by Lisa Smartt
“Okay. I hate it when romantic movies always begin with two people hating each other. In the beginning of the movie, if there’s this girl who’s a hippie left wing radical and a guy who’s a straight-laced right winger in a suit and they’re at this protest rally screaming at each other…you know…you just know that they’ll be in love within two weeks. But I don’t think that’s how love usually works. I’m not saying it could never be like that, but no, it wouldn’t be like that very often. Most people who disgust me on first meeting…still disgust me today. And I’ve never fallen in love with someone whose core values were so completely different from mine.”
Two hours passed as though it were ten minutes. In that two hours I had memorized everything about his appearance. The green chamois shirt was the exact color of his eyes. I wondered if someone at the store had picked it out for him. He didn’t seem like the kind who knew about clothes. New brown leather shoes double-tied with round shoe strings. Had he bought new shoes for today? Or did he just need new shoes? Dark socks which were perfect. His hands were man’s hands, a little hairy but not like Bill Whitman’s back. (Every summer Bill swam at the municipal pool in Commerce and it was something that should have been on YouTube.) Clear skin. One little mole on his left cheek. A little bit of chest hair showing. White teeth but not perfectly straight. Never had braces. Bushy eye brows. No man jewelry. I like that. A black diver’s watch. When he stood to go to the restroom I noticed that his faded Levi’s fit perfectly. He may have been fifteen pounds over the weight chart max and he was perfectly proportioned. Great posture. I was clearly out of my league. Doug finally looked at his watch at 2:10 which made me cringe inside. I feared he would say that it was time to call this lunch date over. He had done his time and he was ready to return home…and that maybe he’d decided that reading the electric co-op magazine on Saturday afternoon was more interesting than watching a chunky girl eat grits in Chattanooga. But what happened next took me completely off guard. God was clearly on the side of the chunky girl.
“Carlie, do you have to get right back?”
“Well, no, not really.”
“Good! Then spend the night with me.” His face immediately turned the brightest red I had ever seen on a human being. “Uh, no, I don’t mean spend the night with me. I don’t want you to spend the night with me, Carlie. I really don’t.”
“Oh you don’t, huh? So you haven’t even thought about it? Gosh, my female ego is shattered beyond repair. The lady at the store said that I really looked like I had it goin’ on in this outfit. Now I realize she lied to get a commission. This moment feels like when I went to the prom with my cousin.”
By this time, he was laughing and laying his head on the table. He knew I was just making fun of him to ease the pain of his verbal misstep.
“Look, Carlie, let me try again. What I meant to say is that I’m staying with my cousin and her husband here in Chattanooga tonight. They moved here two years ago and I told them I was gonna be in town and they asked me to spend the night. They have lots of room and they really wouldn’t mind. How ‘bout it?”
“I didn’t even bring clothes or anything.”
“We could go shopping. I hear women love to go shopping.”
Oh my gosh! This is the best and worst day of my life. A good lookin’ man wants to spend more time with me but we’d have to go clothes shopping. What if I try on something that looks like the tan dress pants or even worse? Someone please kill me and make it look like an accident.
“Well, see, Doug, with you bein’ the kind that doesn’t know much about women, I think you’d be shocked at what it would be like to actually go clothes shopping with a woman. We tend to be picky and ridiculous.”
“That’s precisely why I need to go. I’m trying to learn more about women, remember?”
“Yeah, but don’t you think you need to start slow. Talking on the phone with a woman is like elementary school. Meeting for lunch today was like high school. But going clothes shopping? Going clothes shopping would be like getting your Ph.D. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
“I’m feelin’ brave.”
“Well, alrighty then. I guess I could take you up on your offer. My name is Carlie and I’ll be your instructor today in ‘Shopping with a Woman 101.’ Fasten your seat belt, Mr. Jameson. This could be a bumpy ride.”
“I’ll ask about the nearest mall when I pay the bill.”
I pretended to be looking around the gift shop while Doug paid the bill. But I wasn’t interested in smelling candles or listening to the stuffed singing turkey. Trying not to be obvious, I watched his every move. The way he pulled his worn leather billfold out of his back pocket and organized the bills. The way he treated the person at the cash register with kindness. Friendly not flirty. I had this overwhelming desire to walk up behind him and wrap my arms around him pretending that we were a real couple. Maybe the cash register lady would even think we were married. She’d probably think, “She must be a really great girl because this is a really nice guy…and a looker to boot.”
“Carlie, we’re all set. There’s a mall just about a mile from here.”
“Let me call Clara and tell her I won’t be home ‘till tomorrow. Wow, I don’t remember the last time I did something on the spur of the moment like this.”
“Me either.”
“Let me get some things out of my car and I’ll call her and then meet you at your car.”
“That’s fine. I’m in this blue F-150.”
I nodded my head but I wanted to say out loud, “Of course you are, Doug. You’re in the truck because you’re a truck man. You live in a small town. Your mom cans green beans. You don’t wear a tie. You’re taking me clothes shopping at a mall even though my big behind is hard to fit. This is a nightmare. I hope I never wake up.”
His truck was immaculately clean. I’m convinced that he bought new shoes and cleaned his truck because he was meeting the Georgia girl in Chattanooga today. I must be special or he’s kind of desperate.
“So Carlie, is there any particular store you like to shop at? I’m not much of a shopper myself. I order most of my clothes from JC Penney online.”
“I was wonderin’ about that. You look very nice and yet you don’t seem much like a shopper. Confession time. Do you actually pick out your own clothes or does your mother or a woman who works at the bank tell you what to buy?”
“I have a system. A man system.”
“A man system? Of course, a man system. Well, do tell, Doug. I thought I was gonna educate you on shopping with a woman but I’m gettin’ ready to hear about the man system for shopping. I’m all ears.”
“Okay. I don’t mind doing laundry so I don’t need a lot of clothes. I have a washer and dryer right there in the apartment. So I figure I need five pairs of work pants and five work shirts. I need a few pair of jeans and some tshirts, casual shirts, and maybe a jacket or something. So, I found these pants I like from JC Penney. Every fall I order five pairs of ‘em, two tan, two navy, and one brown or gray or something. I buy five shirts that go with the pants. I get two pair of jeans. I do it all online. I never have to even enter a store. That is the man system and I’m glad to have been able to enlighten you on this.”
“So how did you know that this green shirt would match your eyes?”
“I don’t. I just order the colors I like. I like green, brown, blue, but not bright colors or pastels. I went shopping with my cousin one time and she tried to tell me I wasn’t very enlightened.”
“How were you not enlightened?”
“My cousin said, ‘Doug, stop being afraid to wear pink. Lots of men are wearing pink, lavender, yellow and colors like that now. You should be secure enough in your own masculine identity to give them a try.’ So I said to her, ‘Why can’t I be secure enough in my own masculine identity to say that I don’t want to wear pink, lavender, and yellow?’”
“Touché.”
I like him. He’s beyond likeable. Smart and funny. The women of Sharon
have tried to sweep him off his feet. It’s a given. Probably even the girls from neighboring towns. I bet a lot of farmers’ daughters have seen him coming toward the house with a loan application and have gone running to call their girlfriends, “That cute guy from the bank is coming to talk to Daddy about the loan for the Simpson place!” They’ve tried to snare him but they’ve been unsuccessful. Why? Hmm. Something is definitely amiss here.
“Okay. This is it. The mission begins. Carlie, do you wanna just start walking or do you wanna plan a shopping strategy?”
“Doug, I have a feeling your apartment is immaculate. All the glasses are organized by height in the kitchen cabinet, and there is not one thing out of place on your bathroom sink right now.”
“Wow. You are good. How did you know?”
“The fact that you even mentioned developing a shopping ‘strategy’…well, it was a dead give-away. I’m more of a free spirit kind of person. I’ve never even developed a strategy for my life much less a strategy for an afternoon at the mall. But don’t worry, Doug. I like the way you think. You’re organized. This could be a plus.”
“Well, I guess there’s nothing left to say. You know everything about me. I’m a neat freak who won’t wear pastels. I like blackberry jam, black coffee, and ordering clothes online. You can go back to Commerce now. You’re all done.”
He laughed. His laughter was music. Like a really comforting ballad from a favorite radio station in high school. I wanted to grab a hair brush and sing at the top of my lungs! I wanted to hold his hand and believe he’d sing with me.
“Let’s just start walking and see if something hits us, shall we? I guess I need to ask what we’ll be doing tomorrow. Will we be meeting with any local dignitaries for lunch? Do I need country club wear? Will we be going to any kind of balls or galas that require a long sequined dress? Information is the beginning of shopping power.”
“Yes, the long sequined dress is a must. In our family, we always wear formal wear for Sunday breakfast. Where’s the nearest formal wear store?”
“If I buy a sequined dress, you’ll have to buy a tux.”
“Done.”
We both laughed when we turned the corner and saw a formal wear store.
“Doug, God has spoken. We must go in. You have to put your practical online shopping tendencies on the shelf and live a little.”
“Do I look scared? I’m not scared.”
As we wandered through the store, we both laughed at things we thought were ridiculous. We agreed that the classic black tux was tolerable but the black and white plaid sport coat was ridiculous. Finally he said it. The unthinkable.
“Carlie, try something on. Go ahead. Live a little.”
Oh no. I’m dead. Someone call my mom and tell her to start planning my funeral. Ask Cousin Isabel to sing “Amazing Grace” accapella. I love that song. Louise, my best friend from high school, should quote the twenty-third Psalm.
“Doug, I doubt there’s anything in here that I would look good in. I’m not much of a sequined gown person, y’know?”
“I disagree. Not everything in here is for some anorexic teenager on the way to the prom. What about that blue dress right there? It’s real pretty.”
“This is ridiculous. I have absolutely no place to wear that and I doubt they’d even have my size.”
Call Mom and remind her that I want Pastor Jim to come from Atlanta to do my eulogy ‘cause I’ve always loved him and he baptized me when I was eleven. Be sure to give Grandma medication as she’ll miss me terribly, especially my banana bread.
“Go ahead, Carlie.”
The sales lady found a size sixteen and agreed with Doug that I should try it on. (I whispered into her ear to bring an eighteen too…just in case. In case the biscuit and jelly had already gone to my thighs. I tended to operate a super fast highway in that regard.)
“Okay, Doug. I’m ready for the try-on. Which tux are you wearing?”
He smiled and chuckled. A woman who stood up to Shakespeare would not take “no” for an answer. He never even protested. We decided on a classic black and the sales lady found his size with almost no effort. She agreed to bring him back to the women’s area when he was all ready.
I liked the fact that the blue dress wasn’t one of those horrible show-everything-God-gave-you dresses that people wear to the Oscars and then get made fun of because they were coming out of it on stage. It was form fitting but it had a natural girdle of sorts to squeeze in my everything-God-gave-me and probably make me look thinner.
I stuffed myself into the blue dress. Literally. I took all the extra Carlie that was found in various places and stuffed it into the girdled area of the dress. When I finally turned around to look in the mirror, I was shocked. Utterly shocked. I looked good. Better than good. Thank you, God. Cancel the call to Mom about my funeral. Cousin Isabel can save her vocal chords for now. The three-quarter length sleeves fit perfectly and the fitted sequined top was just right. Unbelievably, someone had been on my side in New York City and had made just enough room for my enormous behind in a tapered understated skirt.
He used a loud clear voice I hadn’t heard before, “Carlie, I’m out here in the monkey suit now but there’s no rush at all. And if the dress isn’t working, don’t worry about it. This was all kind of a silly idea anyway, right?”
I held my breath and just opened the door. I knew that if I thought about it, I would never do it. I walked out with a confident smile and said, “Well, I guess we’re ready for the debutante ball, Doug.”
And there he was. The tux fit him perfectly. He looked like James Bond only friendlier and less pretentious. More approachable. When I walked out of the dressing room he stopped adjusting the sleeves on his white dress shirt and looked up. His olive green eyes were staring straight at me, especially certain parts of me. He took a deep breath. That was a look I hadn’t seen on a man’s face ever. The look I believed only existed in movies. And yet this wasn’t like the movies. It was better because I wasn’t afraid to eat jelly on my biscuits in front of him. He knew I stocked shelves for a living. He was a real person. A man.
“Gosh, Carlie. I’m speechless. I mean, uh, you look beautiful. Stunning really.”
“Thanks, Doug. You look pretty great too. We’re gonna look fabulous at breakfast in the morning!”
“Yeah, I guess these aren’t very practical, are they?”
The sales lady swooped in for the sale, “You guys look perfect! You should buy ‘em. Have a big night out on the town. Do Chattanooga up right! Live a little!! Give me a big commission.”
Okay. She really didn’t say that last part. I’m just smart that way. I mean, I cracked the fact that Doug was a neat freak, right? Trust me. The woman was working on commission.
I pulled us back down to reality, “Thanks, but I think we’re gonna have to go for something a little more casual.”
I saw Doug’s sadness when I went back in the dressing room. That made me happy.
We left the store with no formal wear but we were both smiling.
“Doug, can you believe that dress was $475?”
“Are you serious? Wow, I had no idea. But you did look pretty unbelievable in it. You gave it life, Carlie.”
I liked the way he said my name. And he said it a lot. “Carlie, would you like grits or hashbrowns?” “Carlie, would you like to start walking or develop a strategy?” “Carlie, you look beautiful.” “You gave it life, Carlie.”
We went on to other stores. We looked at shoes and I confessed that my feet were enormous. I told him Daddy always said, “God was building something beautiful and he needed a strong foundation.” He said my daddy was right. He smiled when he said it. I knew he really meant it. I bought a few things. But I kept remembering those words, “You gave it life, Carlie.” No. I didn’t give life to the blue dress. If I had tried it on three months ago it would have looked completely different. It was Doug, the way he looked at me, the way he laughed out loud when I teased him, his hairy hands, perfect p
osture, crooked teeth, curly hair, his kindness, the masculine way he opened the door for me, the e-mails, the phone calls. Doug Jameson had given me life, not an expensive blue dress in Chattanooga.
We settled in at a tiny table in the back corner of Starbucks and told each other our life stories. He had been bullied in eighth grade. I was a foot taller than everyone. Then there were the bad-date stories. His senior prom date left the prom with two of her girlfriends and drank uncontrollably in the parking lot. By the time he found her, she was almost passed out. He had to literally carry her to her front door.
“Oh my Gosh, what did you say to her dad?”
“I said the only thing I could think of, ‘Karen drank a little too much and that’s why we’re home early.’”
“He must have wanted to kill you.”
“Oh yeah. And I was just seventeen so I didn’t know how to tell him what really happened. He thought I had let his little girl down. But the truth is…she had let me down.”
“Well, it’s been eleven years since the tragic prom date. What would you say you’ve learned since then?”
“If you’re on a date, always keep your eye on ‘em. And smell for alcohol. I’ve already sniffed you up and down several times, Carlie, especially when we got separated at JC Penney. Things happen, y’know. I don’t know what you have in your purse or who you could have met in the parking lot.” He was funny without having to be funny all the time. A rare find. Someone hand me another macchiato. I don’t want this moment to end.
“Carlie, it’s 5:30 and I told my cousin we’d be there for supper at 6:00. Did you get everything you needed?”
“Yeah, I’m good to go.”
I had bought a pair of black dress pants and a pink sweater at Lane Bryant, some pajamas and unmentionables (that’s what my granny always called them) at Penney’s, make-up and deodorant at Walgreen’s. Doug had offered to pay every time with some sweet excuse like, “Look, this whole inconvenience was caused by me, can’t I pick up the tab?” Or “I hate for you to have to buy things you already have, why don’t I just pick this up?” But I refused. I assured him I could use every purchase and that it was no problem. I’m not sure I was truthful. Anytime I spend money it’s a problem.
