"If that's what you want," said Em. "And in the meantime, if you need someone to talk to, you have my number."
"Oh, yes. Yours and Doctor Ferris's," answered Harriet, glancing at both of them. "I'll call one of you if I need someone to help me decide."
Em was a little surprised by this answer. But she kept it to herself.
When they were leaving Harriet's place, and Vic was safely out of sight, Colin spoke. "You know, we could screen the candidates ourselves. We have the password to Harriet's account."
Em glanced at him. "Do you think we should?" She frowned a little. "Wouldn't that be cheating?"
"Not necessarily. We know she's going to ask our advice, eventually. We would be more prepared to answer her."
He was as curious as she was, maybe. "We could do a phone conference," she suggested.
"Only one computer can log into the account at a time," he said. "Perhaps we could arrange a meeting in one of our homes."
"Home?" Em shrank from this, whether from the shock of the suggestion or the discomfort, she couldn't be sure. "Um, I suppose so."
"My apartment isn't terribly hospitable, I'm afraid," said Colin. "I moved into it relatively recently, so most of my things are still in storage. It might be comfortable at my office at the university, which, I fear, is mostly for my research..."
Rats. Em wasn't particularly keen on tidying up her own place. Moreover, she was curious to see his place, wondering if the surroundings were any clue to the supposed character of Colin Ferris. She imagined his office to be a bland, minutely organized space. Then again, maybe that would be clue enough.
Em hesitated. "We could do it at my place. I'll give you the address." She scribbled her house's street and number on the back of a coffee receipt pulled from her purse.
He read it, then tucked it into his pocket. "She'll probably have at least one more invitation by this evening," he said. "Will eight-thirty tonight be an acceptable time? I have a meeting with my agent — dinner, really — at seven, but the restaurant is close to your place."
"Sure," said Em. "We should get this over with, probably. After all, the debate's in two days. The producers will expect something from Harriet before then."
"Eight-thirty it is." He hesitated as if his mind was somewhere else for a moment, then he looked at her and forced a smile to his face. "See you later." With that, he walked away.
He looked almost as uncomfortable beneath that smile as she felt inside, Em decided. Maybe the thought of the two of them alone, without Harriet or half a dozen studio employees present, made Doctor Ferris nervous — maybe the scenario was a little too human for his tastes, without the usual business formalities giving him comfort.
Usually, this thought would have popped into her head with a sneer. But Em was still feeling softened towards him after what she'd witnessed at the bar. He had been a true friend to Harriet at the moment she most needed one. The image of his smile, the memory of Harriet's real laughter, was something Em couldn't shake from her thoughts.
As soon as her show's broadcast was over that afternoon, Em grabbed her shoulder bag and exited the booth, giving Izzy a quick wave as she left instead of stopping to chat as usual. "Where's the fire, girl?" Isabel called after her.
"I'll explain later," Em called back. At the moment, she didn't want to say that Colin was coming to her house tonight. That seemed like a statement which might be misconstrued, even by Isabel.
At home, she vacuumed the carpet in her living room, fluffed the sofa pillows, and removed all traces of anything too casual, like the high heels under the coffee table and the silk scarf around the lamp. She tucked the copy of his book out of sight in a drawer beside her bed.
Colin arrived promptly at eight-thirty. Suit and tie once again — Em felt underdressed in jeans and a simple t-shirt.
"Come in," she said. He crossed the threshold, glancing around as he pulled off his coat.
"Very nice," he said. He smiled at her again, one which resembled this afternoon's nervous one.
"Make yourself at home," said Em. She wished he would relax just a little. This was a business meeting of sorts, so he didn't have to treat it as a do-or-die exam. "I'm making a cup of coffee. Want one?"
"Yes, thanks." Colin stood in the same spot a moment longer, then sat down on her sofa. He placed his laptop on her coffee table and opened it, his fingers clicking the keys swiftly.
"You have Harriet's portfolio, I assume?" he called after her.
"In my bag. Next to the sofa," answered Em. She poured two cups of coffee, two mismatched mugs from her cupboard side by side on the counter. "Cream? Sugar?"
"Neither."
She placed the blue mug beside his computer, cradling the one decorated with cartoon cats as she settled onto a floor pillow at the adjacent end of the table. Colin had opened the folder containing Harriet's original personality profile and self description, paging carefully through it before laying it aside.
Em remembered too late that her shoulder bag also contained a copy of 101 Stupid Jokes which Isabel had loaned her for Frank's upcoming media roast, and a blouse and a pair of lace panties which she had been planning to exchange at the department store service counter during her lunch hour. Wincing inside, she crossed her fingers that he hadn't noticed these things.
"How was your meeting with your agent?" she asked. The cast-from-steel Catherine D. Burg came to mind with these words, particularly her insulting manners.
"As expected," he answered.
Hardly the 'satisfactory' or 'good' Emma would have thought. "What do you mean by 'as expected'?" she asked. "You don't sound as if you enjoyed it very much." She took a sip from her cup.
"Meetings with my agent aren't meant to be enjoyable."
"Why not?" she asked. "Meetings with my producer are never torture. We like each other, so maybe that makes a difference. But I assume you probably like Ms. Burg."
He lifted his cup of coffee. His smile was rueful, Em noticed. "Our relationship is more about necessity and business than mutual fondness."
Em got the impression that Ms. Burg's fierceness for her client was hardly that of mere business success, but that material fondness might be one-sided, in this case. "She seems pretty fond of you," said Em. "At least, she thinks you're a terrific client. Not that many agents probably devote this much time to meeting one of their authors."
"They do while they're experiencing the crux of their success, I imagine," answered Colin, "which is where my book is, for the moment. Ms. Burg's concern is whether it remains there without some ... help ... on my part." He stated this last bit grimly.
"You mean, more promotions?"
"More personal changes, actually." These words were dragged out of him.
Personal changes. That was coded language for criticism of Colin's public image, Em surmised. Catherine D. Burg was concerned with what people were seeing and hearing whenever Colin was on the screen. Em wasn't surprised, having forced herself to watch a few minutes of their televised debate. As cringe-worthy as she found herself to be, Colin had seemed wooden and impersonal.
"She could be right, you know." Em sipped her coffee, studying him over the cup's rim. On his face, she saw a mixture of emotions, none of them pleasant.
"In what way?" he asked, coldly. "I am what I am. I can't pretend to be charming and engaging. It wouldn't be natural. It would be a farce, one which would never last the length of the appearance."
"I'm not saying you should change yourself," said Em. "You should work with yourself. You're no-nonsense and matter-of-fact, right? So work with that. Find a way to express those things that won't turn off your audience."
"How?" he asked.
"By stating it up front. And affirming that you care about people. Because I know you do." She met his eye firmly with these words. "But don't be afraid to state that you're a fearless truth-teller. You call it like you see it. Relationship realities are grim, but you're helping people fight the battle against them."
He raised o
ne eyebrow. "This is how you would present me, if you were my agent?"
"Sure. You're the ... the 'Doctor Laura' of romantic relationship therapists," suggested Em.
He chuckled. "Hardly the assessment I've made. Or Catherine — Ms. Burg. She insists that I make myself smile more and — rightly, I suppose — stick to the facts less often."
"She's right about the smile," said Em. "But you have a nice one, when you're being yourself, that is. So that shouldn't be a problem."
She was thinking of him comforting Harriet as she said this, forgetting he hadn't known she was there. For a second, she believed she saw Colin's cheeks flush. He glanced away towards his open laptop's screen. Em felt a twinge of reproach — that sounded flirtatious, didn't it?
She'd made enough helpful suggestions for Doctor Ferris's career. Time to move on to Doctor Emma's role in their joint operation.
"Well, we should get down to business," she said. "Open the account." She set her cup of coffee aside. Colin busied himself with the keys, clicking on the link to the account's page.
"Here we are," he said. "Three invitations, in total."
Three invitations. Em was impressed. "Okay. Let's see who's on the other side."
Dan, Mitch, and Randy. Two accountants, one computer tech advisor. Interests ranging from baking to inline skating, to reading and collecting vintage sci-fi paperbacks. Music tastes? Eighties' pop and country. Personal descriptions? All nice guys, according to their own opinion, chivalrous, friendly, outgoing, fond of pets and quiet afternoons in the park, too.
So far, so good. Now came the hard part. They printed the individual candidates' sheets off the website, highlighted passages, searched for their alternate selves online, Facebook accounts, criminal records, embarrassing Instagrams, then argued about the pros and cons of each one. Was Mitch's Facebook post about this one girl a 'strictly friends' remark? Was that a restraining order lodged against Dan? No, wait — same name, different person, Em was relieved to see.
Colin exhaled. "Randy's the best choice of the three," he announced. "His profession, his interests, his hobbies — he's almost a perfect match, really."
"I agree," said Em. She studied the profile page of this potential date. He wasn't bad-looking, so he might qualify as 'cute' in Harriet's book. A shy smile, reddish-brown hair combed neatly, a tie and a sweater vest over an Oxford stripe shirt in a cross between trendy and nerdy fashions. He was interested in travel and photography, and claimed he liked animals, especially horses.
Wasn't Harriet the kind of girl who probably had an all-things-horses phase somewhere in her past? Even so, he had all the right qualifications, as if he had been tailored specifically for Harriet.
"He's perfect," she said. "Or nearly so. But it's Harriet's decision, of course. And Dan is ..."
"...is a possibility," admitted Colin. "Only he's a bit less ... outgoing. Judging from his hobbies and his Facebook page, at least."
Em had to admit that was true. Dan's small circle of friends scarcely ever bothered to comment on each others' pages; and when they did, it was only to comment on the scheduled air dates for various Sci Fi cartoons. Harriet was a girl capable of appreciating a small group of friends bound together by a common interest, as Em well knew, although science fiction was likely as alien a territory to the girl as the actual planets themselves.
As for Mitch, he also claimed he was nice, an animal lover, and a semi-active person. He was the best-looking of the three, but also had a high opinion of his looks, judging from his profile picture's obvious theme of I'm-so-modest-I'm-trying-to-look-as-if-I'm-not-posed-at-my-best-angle. Old Harriet might be tempted to choose him first, but Em was hoping she was past that by now. Mitch was probably a second heartache waiting to happen.
Randy was the best choice. It was simply true. Yet, there was something about him she couldn't quite put her finger on. Something that didn't seem completely perfect about this arrangement.
"Do you have doubts?" Colin was looking at her, she realized. She snapped back to attention.
"I don't know," she answered. "I shouldn't, I know. I guess it's just a reflex. Some instinctual hesitation that I can't explain."
He frowned. "But it's a perfect match," he said. "By your estimation, even. What do you think is missing?"
"Maybe nothing." She sighed. "It's late. We're tired. At least, I am. Probably he will look perfect tomorrow. And if Harriet asks me which one she should choose, I would say him."
"It's settled, then." Colin closed his laptop lid, erasing the search results for one Randy Newick. "Maybe Harriet has come to the same conclusion we have, and we've nothing to do but congratulate her."
"I hope so," said Em.
By ten o' clock, Colin was gone. No more conversations about Harriet's dilemma, about his agent's advice, and not a mention once about the barbs they exchanged at the debate. They talked of restaurants and weather, of nicer subjects that avoided anything unfriendly.
Afterwards, Em fished the copy of Relationship Realities from the drawer and flipped it open. The language seemed less stilted and formal to her as she turned its pages. Was that really the case, or was Doctor Ferris's conversation starting to become normal to her?
The biggest mistakes men make in relationships are invariably the result of self-weakness. Weakness of attraction, of character, of self-value, which make them vulnerable to emotionally abusive or insincere partners. A man chooses this relationship, in part, to complete himself in the face of psychological shortcoming. He mistakes his emotional dependence for devotion, his vulnerability for trust, his desperation for passion...
Harriet would understand those words, Em thought. The need to depend on someone to complete you — hadn't that been the same kind of loneliness burning inside the girl the day she dialed Heart Therapy's number?
It's difficult to overcome the notion that engaging in a close relationship — romantic or otherwise — with someone outside the standards we aspire to achieve somehow cheapens us in the eyes of those who have already achieved that standard. Only the strong can accept love graciously, and return it wholeheartedly, regardless of personal reluctance. People who discover early in life that they are bestowing their love on indifferent subjects — and only in hopes of having it returned by those same subjects — have a better chance of learning this truth.
Maybe there was more to Colin Ferris than Emma's initial impression of him.
Chapter Eleven
Colin's prediction that Harriet would make the decision herself turned out to be true — in fact, Harriet had already accepted Randy's invitation request on Thursday morning. Dinner at Forelli's Italian Restaurant, a table for two at six o' clock.
"How do I look?" Harriet stood in her bedroom doorway, looking somewhat shamefaced. She was wearing her new dress, one far from the bright-flowered brown one she had worn before. This dress was a navy blue jersey, a halter-neck rising in a deep 'v', and no sleeves. It was the most flattering thing Em had seen her wear, the color bringing out the red tint of Harriet's hair, the luster of her eyes.
"You look wonderful," said Em. "Truly, Harriet."
Harriet blushed. "Well, I had help picking it out," she admitted. "My mom. And I got Bobby's opinion. I needed a guy's thoughts on it — and I'm never again asking a stranger in a store what they think."
They both laughed a little at this awkward memory from the sporting goods adventure. For once, Em was actually glad Vic was filming them. This would give viewers a better perspective of Harriet than any footage edited together thus far.
"That outfit's a perfect choice," said Em. "You're going to have a great time tonight, Harriet."
Thus far, this prediction of Em's seemed to be true also. Harriet and Randy seemed to be hitting it off nicely. In person, he looked friendly and slightly bashful. He had worn a tie with his dress shirt, his face slightly pink — then again, he might be blushing. He seemed to blush every twenty seconds, even when he was laughing and smiling.
"I wish I could hear them," m
urmured Em, as she and Colin watched from several tables away. This was the closest they could get to Harriet's date, not wanting to repeat the creepy, hovering vibe from her date with Elton. Vic, who had less shame, had already zoomed in multiple times on Harriet's table, filming shots of the girl's smiling face and the back of hapless Randy's head.
"No eavesdropping," said Colin. "Ten more minutes, and we can call this a success and leave." They hadn't requested menus this time, only an appetizer. The waiter cast them baleful glances whenever he passed their table.
"Good. I have plans for tonight," said Em. "Ones that don't involve watching other people, for a change."
"Really." Although he expressed it as a statement, Em detected a little curiosity in Colin's voice. "And what might those plans be?"
"A party," answered Em. "At Izzy's. She's having a few friends over for her birthday. Nothing special — just appetizers and loud music and people catching up with each other."
"Isabel is your producer?" he asked.
"Yes. You've met her. The girl in the booth who kept signaling you."
"I remember. In retrospect, I should have obeyed and called you 'Doctor Emma' as requested."
"Well, you didn't manage to get out of calling me the second part," said Em. "Although my good friends don't call me 'Emma,' you know." And I hate being called Emmy, she wanted to add.
"Why not? It suits you," he answered. "You look like an Emma. Very ... dignified. Very engaging and pretty. It's a good name."
It was Em's turn to blush. "Thank you," she said. "I guess it just always felt formal. 'Em' as a nickname is sort of casual, a bit tough. I've grown used to it."
"Mm." Colin's reply stopped short at this point.
"Do you have plans?" Em asked.
"No," he answered. "I'm relatively new to the city, as you know. I spend my evenings unpacking boxes and sorting material for my next academic piece. Something that would bore you to hear more about, I suspect."
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