Juliette and the Monday ManDates

by Becky Doughty

  Her phone rang from somewhere in her purse, startling her. At a loss, she didn't know which to answer first, and she dug the phone out just as she pulled open the front door.

  The man on her stoop wore khaki pants and a white shirt, his hair combed neatly back from his forehead and temples. He had gentle eyes, a wide smile, and an air of confidence in his stance that made Juliette automatically step back and open her door wider. She caught herself before inviting him in, realizing her immediate sense of comfort was due to his uncanny likeness to Mike.

  What was Renata thinking?

  She glanced down at the phone in her hand. Speak of the devil. Renata. She shoved it back into her bag. She'd deal with her sister later.

  "I'm Paul Rudyard. As in Rudyard Kipling."

  "I'm Juliette. Um, as in ... Juliet Capulet." She could think of no other renown Juliettes on the spot. "But spelled differently." She stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

  The man shook her hand, then offered her the bouquet of mixed wildflowers he'd brought. "And these are for you."

  "Thank you. They're beautiful." He let his fingertips drift over the back of her hand as she took them. She couldn't help but think of Mike's last visit and tensed, prepared for flight.

  "Juliette. What a lovely name. Very romantic. Maybe I should change my name to Romeo." He chuckled, and Juliette smiled politely, taking a step back. This was all so awkward. She was having a hard time remembering why she had agreed to the ManDates at all.

  "Oh, I think Paul suits you," she said, trying desperately to steer the conversation away from romantic notions. "Besides, if we were that Romeo and Juliet, this night would be ending very badly for both of us."

  There was an awkward silence that lasted way too long, and the uncomprehending look on Paul's face compelled her to explain. "You know, we'd have to kill each other. I mean ourselves. We'd both have to commit suicide. But first I'd have to take a poison that made it look like I was dead, and then you'd kill yourself rather than living without me, and then I'd come around and find you dead, and then I'd have to kill myself for making you kill yourself. Not a good first date."

  In her head, Gia chirped, "Cricket. Cricket."

  "You haven't read Shakespeare," she stated.

  "Oh. Yes. Shakespeare. Of course." Paul nodded, then he smiled, recovering his composure. "Your sister did tell me you were a little depressed." He winked and his smile broadened. "But I have a much better plan for this evening than a double suicide."

  "She told you what?" Juliette stiffened. Renata really was the devil.

  "It's all right." He reached over and patted her shoulder. "She thought I should know that you were feeling a little down, that's all." His placating tone was beginning to make her skin crawl. "Well, I'm here to change the way you feel. I'm going to take you out, and wine and dine you until you can feel nothing but happy."

  Juliette reached for the handle of the door, and Paul mistook her intentions. "Are you all ready to come outside and play?"

  "Oh dear," she murmured, looking down at her toes poking their little blue tips out at her. "Oh dear," she repeated, shaking her head. Bold and daring, Jules. He's already got the stupid thing down.

  "What is it?" Paul asked, hunkering down a little in order to see her face. Finally, she looked up at him.

  "I can't, Paul. I can't go out and...and play. I'm sorry if you were misled about me. I'm afraid you and I have very different expectations about this evening."

  "Oh. I see." He nodded sagely. Then he shook his head. "No, I don't see. That's why I'm here. To change your expectations." Paul's confidence didn't seem to waver at all.

  Juliette took a deep breath and blew it out slowly before she replied, setting the blossoms in her hand fluttering their petals encouragingly. She chose her words carefully, but kept them firm. "Paul, I was under the impression this was a blind date, not therapy. I don't mean to be rude, but I don't think this is such a good idea after all. I'm sorry. I'm—I'm going to say good night now." She stepped back and began to push the door closed.

  "No, wait!" Paul put a hand up to block it, just like Mike had done, and Juliette felt panic swirl in her belly. The look on Paul's face, however, was not angry, just a bit desperate. "Don't do this, Juliette. I promised your sister I'd—"

  "You shouldn't be making promises about me to my sister." She said it so quietly she wasn't sure if he'd heard. Then very gently, she closed the door in his face.

  She still held the flowers clutched in one hand, and she was trembling as she waited, listening. She could hear nothing from outside, so she worked up the courage to look through the peep hole. Paul still stood on the stoop, facing the door, as though trying to figure out what had just happened. As she watched, he finally turned, shoved his hands in his pockets, and began to whistle as he walked away, his pants stretched oddly over his backside. She wrinkled her nose in distaste; she'd seen Mike do the same thing a hundred thousand times.

  "Juliette!" A muffled, faint voice made her spin around, her heart pounding.

  "Who...who's there?"

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “HEY! PICK UP THE PHONE!"

  Juliette unearthed the device from the black hole of her purse. She stared down at the screen. Eight minutes and counting. The whole traumatic exchange had lasted less than ten minutes. And Renata had heard the whole thing. "Hi, Ren."

  "I can't believe you sent him away!"

  "Well, I can't believe you sent him here in the first place!"

  "Oh, Juliette! Why couldn't you be polite?"

  Juliette stomped her foot, her sandal smacking the entryway tiles. "I was polite, Renata. I was so polite that it took him several minutes to realize I'd closed the door in his face. But you," she waved a hand in the air in frustration. "You told him I was depressed? Thanks! I wish you'd warned me. I could have been better prepared. I still have my black sackcloth and shroud, you know!" She was shouting into the phone. "That was insensitive and manipulative, Ren. I don't think I really like you right now." She covered her face with the hand she'd been waving around above her head.

  Renata was silent a moment before answering. "Well, I don't like you right now, either. You're not acting like yourself these days, Juliette, and it makes it difficult for me to know how to handle you." Renata's tone warned her that her feelings were hurt, but then, so were Juliette's.

  "I don't want you to handle me. What I really want is for you to leave me alone! But since clearly that isn't possible, I'd at least appreciate a little respect on your part. I do not need some man showing up on my doorstep offering to help me find my happy place again. Just because you think you can control your little world, Renata Gustafson, doesn't mean you have the authority—or the insight—to control mine, okay?"

  "Dixon."

  "What?"

  "My name is Renata Dixon, Juliette." Renata's voice was tight, and Juliette fleetingly considered warning her about triggering her TMJ. Nope. Grind away, little sister. Grind those teeth down to nubbins.

  "Are you serious? Really? After everything I just said, that's the only thing you heard?" Juliette held the phone out in front of her, and shook it as though the other end was connected to her sister's head. She put it back to her ear and said, "I love you, Renata Dixon," she punched out her sister's married name across the line. "But you make me want to do very bad things to you, so I'm hanging up on you now. Good night."

  What was it about Renata that could make her behave so irrationally? No one else made her feel so out of control and childish, not even Mike. She kicked off her sandals and sent them skittering across the floor, resisting the urge to pick them up and return them to the empty spot on her organized shoe shelf. She stepped over them with purposeful indifference on her way to the kitchen, where she tossed the bouquet on the table. Her toe still hurt from kicking the chair, and stamping her foot on the hard tile hadn't helped it feel any better. And her hair was starting to bug her.

  "Who am I kidding?" she muttered, as she headed to the bathroom. She
wasn't the kind of girl who wore fluttery dresses and left her hair streaming down her back. She dug out a clamp from her accessories drawer and clipped her hair up in a knot at the back of her head. All she needed now was a pair of black pants and a tee-shirt—or better yet, an old pair of jammies—in order to feel that everything was as it should be.

  She looked down at her pretty pink dress and swished the skirt around her legs a few times. She wished the night had turned out differently with Paul Rudyard. He had a nice name. He had a nice face, a nice smile. But he was just too ... well, too nice. Nice wasn't all it was cut out to be. Mike had been nice once, too.

  "Until I got tired of being his little door mat," she fumed. "Then he got tired of being nice." She changed from her dress into her favorite flannel finery, and headed back to the kitchen to dig around in her refrigerator for something to fill her empty stomach.

  She was feeling better until her phone rang. She dug it out of the couch cushions where she'd tossed it after hanging up on Renata.

  Phoebe. Juliette couldn't imagine Renata calling Phoebe on purpose, but she supposed it was possible tonight. They were in cahoots on this whole ridiculous intervention, after all.

  "Hey, Phoebe." Juliette tried to sound casual.

  "Hey, Jules." Phoebe sounded just as casual. "Comment allez-vous?"

  "I'm fine, thank you. And how are you, little sister?"

  "I'm fine, too. Whatcha up to?"

  "Actually, I'm getting ready for a big night in. I'm in my jammies, and I've put the kettle on for hot chocolate. Now all I have to do is figure out something to eat and find a good movie to watch. Wanna join me? You bring dessert."

  "What happened to Paul?"

  "He went home," Juliette quipped, keeping her voice light.

  "I see." She didn't say anything else, and Juliette sighed. She didn't want to talk about it, but apparently, it was unavoidable.

  "I sent him packing." She dropped onto the couch. "He was awful, like some fatherly version of Mike. I'm serious. He even dressed like him. Couldn't Ren have been a little more creative?" Phoebe chuckled on the other end of the line. "It's not funny!"

  "I thought about screening her guys, but then she'd make us do the same with ours, just in case I sent over one of my hot, young models, or Gia tried to hook you up with a pimple-faced teenager."

  Juliette moaned at the thought of either one. "I will not go out with someone I might have given birth to, got that? In fact, I don't know that I'm up for any more dates at all."

  "Were you serious about me joining you?" Phoebe asked after a moment's pause.

  "Of course. Even though I know you're going to try to talk me into going out again. But I was also serious about dessert. I won't let you in if you're not packing sugar."

  JULIETTE AND PHOEBE sat at either end of the sofa, facing each other, their feet tucked underneath each other's rear ends. They sipped hot chocolate and passed back and forth the bucket of ice cream bon-bons Phoebe brought.

  "Am I really so pathetic, Phoebe? I'm telling you, if tonight was as good as it gets, I'm calling this whole thing off. I finally talked myself into being okay with going out for a little fun, and the first one out the chute is Thera-Paul!"

  "Well, I can't speak for Gia's guys, but my friend is up next, and he's no Thera-Paul." Phoebe smiled smugly.

  "So prep me. And do a better job than Ren did."

  Phoebe frowned. "She prepped you? That's against the rules."

  Juliette rolled her eyes, her bluff called. "No, she didn't. In fact, she told me nothing. But I think I deserve to know if the guy's a weirdo, don't you?"

  "Absolutely! I can tell you that much. My guy's a weirdo." Phoebe popped another bon-bon into her mouth.

  "Forget it. I don't want to play anymore."

  "He's weird in a good way, though."

  "Come on. You gotta give me something." Juliette shoved a bon-bon in each cheek and grinned like a chipmunk.

  "No, I don't. That's disgusting."

  "Yeth, you do."

  "No, I don't."

  "Yeth, you do."

  "No, I...."

  "All right!" Juliette interjected, spitting one of the chocolates into her napkin. "Be like Ren, then." It was the worst insult she could think of at the moment. "And you're right. That was disgusting." She wiped her mouth with a clean napkin.

  "So, speaking of Ren, when are you going to make up with her?" Phoebe asked.

  "Never."

  "Come on, Jules. You know she's trying."

  "Trying is right. She's extremely trying. And why are you, of all people, defending her? You two don't even like each other."

  "I love Rennie," Phoebe laughed. "She and I aren't as different as she thinks we are. But I can see that better than she can. I know she loves me. She just has a hard time showing it."

  "Whatever. You two fight like cats and dogs. You always have."

  "It's not real fighting, though." Phoebe swallowed the last of her tea. "I've just made it my job to remind Ren that she's not perfect. I love her too much to let her convince herself that she is." She set her empty teacup on the coffee table and settled back into her corner of the sofa. "And she loves me enough to do the same for me."

  Juliette didn't miss the flicker of pain in her sister's eyes, and she poked her in the thigh with her turquoise toe. "Hey."

  "Hey."

  "Je t'aime, Phoebe Gustafson."

  "I love you more."

  "Only because there's more of me to love."

  "Stop it. You're perfect just the way you are, Jules." Phoebe looked imploringly at her. "You know, I almost feel sorry for Mike, even though he never deserved you." She reached down and squeezed Juliette's ankle. "He let go of the best thing that ever happened to him. You."

  Juliette still struggled to imagine her life without the man she'd built it around. What was wrong with her that he didn't want her? Why did he let her go?

  "But don't you ever let a man take the best of you, Jules. That's no man's right to take. Only yours to give." Something in Phoebe's voice made Juliette stop thinking about Mike.

  "Phoebe?" she asked gently. "Did you—did something—someone...?"

  Phoebe's vague smile only confirmed her suspicions, and Juliette stretched out a hand to her younger sister, rather shaken by the haunted look usually masked by her beauty. How had she never noticed it before? They laced fingers, the connection tender, and when Phoebe's eyes welled up, hers did too. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  Phoebe shook her head and squeezed her hand before letting it go. "Someday, maybe. Not today. Besides, I'm here for you, remember?"

  "Oh goodness, Phebes. I'm fine. You know that. But now I'm worried about you." Juliette straightened up and crossed her legs like a pretzel, an elbow on the back of the sofa, resting her head on her palm. "Does this have anything to do with what's between you and Ren?"

  Phoebe lifted her shoulders in a dismissive gesture. "What's between us is old history. You said it yourself. We've argued our whole lives. There's always been stuff between us, and if there isn't anything, one of us will make something up just to keep the argument going." She waved a long finger at Juliette. "Which is why you two have to stop fighting. I can't stand the competition."

  Juliette studied her sister, a little taken aback by her ability to set aside her pain so effectively; obviously a well-rehearsed habit. Finally, she nodded. "Okay. I won't push. But...."

  "Jules. I'm fine. You need to stop worrying about me."

  "Like that will ever happen. Worrying is like breathing to me, Phoebe. You know that."

  Phoebe held out the nearly empty ice cream carton. "Well, since I can't ask you to stop breathing, have another bon-bon. Then tell me what you're going to wear on your date next Monday."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JULIETTE LIKED HER job. She was a secretary for both the Philosophy and Economics departments at the local University, and she loved the resulting diversity of her daily tasks. The students who wandered in and out of her office were a
constant source of joy in her life; as diverse as the programs she oversaw.

  Kelly, a senior majoring in Economics, was being pressured by her boyfriend to move in with him after graduation. "What should I do?" Kelly would pace the small floor space in front of Juliette's desk, asking the same question almost daily, then drop dramatically into the chair and throw her arms out wide. "I love him so much, but I want us to get married first. What if I say no and he breaks up with me?" Instead of giving Kelly pat answers, she encouraged her to do what she already knew was right.

  Gavin technically had two more years until graduation, but at the rate he was going, a degree was going to take a lot longer than that. He wasn't interested in the process of education. He preferred the social life and the free gym membership, and was struggling to keep his grades high enough to convince his parents and professors that he should be allowed to stay. His major was clearly the wrong choice; he'd based it on the misconception that Philosophy was all about opinions and beliefs, therefore, no learning of new things was required. "Dude, have you ever read Homer's Iliad? Or Odyssey? That guy was insane! Or he was smoking something when he wrote that stuff. How else could he come up with such a freak show?" Juliette was doing everything she could imagine to keep Gavin from flunking out.

  She and Sharon Scoville, the secretary who shared the office suite with her, had been best friends for as long as she could remember. It was Sharon who told her about the university job, and their friendship made their daily tasks much less menial. They carpooled, ate lunch together, and shared many an evening meal together when Chris, Sharon's husband, taught his night classes at the local junior college across town. Tonight, they were going out to dinner at their favorite little Greek restaurant to discuss Juliette's new dating game.

  Sharon settled herself into the passenger seat. "I'm starving!" She turned in her seat and smiled at Juliette as they pulled away from the curb. "So? How did it go? What was he like?" She'd had a lunch date with some visiting staff and hadn't got the scoop from Juliette yet.