit that might have made some in her office wonder if she had plans for the evening, but not the type that gave any hint whatsoever as to what those plans might involve. Being what modern fashion magazines would politely term a "plus size," Diana had selected an outfit which admirably disguised any additional pound or two that she possessed.
I saw a woman who was trying to make as good a first impression as possible, and somewhat afraid that she wasn't accomplishing that.
It had been a long, long time since anyone had cared about the impression that they had made with me. I suddenly felt like I hadn't given as much effort in doing the same, and I started scanning through my memorized First Lines to find one fitting for her attempt. All of them were pitifully insufficient. Given how yesterday went, I dared not play towards sarcasm with the You Clean Up Nicely line, because I didn't know yet if she could properly translate sarcasm and would instead take it as an insult. I also decided against using a joke, because I had yet to feel out her sense of humor. I wanted to go with honesty, but I couldn't find adequate words.
"Wow," I whispered, settling on that. It was a hokey reaction, but it was an honest one.
"Yeah, wow," Diana blushed, looking at me.
"I'm feeling a little under-dressed," I managed, still struggling for some adequate response. "You look..."
Diana stood nervous, waiting for me to finish my sentence.
"Wonderful," I finished, trying not to grimace at my fumbling attempt at flattery.
"So do you?" she winced as she replied, seeming ashamed of her own words.
A smile used to help me lighten a nervous mood, so I flashed one. "Thanks, but you're the one everyone's going to be looking at, not me."
She blushed even brighter. "I look like I'm going to a job interview," she whispered.
"You look lovely," I assured her as I came to a stop two paces away from her. She acted like someone worried that she was trying to play way out of her league. I knew that she would have that misconception corrected by the end of the night, once she found out what an idiot I truly was. But for now, she was seeing me as a gentleman, so I decided to act the part. "Have you decided where you'd like to go this evening?"
Diana looked away for a moment. "There's a seafood restaurant three blocks west of here and an Italian restaurant four blocks east."
After a pause, I concluded that she was asking me to help choose. "My family's part Italian, but I can do either. This is supposed to be your choice, remember?"
"Italian it is," she smiled, and reached to press the button for the elevator.
It was an unseasonably warm day, so we chose to walk. Both Diana and I made feeble attempts at small talk along the way, and we both criticized our personal incompetence at it. I found myself oddly relieved that she was as bad at banter as I had become, because I felt that she didn't need small talk to impress her. Along the way, I found out the meager basics: she had worked for the firm for almost four years; she lived in the suburbs; she commuted to the city each day. I reciprocated with my own basic details: graduated five years ago; considering an eventual return to grad school part time for a Masters once I could afford it; employed by the company for little more than a year; lived in town trying to save up for a better place. Aside from Paula, none of the co-workers we asked each other about rang any bells.
I had seen the Italian restaurant before but I had never tried it; dining alone doesn't exactly boost your own self image. I was pleased to discover that they had several available tables, and we were seated quickly. Diana refused to order a drink, even after I assured her that the limit on my credit card could take it. Instead, she chose plain water. I followed suit, glad that her choice had let me escape the Social Drinking effort. After our orders were taken and our salads delivered, we each ventured tentatively into further details about the other, trying to find out more without invading more than recent acquaintances were allowed. I divulged that the firm was my second employer after the first one went bankrupt in the last Recession, that my apartment was what could be politely called a "dive," that I'd never been married or engaged, that I hadn't been seeing anyone seriously since my college days, and yes that included Paula who always seemed to keep me at arm's length. She told me that she was living with her mother and sister but hoping to be able to afford her own apartment soon, that she got the job at the firm through a friend who no longer worked there, that her father died from cancer unexpectedly two years ago, that she hadn't been seeing anyone for a couple of years, and that she had been engaged twice but both engagements fell through.
Even though I had just met this woman, I could see that she was ashamed to admit that last piece of personal history. I was trying to avoid any reference to previous relationships, but she offered that tidbit on her own. Her hand was stroking the stem of her water glass in an effort to relieve her building nervous energy. I gently touched her hand.
"I'm sorry to hear about that," I offered gently.
Before I could go further, our main courses arrived. The interruption gave us an excuse to be less inquisitive about each other and something else to talk about for a few minutes. I found myself being incredibly concerned about how I looked while eating. I mean, how often do we think about how ugly a visual that stuffing our faces is in real life? You can be suave while drinking, but watching some people eat could remind you of how sausage was made. Fortunately, Diana did not act repulsed by my eating habits, so started worrying less about it. Making subtle reference to her weight, Diana decided against a dessert even though I assured her that I felt she could splurge this one time.
Dinner went well for something that was for all intents and purposes a blind date. We exchanged some stiff attempts at more small talk while we waited for the check to arrive, but although the attempt at banter was a bit awkward, I was not finding her company awkward at all. For the first time in a long time, I did not feel like I was under examination for the entire date. Maybe it was because I wasn't treating it like a true date and I wasn't expecting anything from it. However, all the signals that I was receiving from Diana made it clear that she felt that she was being scrutinized. Again, I reached out and touched her hand gently.
"Thank you for having dinner with me," I said with a smile. "I haven't been this comfortable with anyone in a long time."
Her hand froze and her eyes went wide in obvious disbelief. "Really?"
"Really," I assured her. "Usually, when I'm out with a girl, I feel like she's got me under a microscope."
Diana gave a relieved smile for a moment, but then she looked away as some thought within her began to could her face.
I knew that look. It was the same look Lisa used to give me,. The "nothing" look.
I struggled to keep the sudden panic and self hatred from gaining too much control of my face and voice. As gently as I could manage, I whispered, "what's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing," she said defensively.
There was that damned word again, the word that was sure to be etched on my tombstone someday.
"I must have said something wrong," I tried again. "Because you were fine until I said 'microscope.' I know I just met you, but I can see this is 'something.' Can I help?"
Diana gave a weak smile that shook with embarrassment. "I... I just don't know how to say something."
"Take your time," I encouraged, trying to let her know that I wanted to hear this "something".
She took a shuddering inhale of breath, held it for a moment, and then whispered, "I'm not trying to have sex with you."
I know that, being a man, I am supposed to therefore be a pig, one driven by the insatiable hunger of the One Eyed Beast dangling from my crotch. However, whenever I allowed that hunger to drive me in the past, I wound up losing the woman in the process: Terry, Donna, and my dear Lisa. Each time, it was clear that sex was the next logical stage in the relationship, but none of my relationships survived it. Hearing from Diana that sex was not expected in exchange for her company lifted a freight train of weight off my emotional shoulders.
I gave her a wide smile that I fought to keep friendly. "Would you be offended if I told you that I'm happy to hear that?"
Apparently she was offended, judging from the glare she flashed me.
"I have to admit something," I started to explain. "Yes, I've... had sex... with girls before. But the last few times, that ended very badly. So I'm not all that sure I'm any good at it. I'd hate to do that and have this relationship end before it even has a chance to begin."
The offended look transformed instantly into a look of surprise. "Begin?"
I shrugged nonchalantly. "Why not? Like I said, I've not been this comfortable with someone in a long time. I'd like to spend some more time with you. See where it goes."
For an instant, I wondered if I really meant that, or if I was just being kind. The truth is that I was a bit of both, but I had been sincere when I said that I had been comfortable in her company. Why not see if this was going to go somewhere? Why not see if this was the miracle for which I had long waited? Why not give it some effort and see if I could finally make that miracle happen? Diana seemed like an honest woman, even if she was incorrectly feeling a bit outclassed by me. Honesty was far better than I received from Paula from the start and Lisa at the end; both Shirley and Donna never knew the word's definition.
Diana did not appear ready for such an answer. "Really?"
"Unless you don't want to," I reassured her. "Stalking's not my thing."
She chuckled nervously.
"How about I give you my cellphone number?" I asked. I pulled out a business card from my blazer pocket, one where I scratched out the name on one side and had already put my name and number on the reverse. I offered it to her politely. "You think about it, and if you want to do this again, you give me a call?"
"Uh," she stuttered.
"I'm not asking for yours," I added. "Not until you decide I've earned the right to have it."
I noticed the effort that it took for Diana to force a smile on her face, but it looked to me that she was struggling more with an inferiority complex than a revulsion. "Okay."
I signed the check, adding in a tip appropriate for someone who wanted to come back to this restaurant someday and not be treated like dirt, because the food and the service had been excellent. "Anything else you'd like to do this evening?"
"I really ought to get back home," she said. Her voice sounded reluctant instead of insulted.
I decided to read the tone of voice as a positive sign. I escorted her to the curb and flagged down a taxi cab, handed the driver some money and instructed him to take Diana to the nearest train station. Before Diana stepped into the cab, I gave her the ancient, long-dead gesture of a kiss to the back of her hand which appeared to dumbfound her. She watched me for as long as she could while her taxi cab drove away.
I stood there, oddly relieved. For once, I had not made a shocking mess of things. Yes, there were plenty of things that I could have said surfacing in my mind now that the pressure to find them was gone. There were also a few dumb conversational penalties that could have drawn a flag from the referee. But the evening had gone well.
Diana was a nice girl.
I hadn't known one of those in a long, long time.
I flagged down another cab and headed back to my armpit of an apartment. During the ride, I continued to replay the dinner in my head, the post-game analyst in my brain picking it apart and magnifying every insignificant blunder into an almost game-ending mistake. In spite of those miscues, things had gone well. Diana was indeed a nice girl, an honest girl who did not seem to need to be impressed. At no point did I feel like she was analyzing me, interviewing me, checking my background or my credit history, holding me to some standard of worthiness. I didn't need to be something I wasn't for the entire evening.
That's when the doubt began to creep in. True, Diana had not held me to a standard, but I had held her to one, although I was doing it subconsciously. I had started this because I was lonely, and a lonely beggar could not be a chooser. I had tried to measure her on the Lisa Williams Scale when I first saw her. That was probably why she spent most of the dinner thinking that I was scrutinizing her, seeing if she measured up to the usual male standard of the gorgeous sexpot.
Nice Going, Shit For Brains.
I wasn't going to let my self loathing ruin this now. I had a good night out with a nice girl, and I was going to take that as a fortunate success and nothing else.
I had just switched on the light in my apartment when I felt my cellphone vibrate. I had switched it to silent mode during my dinner with Diana. I didn't recognize the calling number, but it appeared to be from the local area code. Even though the local area code was home to many a phone scam, I chanced answering it.
"Hello?"
"Hi, David."
I did not know if I should be relieved or nervous. "Hi, Diana."
"I'm sorry. I was barely fifty feet down the road when I realized that I didn't say that I had a good time tonight."
I smiled in relief. "It's okay. We're both working without a script here. Besides, you looked like you had a nice time with me."
"I did, David," she said. "And I was thinking about what you said at the end."
"Yes?"
"Are... are you sure you want to do this again?"
"Yes, I'm sure," I answered.
"I just want to make sure you're not just saying that because you're supposed to say it," she pressed.
"I don't lie very well, Diana," I said. "Every time I try, someone catches me at it. Yes, I'd like the chance to see you again."
"Monday after work?" From the tone in her voice, I could visualize her wincing on the other end of the line.
"Sure," I answered. "You can introduce me to that seafood restaurant."
"How about you pick a place you like this time?" she suggested.
"Don't know many places besides takeout pizza," I confessed. "So I'll go with your expertise for a bit, if that's okay?"
"The seafood place is a little pricey," she warned.
"It's okay. I've been saving up my credit limit for a rainy day."
"Who says you're paying for it?" she responded.
I chuckled. She wasn't as old-fashioned as she first seemed. "How about you give yourself a little time to figure out if I'm not a con man before you go offering to buy me dinner? Let's keep to the stereotypes for a little bit longer and let the guy pay for the date for now?"
"Only for now," she accepted.
"See you Monday," I confirmed.
"Maybe sooner at the office?" she suggested.
"Sure, maybe sooner," I agreed.
There was a small pause, after which Diana said, "I really did have a good time tonight, David."
"So did I," I responded honestly.
"See you later," she said dejectedly, as if she were trying to find an excuse to prolong the conversation but coming up empty.
I tried to find an excuse as well, but under the pressure to find one, my brain wiffed. "See you later, Diana."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight," I echoed.
I listened around for a moment, waiting for that voice-over to start. Waiting for my self-loathing to surface.
You'll still fuck this up.
Yeah, it hadn't died yet. But at least it was shutting up for now.
