We usually go to the Aviator’s lounge at B-Gate. Our exit inside the terminal is past security so it’s convenient and Dr. Franklin can smoke. She doesn’t, really, but she likes to light one up when she drinks. She mostly stares at it. Anyway, it closes at ten thirty so we drove to a real place that’s open late. It was a bit of a dive, but anything where normal people go feels pretty special these days.
I don’t know if I was nervous, or just really tired, but I got drunk. Plowed. One bourbon, one bourbon, one beer. I don’t think they had Scotch anyway. I was on my second round when I started talking. She basically just listened to me spill my guts to her all night long. I was still mad at her, so I did it the mean way. You know: “I can’t stop thinking about you but you’re the coldest person I’ve ever met”—that kind of thing. She just sat there and listened. When I became a bit too incoherent, she dragged me to her car and drove me home without saying a word.
I wanted to hide under a rock the next day. More than anything, I was waiting to see what kind of hell she’d put me through for this. She didn’t. We just went through our routine. She was quite cordial actually. Nothing the next day either, then the next. After a week had gone by, I assumed she had decided it was best to pretend it didn’t happen. I was still reasonably embarrassed and inclined to agree.
A week later, she stopped me on the way out and asked if I still wanted to take her out to a real dinner. I tried to look like I thought about it before saying yes. I was going to pick her up on Sunday. I was at home getting ready when she called to cancel: “It’s not a good idea, we work together, blah blah blah.”
I should have been mad but I thought it was mostly funny since she was the one who invited me. We went through this dance one more time until I finally had it. I just stopped by her house on our night off and told her to hurry up. She didn’t argue. I must have looked more confident than I was.
She offered me coffee but I told her I’d wait in the car. I should have said yes to that coffee, because she made me wait out there for a good half hour. I was flipping through radio stations when I saw her walk out. Wow! is all I can say. I’m not sure I would have recognized her if it wasn’t her house. She wore a short skintight red dress, heels, the works. It made her legs look…
—Longer?
—Yes. I was looking for something more…Anyway, she had done something to her hair. I couldn’t tell what it was…something though. She even had makeup on. The whole thing was totally unlike her, but she just looked amazing. She obviously felt a bit out of character. She wasn’t nearly as bold as usual. She looked amazing and…vulnerable.
—Did you like that?
—That she felt vulnerable? I don’t know. Maybe.
—There is no shame in admitting it.
—I don’t get satisfaction out of making people feel smaller if that’s what you’re saying. I liked that I was having some sort of effect on her, you know. I wouldn’t want her to be like that all the time. She’s brash. That’s who she is. Still, it was special.
I don’t know how to explain it to you. All I think about is spending time with her. Do you understand what I’m saying? I spend twelve hours a day alone in a small room with her, and I still want…I don’t know…More. It’s like wanting a cigarette so bad, then you smoke a whole pack and you’re still craving.
—Did you start smoking?
—No. It’s just a figure of speech. I couldn’t think of a better one. I wanna feel like I’m reaching her somehow, like she’s letting me in. That night I did, for a while. It felt good.
—I understand. How did your evening go?
—I took her to a Brazilian steakhouse. It was a little out of my price range, but it was worth the money just to walk in there with her holding my arm. We had a really nice meal. I don’t know if you like steak, but if you do, you should try that place sometime.
—I do, and I