“You want me to go out with who?” Jackie asks over the phone.
She’s downstate for a big climbing competition. I’m sitting in the main quad, surrounded by tourists, old people studying maps and parents taking pictures of their babies in Warren onesies, and prospective students, aggressively asking tour guides about their SAT scores.
“That guy we, uh, met at the gym that one time, Duncan? And I don’t want you to really go out with him. Just...pretend to. So he can practice.”
“Will he know it’s a pretend date?”
“No.”
“Cassie...”
I stand up. “But I’ll be there, too.” I pace back and forth in front of a stone archway. “And you get a free meal. You don’t have to kiss him or anything. Just go to dinner with him, show him he can enjoy having an actual conversation with a woman, then peace out at the end saying you have to take a call. I’ll let him down easy saying you’re...on and off with your ex and trying to work it out. Or whatever. Something that has nothing to do with him.”
She sighs. “Okay. But I want Italian. Not some chain place, either. The good stuff.”
I smile and sit back down on the steps. “I can arrange that.”
She exhales. “And he can hold my hand, but no kissing. Not even on the cheek.”
“Okay.”
“God, why am I doing this?”
“Because you looove me,” I singsong into the phone.
“You should know I’m rolling my eyes,” she says.
“Don’t care.”
“All right, I gotta go.” The background noise builds, shouts and clapping; she must be at the gym now. “Text me the details.”
“Yes!” I pump my fist as I hang up the phone.
Three retirees with cameras turn around and stare.
“I, uh, got an A,” I say.
They nod knowingly and one woman says, “That’s wonderful, darling,” while the others return to taking pictures of palm trees.
* * *
I’m standing in the strip mall Mama O’Malley’s proudly calls home, by the car Duncan and I came in, when Jackie is dropped off by one of her teammates. She stalks across the parking lot, wearing a white sundress, leather jacket and a scowl.
“You look nice,” I call out.
She only half smiles in response.
Once she has reached me, I say, “He’s inside getting our names on the list.”
“This whole meeting-in-the-parking-lot really adds to the prostitution feel of things.” She doesn’t stop her progress toward the door.
I walk quickly to catch up with her. “You’re not a—”
“I’m a date for hire.”
“Point taken.” I pull open the door.
We step into the brightly lit restaurant, greeted by the stereotypical Italian music, loud conversation and toddlers’ screams.
I scan the room. Most of the tables are booths, about half of which have high chairs pulled up to them. On the wall there are big framed close-up photographs of tomatoes and wheat.
And an honest-to-God poster from Lady and the Tramp.
“Great,” Jackie says, slipping off her coat to reveal the thin white straps of her dress, which look beautiful against her tan skin. “Really classy.”
I smile sheepishly. I may have picked it by Googling “Italian Restaurants Near Warren.”
She looks around. “There’s no coat check, is there?”
I shake my head.
“Cassie!” Duncan is sitting at a booth, waving to us. He’s wearing khakis, a slightly wrinkled button-down and a navy blue blazer. It’s weird seeing him wear anything but a T-shirt and Warren basketball shorts.
“Hello, I’m Duncan Morris.” He gets up and shakes her hand vigorously.
She nods. “Jackie.”
“After you.” He makes a sweeping motion with his arm.
She slides into the booth.
“Isn’t this place great?” he says as we sit down.
“Yeah,” I manage. Jackie just makes a noise.
“I like the dogs.” He points at the poster. “Reminds me of my brother.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” I say.
“Yeah.” Duncan smiles. “He’s six.”
“Hey there.” A woman with a gray ponytail passes out plastic menus. “My name is Annie. I’ll be your server tonight.” She smiles tiredly. “I’ll give you a second to look things over while I grab your breadsticks.”
A pudgy toddler at the next table spikes his sippy cup at the ground, causing an explosion of chocolate milk. Annie sighs and heads over.
“So...” Duncan says as she walks away. He’s staring at his water, ripping the edges of his cocktail napkin. “Cassie said you’re an athlete, too?
“Yeah.” Jackie clears her throat. “I climb.”
“Cool.” He looks up. “I always wonder how you win those things, like I get how you get to the top or not.” He laughs nervously. “But is it about your form or how fast you go?”
“It’s really complicated.” She takes a sip of her water.
I kick her under the table.
Her eyes go wide, and she coughs, covering her mouth to avoid a spit-take. She sets down her drink. “And you play football, right?” Her tone is kind of bored, but at least she’s talking.
Duncan finally breathes. “Yeah.”
“I can’t even imagine doing that.” She shakes her head and raises her eyebrows as she turns to her menu, which features something called “Italian Quesadillas” that may have something to do with cheesy bread.
“Yeah.” He nods. “I get that. They say when it comes to your head, it’s the equivalent of being hit by a car every twenty or so tackles.” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Why would you ever do that?” she says incredulously.
He shrugs. “I get to go to school here.”
“Oh.” She bites her lip, her face flushing. Her voice quieter, she asks, “So...where are you from?”
“Whoa, sorry about that.” Annie swoops in. She sets down a large basket of shiny breadsticks. “It’s been crazy tonight. What can I getcha?”
“Garden salad,” Jackie says.
“Is that all?” Annie asks.
“Yep.” She smiles politely as she hands her laminated, picture-filled menu back.
“Fettuccini Alfredo,” I say.
“Good choice.” Annie winks at me as she takes my menu.
“Uh, thanks.”
All three of us turn to Duncan, who’s still studying the menu. “Can I get a Caesar salad, an order of the sausage ravioli, a fettuccini Alfredo also...and is it possible to get more breadsticks?” He looks up at Annie.
“Sure thing, sweetie.” She takes his menu and walks away.
Jackie and I sit in stunned silence, mouths gaping.
“What?” Duncan says. “I’ve gotta put on fifty pounds this year.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s a lot.”
“Yeah,” he says. “But I’m gonna need it when I go up against the USC line next year.”
I nod, pretending I know what he means.
“God, I wish I had to gain weight for my sport.” Jackie leans forward to rip a breadstick in two, leaving the bigger piece in the basket.
“You’d think that,” Duncan says. “And if it was five or ten pounds, I’d agree. That’s just eating a little more and a little worse. But I have to keep eating long after I’m full. Like, when I go in to watch film with the team, they hand me five peanut butter and jellies, and I’m not allowed to leave until I finish them.”
“Jesus,” Jackie says.
We discuss hometowns, families, high schools and pets. Well, mainly they discuss. I just throw in a question here and there to keep things moving. But as time goes on, it’s harder for me to get in a word.
Jackie is laughing at Duncan’s retelling of the Alan Peeing Incident, when Annie returns with our five orders.
“Be careful it’s—”
“Shit!” Duncan says, grabbing the plate before she can finish her warning. He turns bright red. “I mean fuck—I mean...oh God.”
“—hot.” Annie laughs and sets down the rest of the plates.
“I am so sorry.” Duncan turns to Jackie, eyes wide.
“Why?” She furrows her brow.
“Because...you’re a, um, girl. I shouldn’t swear in front of you.”
Jackie looks at him like he’s insane. “I don’t fucking care. Say what you want.”
Duncan stares at her, stunned, as she shrugs and reaches for the other piece of breadstick.
I enjoy my pasta silently as they discuss the intricacies of the Warren athletic system.
“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” I say when Annie comes to collect our empty plates.
“I’ll go with you,” Jackie says. Duncan stands quickly so she can slide out of the booth.
Jackie fixes her makeup while I wash my hands.
“Thanks again for doing this,” I say.
“Oh.” She clicks her lipstick closed. “No problem.”
“I didn’t exactly want to set a DTC up on a real date.” I laugh. “Couldn’t do that to a girl with a clear conscience.”
She stares at me for a second, lipstick in one hand, purse in the other. After a second she turns away, shaking her head as she mumbles, “Jesus, Cassie, they’re just people.”
“What?”
“I mean, I don’t love frats.” She struggles with the zipper to her clutch. “But that doesn’t mean everyone in them sucks. Like, Duncan’s really sweet.” She slides the strap of her bag over her shoulder and looks up at me. “Believe it or not, I actually kind of like him.”
“What?” The automatic faucet shuts off, but I stand frozen, my hands dripping into the sink.
“Yeah.” She walks past me toward the door. “You know what, you can still leave if you want, but call off the ex-boyfriend fakeout or whatever. I think I want to finish my date.”
I’m left standing in the empty bathroom as the door swings closed.