Chapter 3
RACHEL
A week went by since my speed date session at the Olive Garden.
My job kept me fairly busy, so it took that long until I got together with Suzy again. We sat in the small living room of her Bushwick apartment, which was just down the street from my place actually, a glass of cool, semisweet Riesling in front of each of us.
“Where are the others?” I asked. I adjusted my butt on the sofa, pushing the cushion backwards so that I was no longer in danger of slipping off onto the carpet.
“Work, baby showers, all that,” Suzy said, “We’re at that age, you know.”
I picked up the wine glass, holding it mostly by the stem so that the heat of my hand couldn’t warm the white wine.
“The age where everyone’s off running their own lives, no time for old college friends?” I said. I took a sip. It was good wine. I made a mental note to ask her to see the bottle.
“Pretty much. Everyone’s off starting a family, or starting to start a family. Or they’ve made work their family.” She gave me a pointed look when she said that last part.
“Hey! No fair. I went to that dumb speed date thing like you all wanted me to,” I said.
“And? It’s been a week, Rach.”
I put the glass down on a coaster. I pursed my lips. Man, I wish she hadn’t brought it up. I’d been hoping to avoid this subject.
Of course, right after, when Suzy gave me a lift back to my place, I spilled my guts about Mr. Perfect, Neil T. How he’d been my only check mark for the night.
“Nothing,” I said, “Well, something. I got an email from the service the next day saying that I had no matches. And a coupon for another go around.”
“That’s crazy!” Suzy said. Her hair was nearly black, and she kept it in ringlets that bounced against her shoulders.
At that moment, those ringlets quivered with some combination of righteous anger and confusion.
“The way you were talking,” she continued, “It sounds like you guys had an instant connection!”
“We did,” I said, “But I told you that speed dating is stupid, anyway. And this proves my point. No more speed dating. No more normal dating. No more internet dating. I wish you guys were all here so I could tell you all to stop trying to fix me up with someone. I’m happy by myself.”
Me, Myself, and I all make for great company, I thought. I ignored the strain of bitterness in that thought.
“We care about you is all,” Suzy said, “We want you to be happy.”
“Well it didn’t work. I got my hopes up and everything. He really was pretty great, he—“
Suzy held up one bejewelled hand. She loved costume jewellery. “It’s okay, I don’t need to hear about how great good ole’ Neil was. I got enough of that in the car.”
I took another sip of wine. It was nice and warm in my stomach. “Maybe I’m just not meant to be with someone right now.”
“Or maybe Neil’s a jerk who didn’t know a good thing when he saw it,” then Suzy’s eyes flashed, “Or maybe there was a mistake. Maybe he put a check by the wrong name. Are you sure you put down the right stuff on the card?”
“Pretty,” I said, frowning. I’d been pretty excited at the time, caught up in that rush of feelings that happened when you met someone you really connected with.
“Maybe you’ll see him again,” she suggested.
I frowned, “In New York? I think that’s kind of pushing it, Suze.”
She shrugged, took another sip of her wine before continuing, “The world’s a lot smaller than most people think.”
***
SATURDAY CAME AROUND.
It was supposed to be a fun Saturday, going into the city with the girls for lunch followed by shopping followed by dessert at Serendipity’s.
Except then work called. They needed someone that knew how to use the computers.
I’d lucked into this job. The firm was mostly crewed by older men and women still stuck in the Xerox age, who couldn’t quite get their heads around how a fax machine worked yet, let alone email.
And my application coincided with a push from the board to update to more modern techniques. Techniques like computers and Wi-Fi and the internet in general.
I just knew that if I put the effort in I could really shoot up the ladder at this place.
To me, that meant taking overtime when offered. Going in evenings and weekends when asked. Going above and beyond, basically.
So I texted Sharon, who was running today’s little outing to Manhattan, saying work called and I couldn’t come.
Her response:
:(
We miss hanging out with you.
Maybe next time?
I replied with a Yes and a frownie-face of my own and caught a bus across the river.
It turned out that agreeing to go into work today was the best possible choice I could have made.
***
I WALKED DOWN MADISON Avenue, enjoying the press of the pedestrians, the smell of hotdogs when I passed by a cart. Even the squeal of brakes and the beep beep of jostling taxis on the street.
Even after coming to school in New York, I still couldn’t quite resist the urge to look up at the glittering sky scrapers which towered all around me.
I couldn’t quite believe that I worked in one, either. Up on the 41st floor.
And so it was because I couldn’t keep my eyes from straying up that I ran into someone. Quite literally.
I had glanced at the street light to see that I still had the walk signal, then my gaze shifted back up, watching the way the late morning sun cast the eastern side of the buildings in burning gold.
Then we collided.
“Oh!” I said.
I wore a pair of wedges because the firm liked business casual. I thought they struck a balance between practicality and looks.
But they didn’t strike a balance in balance.
My left ankle turned when I overcorrected, trying to keep from falling. Instead, that move insured it.
I fell on my butt on the sidewalk of Madison Avenue. I hit the sidewalk hard enough that pain jolted up my back and left me flinching. Though I thought my pride was hurt more than my tailbone.
The thing I ran into turned out to be a man. A man who turned in time to see me land flat on my backside.
I looked down at myself, trying to see if I managed to tear or rip anything. Also hoping that I hadn’t just sat my nice new skirt into a puddle of anything. And to make sure that it didn’t ride too far up my thighs.
“Quite the fender bender,” he said, “But it looks like there’s nothing a little buffing can’t take out.”
I recognized that voice.
He knelt down in front of me, holding out one hand. “Offer you a lift?”
“Neil?” I said.
The fingers on that outstretched hand twitched. “Rachel?”
He remembers my name!
We looked at each other, people passing us by on either side, not really paying attention. Once you lived in the city long enough nothing really fazed you anymore.
He wore a suit, the jacket open, the tip of his silk tie dangling, almost touching the rough surface of the sidewalk.
“You said you worked downtown,” I said.
I still hadn’t accepted that hand. I still sat there on the sidewalk, my own palms pressed against the rough cement.
“So did you. Going to sit there all day?”
I didn’t accept his help. I pushed up and stood. My ankle didn’t hurt, thankfully. But I did totter for one uncertain second while I regained my balance.
He reached out again to steady me and I almost fell again. He pulled that hand back.
I wanted to push him back against the glass wall of the office tower closest to us and demand to know why he didn’t match with me.
Why didn’t I get a check mark? I gave you one! I gave you my only one!
Except I didn’t do or say any of that, because that would be crazy. That, and I had to get to work.
Again, I gave myself a quick examination. Nothing seemed torn or stretched. I pulled a couple wrinkles out of my skirt.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Neil said, “I mean, I hoped that, maybe... But realistically?”
I thought about what Suzy said to me, about the world being a much smaller place than most people realized.
“Well take a good look, because this is the last you’ll be seeing of me,” I said.
The light changed and I crossed the street, passing in front of the bumpers of innumerable yellow cabs and black Town Cars and limos.
My heart galloped.
I really, really wanted to know why we didn’t match. It had seemed so good. And he looked good, both in the dim light of the Olive Garden and out in the daylight on the street.
And that suit! Perfectly tailored.
I walked almost an entire block before I realized he was still there.
“Rachel, wait,” he said.
For a moment, I sped up, my wedges clicking against the sidewalk with the force of my stride. He kept up easily, what with being so much taller.
We came up on the building where I worked, a towering monstrosity of steel and glass. I stopped, not wanting to walk any farther.
“What is it? Need me to stop so you can take a picture?” I said. I crossed my arms and glared at him.
Why didn’t you give me a check mark, damn it? I wanted to scream the question. But that was more crazy talk.
I could feel it. Feel my bitch shield coming up. That mean, and usually cruel personality that took over. Usually I let it do its work, scaring off creepers or weirdos.
But with Neil I didn’t want it to.
“You can go, I just want to know one thing,” he said.
He kept looking into my eyes. It felt like he could see right through me, right into me. It wasn’t fair for a man to have a stare like that. Or eyes that deep. Or eyelashes so long and even they made me jealous.
“Yes?” I said. I noticed that my tone had softened a little.
His jaw tightened for a second. And even though I didn’t know him that well, I was surprised. I’d gotten the impression that Neil was a supremely confident, self-assured guy. What did he have to be uncertain, maybe even nervous, about?
“Normally,” he said, “I can read a situation pretty well. Read people pretty well. But not with you. I just want you to answer one question and then I’ll leave you alone...”
“Good,” I said.
He ignored my interruption, “Why didn’t you match with me? I thought it was a sure thing. Actually, you were my only check mark for that evening...”
“Wait, what are you talking about? You’re the one who didn’t match me. I put a check mark down and everything!”
He shook his head.
I continued. My heart felt about ready to pop out of my chest. “Yes, I know what I did. I put a check down next to Table 25 on my cue card—“
He smiled and gave his head a little, rueful shake.
“What? What’s so funny?” I said. My hands shifted onto my hips.
“Rachel, I was at Table 24.”
I stood, quiet and dumb, for a shocked moment. “Oh,” I managed, “Woops.”
“I guess,” he said, “We were just meant to meet anyway. Come out with me. This time when we sit down in a restaurant we can also grab something to eat.”
“That sounds like a lovely idea and all,” I said, “But I’m actually on my way to work right now.”
He stood a little closer to me. I did my best to make my eyes not give him a once over. Or twice or thrice over, either.
I did, however, notice the way that the sounds of the brakes and horns and engines muffled. I noticed how the world seemed to close in around us.
“I understand,” he said, “If you’ll let me, I’m pretty sure I could convince you to—“
“Play hooky? I haven’t done that since sophomore year of high school, and I’m not about to break my streak. Not even for you.”
I said that feeling my lips tug into an involuntary smile.
It was a smile he mirrored.
“‘Not even’ me, is that it? You make it sound like I’m something special.”
Careful, Rach, you’re getting too close to the edge with this one, I thought. I saw the truth in that warning. Saw that, if I let myself, if we let ourselves, things could get crazy between the two of us quickly.
And the thing that got to me most was that I yearned for it. For over a year now my life had been pretty routine and ordinary, settling into a pattern that I could easily see taking me through the next 40 years until the firm sent me away with a gold watch and some memories.
Then along came Neil T from that speed dating group, threatening the whole thing with some flirting and a smile.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I said. I reached out and touched his arm. His bicep, actually. I meant to take my hand away quickly, but the well-formed muscle invited a squeeze.
A squeeze I resisted. The hand stayed a few moments too long, and we both knew it. My stomach knotted in excitement.
“I have to get to work,” I repeated. I forced my hand away from him and stepped around him. Without looking, I knew he was watching.
I stopped a few steps away. I pulled a little notepad out of my bag, a pen tied to the binding loops by a piece of fishing line. I scrawled across a page near the back of said notepad.
I tore that page out and gave it to Neil.
“I’m not always at work,” I said, grateful for one more look at this handsome man in the light of day.
Although I knew that was something Suzy and the others said lately. My mind was always at work. I was always taking extra time at the office, never refusing weekends or evenings.
He took the piece of paper, glanced at it, and then secreted it into a pocket inside his suit jacket.
“Maybe the stars will align a bit better next time and you’ll agree to going out.”
“Maybe,” I said.
I turned and walked away again. Near the end of the block I couldn’t help myself. I turned and looked back.
He was gone.
***
I DIDN’T DO THE MARKETING myself. I didn’t work out what ad campaigns to run, or give presentations to prospective clients.
I took care of the firm’s online presence. A Twitter account, a Facebook page. Also such arcane things as search engine optimization for the ad campaigns.
And I enjoyed my job, for the most part.
But that Saturday I sat at my desk with my chin resting against my fists. The glow from my monitor washed over my face. I stared through the monitor rather than at it.
That glow bothered me today, cutting right into my eyes.
It was a nice office. Pretty modern, thanks to the firm wanting to spruce up its image.
The cubicles all had walls that went most of the way to the ceiling for privacy and a sense of your own space. Light spilled in through the gaps.
Air in the summer, heat in the winter. And it always smelled lightly of cologne, perfume, and aftershave. The firm had a pretty strict dress and hygiene policy that no one seemed troubled with.
The computers were all chic and new, flat screen monitors everywhere. Wi-Fi access the whole way through.
Normally I liked spending time here.
My eyes strayed once more over to where my phone sat, propped up against a black wire rack for assignments and mail.
Will he call?
I kept replaying our little run-in over and over in my head.
Especially the part where I took out some paper and gave him my number. I frowned at the memory.
Wouldn’t it be just the thing if I not only wrote down the wrong table at the dating event but also put down the wrong phone number?
But I’d double checked before handing it to him.
Did you? Are you sure? It’s pretty easy to make a 5 an 8 if you’re going too quickly.
That voice of doubt wormed its way into my mind so that every time I glanced at my screen to try and get some work down I thought of it.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour of navel gazing, I put my fingers on the keyboard and typed out 200 characters about something or other.
I scanned the tweet, checking for spelling errors.
Then my phone buzzed.
I jerked upright in my chair.
Greedily, I snatched my phone from its resting place, my heart switching from normal to ludicrous speed in an instant.
Please tell me we’re still on for Serendipity’s tonight?
It was Suzy. My racing heart ran into a guardrail.
Of course it’s Suzy. There’s no way Neil would text so quickly. He probably won’t even text at all. He probably asked for my number to be polite about the mix-up at the dating thing.
I looked from my phone to my monitor. Saw how much work I’d done since I got in (none) and realized that I needed to answer.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek as I did, I tapped out my reply.
Sorry, can’t. Really behind. Will make it up to you, though! Something crazy happened today. Will tell you the story in person. Promise.
I sent the message away into the ether, and received a new one moments later.
:( better be a good story!
“Oh, it is,” I muttered. Then I looked around, hoping no one saw me talking to myself. Again I was thankful for those high partition walls. And the fact that it was Saturday and that the office was almost empty.
Someone tapped their keyboard softly a few cubicles down. The janitor’s wash bucket sloshed while he moved down the aisles. It was pretty dead.
I put my phone down and got back to work, analyzing Facebook and Twitter statistics graphs and charts, checking the progress of a few AdWords campaigns.
I had to come in on Saturday because my boss’s boss wanted a report on all this stuff on Monday. I figured I could get in good with both of them by doing it, so why not?
I was deep into some charts about user demographics a while later when my phone buzzed again, breaking me from my work stupor.
Gotta be Suzy giving it another try to get me to come out, I figured. So I looked away from the charts that were telling me that the largest number of clicks on an ad campaign for a new probiotic yoghurt came from middle-aged white men in New England.
It wasn’t Suzy, though. It was an unknown number. I read the message.
Tell me you’re free tonight.
Neil, I thought. Hot and cold shivers of excitement ran rampant all over my back. I sat there with my phone propped up in my hands until the little rectangle of plastic and glass started feeling warm.
Why should I tell you that?
I sent back. I pondered added a winking smiley-face emoji to that but decided that might be too cutesy.
I don’t know if the reply actually took forever, or just seemed to.
Because we both know you want to say yes.
I smiled in spite of myself. This guy sure had some nerve. Self –confident bordering on arrogant. Yet somehow it worked for him, even over text.
Charming, that was the word I was looking for.
I started tapping out a reply right away, but stopped. I bit my lip against that smile and glanced back over my shoulder, assuring myself that no one stood behind me.
It was a silly thing. There were only two other people in the office, and I knew neither of them cared about my love life. And the janitor sure as hell wasn’t going to reprimand me for texting on the job.
Still, it felt so weird to be doing something so personal during work hours.
Work hours? It’s Saturday! No one will care if you get up and walk out right now and you know it.
My phone buzzed against my palms. I looked up from my half-typed reply and saw another message from him.
I’m fun. I promise. ;)
The winky-face got to me. I deleted my first reply and typed out a new one. Tingles ran up and down the front of my stomach, and my breath burned in my lungs.
I stole another glance over my shoulder, still feeling guilty about doing this at work. It was totally not like me at all. Not like the recent me, at least. The one concentrated on her career.
Maybe that’s just what I need.
I sent the message.
You seem pretty sure of yourself. :P
What do you have planned?
The reply came quickly. My breath caught in my throat when the phone vibrated, and my eyes drank in the words.
You’ll have to find out for yourself after you say yes. So what will it be?
I swallowed. I forced myself to breathe and tried to ignore the little tremors of excitement that made the phone shake in my grip. I licked my lips and resettled in my seat, trying to center myself and failing.
My thumbs tapped out quickly. I sent the message before I could second guess myself.
Ok, ya. Tell me when & where. :)
He replied again. I didn’t know how I could get back to work with the evening’s plans in my mind.
***
FOR ONCE, I LEFT WORK early. A funny thing to say, since technically it was Saturday and I didn’t have to be at work in the first place.
But still, when I called the elevator to take me back down to the lobby, guilt twanged in the pit of my stomach.
I pulled my finger away from the lit call button, my reflection hazy in the brushed steel plate surrounding it.
I looked back at the office, its rows of high-walled cubicles.
What am I doing? I should just go back to my desk, get those analytics finished for Monday. My manager, Mr. Diehl, wasn’t expecting that report to land in his inbox until Wednesday, and I wanted to impress him.
He was in his late 50s and had been working for the firm longer than I’d been alive. And he’d given me the distinct impression, on more than one occasion, that he didn’t believe my job was suited to a woman.
And I wanted so badly to prove him wrong.
I turned around fully at this point, just needing that one final push to set my feet walking back down the short, gray carpet towards my cubicle.
I told Suze that I couldn’t meet with her tonight. If I can’t meet her, how could I meet him?
She’d understand. She’d probably be the first one to tell you to do it! the answer came back. I ignored it, or tried to at least.
I chewed on my lip, my eyes looking into the cubicle farm but not really seeing anything.
And it’s not just Suze, I’m afraid. Excited, but mostly afraid.
Because I knew I was going to screw this up somehow. He wouldn’t like my laugh. Or I’d be too concerned with being self-conscious, wondering if I was walking the way I usually walked.
Then I’d walk straight into a door and he wouldn’t be able to look at me straight the rest of the night.
But that was only half of it. Maybe not even half.
What if it goes well?
I’d sunk myself into my job, into my new life, committed myself to it. I hadn’t done any planning for having a guy in that life. Not for a while, at least. Not until I got myself really established.
I was so deep in my anxious thoughts that I didn’t hear the chime of the elevator doors sliding open behind me.
“On or off?”
In that deepness of thought, I didn’t realize that that voice didn’t come from my head.
On or off? On or off?
Just give it a chance. It’ll probably go badly, then you’ll have an excuse to tell Suze and the others that you just can’t waste any more time with guys right now. Not with how that date went.
“Miss? On or off?” This time, the voice came with a gentle tap on the shoulder.
I started badly, energy rushing through me, leaving me shaking when I turned to face him.
He stood half in and half out of the elevator, one hand inside, presumably pressing the button that kept the doors open.
“Sorry,” he said when he saw my reaction.
“Not at all,” I said, ignoring the way my whole body jittered. “And on.”
I stepped into the elevator, where we both stared politely straight ahead while the doors closed.
And I wondered.
This was New York. No one held the elevator. Especially not that long.
The superstitious part of me wanted to take that as a sign.