by Olivia Jake
If he were a different person, I think we could have helped each other out of our respective morasses. If he had more of Marty in him, if he weren’t so terribly calloused... But he was. Except for those brief moments when he wasn’t, when he shed the rough exterior and let me see what he must have been like before life and work and the disease beat him down.
But life wasn’t made up of ‘ifs’. Fantasies were. I’d read far too many self-help books about women and their almost hard-wiring need to change the men they were with. They were going to be the ones who fixed the cheats, the liars, the abusers, the louts. None of the other women could, but they would be the one. Whether it stemmed from the need for validation or was simply ego, I wasn’t immune from it. Not in the least. I strove for validation, just in very different ways than many women. As much as I hated to admit it, the fact that Brad, Dr. Rosenberg, somehow liked me, as screwed up as he was, I knew deep down that it fed something in my still messed up psyche.
Of course, Marty’s validation was very different. I sought it out as I had from all the bosses I’d had before him. The difference was, he made it personal, which just made me want to please him more. The more time I took off, the guiltier I felt, the more I knew I had to impress him, prove to him that I was worthy of the affection he seemed to lavish on me.
Regardless, Marty was my boss and Brad, well, he was the one crossing the ethical line, not me. But Brad was so damaged. Maybe it was my father that I saw in him, I knew his limitations and didn’t expect to get any more than what I saw at face value. At least for self-preservation and protection, that’s what I told myself.
****
The number on my cell was from Dr. Rosenberg’s office. It wasn’t the first time they’d called to reschedule an appointment, so seeing it didn’t alarm me.
“This is Stephanie.” I answered.
“Stephanie, it’s Brad.”
Three little words and my heart started beating in double-time. Of course, not those three little words, but my expectations were low. Practically non-existent.
“Doctor, eh, Brad, um, is this about my mom?”
“No, it’s about last night.”
I exhaled loud enough for him to hear. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved that he wasn’t calling with bad news or somehow, in my sick mind, glad he was calling me.
“How’d you get my number?”
There was a long pause, and then with his typical delivery. “It’s in your mother’s file.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s a little sad, don’t you think? That you have to troll your patient’s files for girl’s numbers?”
“Stephanie.” Was all he said, like he was chastising me. I was thankful I was on the phone because I could feel myself blush. Still, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of thinking he got to me.
“Brad.” I countered.
“I’d like to try again.” Was all he said.
“Try what?” I sounded so small, but with him, with the roller coaster that my emotions were on, I just couldn’t spar with him at every turn.
“Us. Last night didn’t turn out how I’d planned. Any of it.”
“How could you have planned? You ran into me in the hallway.”
“I came back to the office when I saw you and your mother were on the books.” He paused and then added. “I came back for you.”
Was I so pathetic that my heart skipped a beat hearing that? Probably. I didn’t have a snappy comeback. And my door was open. And I was at work.
“Steph?” he asked after I’d failed to speak.
“Yeah?” I asked tentatively.
“Do you have plans tonight?”
“No.”
“Come out with me. On a real date.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “What’s a real date?”
He chuckled too. “Hell if I know. I haven’t asked a girl out since I was in college.”
“So we’re the blind leading the blind?”
“Looks that way.” He said and we both laughed at his pun. “Come on, blind Stephanie. Take a chance.”
“Brad, you have no ideas how many chances I’ve taken in my life.”
“Is that a no?”
There was a long pause. No, it wasn’t a no.
“Aren’t you risking your career?”
“You’re not a patient. Your mother is. Answer the question.” Though it was obvious that he already knew he had me. I wouldn’t have asked about his career if the answer were no.
“Fine.” I huffed and he laughed.
“Well that sounds enthusiastic. Where can I pick you up?”
“Can’t you find that in my mother’s file?”
“Stephanie.” He warned.
“Fine. I have to go to my mom’s after work to check in on her, take care of things and make her some dinner. I don’t think picking me up from her home is a good idea. Just tell me where to meet you.”
“I can’t pick you up at your house?”
“No.”
I’d never had a man over to my house. It was my sanctuary. It was personal. I didn’t want them to get that close to me, ever. Odd that I’d been willing to give myself so freely, but not this.
“Okay… You’re going to get the wrong idea…”
“Brad, we’ve had sex in your office while my mom was down the hall getting chemo. I’m pretty sure I’m past getting the wrong idea.”
I heard a snort. “That’s one of the reasons I like you. You call me on my shit.” He paused and I waited. “Okay, I’d like to take you to dinner at the Bel Air hotel or the Bungalow, where I have a room, because… because, this sounded a lot better in my head. Okay, because I want to be able to take you upstairs afterwards and make love to you and hold you, and not have this be like what we’ve done in my office.” He paused again. “I want to try.”
I was speechless. Maybe some women would have been offended as his blunt admission of how he saw the night ending, but I wasn’t most women. Perhaps I heard what I wanted to hear. Still, I had to ask, “Why?”
“I’ve already told you. But, hell, I don’t know.” He sounded exasperated.
I knew enough to know that he probably didn’t explain himself to most people. I liked that this was hard for him, because it was fucking hard for me.
“I like being with you. I want to be with you. I don’t know why, I just, I start to feel like I used to feel when I’m with you. I want to prove to you that I’m not the man you think I am.” He sounded pained. “Maybe if you come out with me, we can figure it out. For both of us.”
****
Trying to focus on work for the rest of the day was a challenge, to say the least. It wasn’t just nerves. Some part of me felt guilty for having laughed and talked with Marty and then accepted a date with Brad. Of course, nothing was going on with Marty, but logic rarely ruled emotions, and I was fresh out of reason. Even in the best of times, I’d have felt unsettled. And this was far from the best of times. I was exhausted and running on fumes. After work, I went to my mom’s, which only furthered my feelings of emotional pinball.
It’s just a date, Steph. Just an hour or two with a man you’ve already been with. If it goes badly, you can just leave. Again. Breathe. I repeated this over and over in my mind the entire drive from my mom’s to the hotel, and then all through the lobby, but it was of little help. When I walked into the restaurant the pounding got faster and my breathing got shallower. I stopped to steady myself as I watched Brad talking with the same bartender from the first time I’d run into him. Scott saw me and must have said something as Brad turned towards me with a smile. He didn’t hesitate as he slid off the barstool, walked over to me and leaned in, kissing me on the cheek, totally and completely disarming me.
“I’m glad you came, Steph.”
I just smiled my response as he put his hand on the small of my back and led me to the hostess who seated us immediately at a window table towards the back. It had the same view as Brad’s room and I was grateful for the distr
action and the privacy. I looked out the window as he took his seat and thanked the hostess, but forced myself to look at him once she was gone.
“I can’t tell if it’s dread or fear or repulsion that I see on your face.” He said with a small smile and I relaxed a bit.
“A little of the first two,” I admitted.
“Well, at least you’re not repulsed by me.”
“Low expectations,” I started and then he chimed in when I finished, “low disappointments.” We both chuckled.
“You really are nervous being here with me, aren’t you?” he asked with genuine concern.
I nodded and felt the blush rising.
“Why?” Gone was his usual snippiness, replaced by actual interest.
“I suppose if I knew that then I wouldn’t be nervous.”
“Or full of dread and fear.”
“Or that.”
The waiter came by and took our drink orders. He too knew Brad and they exchanged pleasantries.
“This really is your home away from home.” I said, and the minute it was out I’d regretted that I did. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“That’s ok. If we’re going to talk like normal people on a date, we can’t just tip-toe around the minefields.”
I laughed. “We should just step right on them and get blown to bits?”
He smiled. “I was going to say we could disarm them…”
“No you weren’t.”
He cocked his head, “No, you’re right. I wasn’t. But it sounded good after the fact.”
Silence settled in and I was back to being nervous. He obviously got that and filled the pause.
“So you mentioned you don’t know how to date. How’s that possible?”
I shrugged my shoulders and figured I had nothing to lose by being honest with this man. He was either going to like me or not. “I never really dated in high school or college, I just wasn’t ever comfortable with any of it.”
“You don’t strike me as a wallflower.” He said with a smirk.
“Because of what we’ve done?”
“Kind of.”
I wasn’t offended by his statement. It was legitimate.
“This is kind of a landmine for me.” I admitted.
“Dating or talking about dating?”
“Yes.”
“Then what about ex-boyfriends. How did you meet them if you didn’t date?”
I swallowed and then looked straight into his eyes. “I’ve never had a boyfriend.” I could see the question forming on his lips but before he got it out I added, “I think I’d prefer to talk about how you threw your marriage down the drain again.” It was a split second, long enough for me to wonder if he was going to get up and walk out this time, but instead, he laughed out loud.
“That painful, huh?”
I nodded.
“So tell me about what you do for a living.” He said and leaned back with a small smile on his face. I thanked him with my eyes and started talking about my job as an art director. The longer I talked, the more relaxed I became. It may not have been the most titillating conversation, but at least I didn’t feel like my heart was going to explode with every question he asked. I was describing some of the clients I worked with, some of the insane requests and impossible deadlines, and I used a line I had used for years, “and the way they panic and yell and stress about the font or a slight color adjustment, you’d think we were solving world peace or on the verge of finding the cure for cancer!”
I looked down, took a sip of my drink and then back up at him. “And we were doing so well.”
He nodded and gave me a small smile. “Landmines everywhere.”
“So what do we do?”
He picked up the menu, “Well, we could order some food. I hear that’s part of the whole dating experience.”
I opened the menu and stared at it. I must have read the same thing over and over and over again and I couldn’t have said what was on there if my life depended on it. When he asked me what I was going to have I just looked blankly at him, but for whatever reason, I was comfortable admitting my discomfort with him.
“I have no idea.”
“Well, what are you considering?”
“No, I mean, I haven’t been able to focus on it. Sorry. I just keep replaying things we’ve said over and over. I have no idea what’s even on the menu.”
“Steph, relax.”
“I’m trying. Honest.”
He nodded. “How about I just order for the both of us. I think I’ve had pretty much everything on the menu. I know what’s good.”
“Thank you.” I said softly and looked out the window as he ordered. I heard his voice against the soft din of the restaurant, but I wasn’t listening. I just stared out at the twinkly lights trying to get back to some state of calm.
“Stephanie?”
I turned back to him. He was trying. Hard. There hadn’t been one moment that I had the urge to call him a jerk or prick or jackass, which was a first. Granted, if the bar was that low, he didn’t have to do much to impress me.
“Why are you still so nervous?”
“I know it makes no sense. I’ve really never been out to dinner with a man. I’ve never been on a date. I’ve never had to make conversation like this and it just scares the hell out of me.”
He furrowed his brows. I didn’t expect him to understand when even I didn’t.
“But I know you’re trying.” I said and he smiled.
“You noticed?”
“I was just thinking I haven’t had the urge to call you names. Not once.”
He laughed. “I think that was another one of your back-handed compliments, so thank you?”
“You must think I’m a basket case.”
He thought for a moment and then the corners of his mouth turned up into a sweet smile. I was wrong. Sybil had nothing on him. “No. I think you’re honest. And beautiful. And going through a horrible, terrifying time with your mother. I don’t think you’re a basket case at all.” He let that sink in and added, “As for what you think about me, well, I think I know. You’ve told me as much.”
“My opinion’s ever-changing.”
“For the better I hope?”
I nodded and just then, our appetizers arrived.
“Ok, the tuna tartar is amazing, but I ordered scallops as one of the entrées. I also love the burrata.” He pointed to the large hunk of mozzarella on the table.
“What’s the other entrée?”
“Filet with peppercorn sauce.”
I licked my lips and he chuckled.
“It’s all good, whichever you choose.”
I felt like I was somehow betraying Marty when I suggested we split everything.
“I like that.”
We both dug in and as soon as I had a bite of the burrata I moaned. “Oh my God, this is so good!”
He grinned. “Told ya.”
The food calmed my nerves and gave us something to do when there was an awkward pause.
“So, are you from here?” Brad asked.
I nodded. “Born and raised.”
“Wow, an LA native. I thought they were only rumored to exist.” He teased.
“You mean like Bigfoot and The Loch Ness Monster?” I feigned being insulted.
“Exactly.”
I giggled.
“Have you ever lived anywhere else?”
“I went to Berkeley for my first year of school, but it was too hard on my mom.” I paused and smiled a bit, collecting my thoughts, remembering back twenty years prior. “In the ten months I was up there, I think she came up five or six times, and I came down about the same. Oy, and you should have seen the phone bills!”
“So you came back down for her?”
I shook my head and shrugged. “Maybe a little. But I think I came back for both of us. I didn’t really like it up there all that much, and I missed her terribly. So I transferred to UCLA. We were both a lot happier once I was back.” I paused and shrugged again. “It was jus
t… right.”
He nodded, though I doubt he understood the close bond that Barb and I had. Few people did.
“And, you?” I asked, but his mouth was full.
“Minnesota.” He eked out, while he finished chewing.
“A Jew from the Mid-West? I thought they were only rumored to exist!” We both laughed at that. Then I got quiet for a second, thinking back to something Barb used to say.
“You okay?” He asked.
I nodded. “My mom always said the best men were the ones who were raised in the Mid-West, but then went to the ‘big city’.” I used air quotes while Brad waited for me to explain. “She said that they were raised with good, solid values, but that they had ambition and drive too.”
“She knows Chicago’s in the Mid-West, right? I think it qualifies as a big city.” He teased, allaying my fears that I’d intimated he was the type of man my mom would want for me.
This time my mouth was full, so I just nodded. It was odd talking about my mom with him. He knew her as a patient, and I almost felt like I was overstepping by sharing about her as a person. It wasn’t as if I was revealing anything untoward, it was just all uncharted water for me. It was one of many new routes for me to navigate.
Every now and then the conversation would stall or drift into dangerous territory and one of us would steer it back to safer ground. When the waiter offered dessert, I told him I was stuffed and declined. “I think that’s more than I’ve eaten in the last two months combined.”
“Well, Ms. Lawson, congratulations. You have successfully completed your very first dinner date.”
I laughed and blushed a bit. “Thank you. It only took me 37 years.”
“Some people just march to the beat of a different drummer.”
“I’m guessing that’s true for you as well.”
He nodded. “Some mistake that for me being a jerk.” He teased.
“No offense, Brad, but it’s not such a fine line between being a jerk and being different.”
He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, “I guess I was just testing to see if you’d buy that, or if you’d still call me on my shit.”
