"I don't know," said Em. "What's the subject?"
"Suppressed Communication Signals Between Romantic Partners: A Study in the Importance, Frequency, and Authenticity of Personal Reflexes, and Possible Meanings Behind Them."
"Mm," said Em. "No, I'm just kidding. It's probably a very interesting subject ... beneath all the academic phrases, that is."
Harriet and her date had moved on to the main course. Colin motioned for the check. "Allow me," he said, removing his wallet from his coat's breast pocket.
"Oh, really? You ask permission?" Em replied, playfully. "I didn't think the gentleman needed to ask to pay the bill."
"I risk offense if I fight you for the check," he answered. But he didn't ask her again as he counted out the amount and a tip.
Outside, the air was nippy, a cool mist of rain making the atmosphere humid. Nevertheless, Em hunched beneath the folds of her scarf in response to the droplets. Colin moved to shrug off his trench coat and offer it to her, she noticed; then seemed to think better of it and didn't.
"I wouldn't have said 'no,'" she informed him. He looked startled that she realized his thoughts. "But I'm fine without it, thanks." This, before he could attempt to pull it off again.
"Where's your car?" he asked.
"I didn't drive. I'm walking to Isabel's place. It's only a block away. Across the bridge."
"I'll walk you there. And not merely because of my book's guidelines," he answered. "I enjoy company when I'm in search of a cab." He walked along beside her, hands in his coat pockets.
"Can I ask you a question?" asked Em. "What is it about romantic tendencies that makes you want to squelch them so quickly? I mean, your book's themes of chivalry and gentlemanly manners are all about romantic gestures, but you couldn't wait for Harriet to see that her romantic ideas were unrealistic."
"Romantic fantasies tend to blind us to reality," he answered. "There's a difference between being a romantic person and being deluded by romantic themes. People who believe in them too strongly won't make sensible choices. Like Harriet's fondness for Elton the unworthy."
"But what about the old-fashioned idea of simply falling in love?" asked Em. "What about the manners and gestures you describe in your book — don't those ideas keep alive the idea that you can pursue any girl with chivalry, and maybe win her over?"
"Chivalry is more complicated than that," he answered. "It's a matter of choice beyond romance. A difficult one to make for a lot of men. It isn't simply about finding one woman attractive, or wanting the admiration of every woman, whether you want her or not. It isn't meant always to send signals of attraction, which you would know if you had read my book."
"I've read some of it," defended Em. "Parts of it. Lots of parts, actually."
"If you had read it completely, then." He pulled off his glasses, wiping the fog from the lenses. "People tend to read only the lines about the romantic gestures, the communication of love — not the parts about offering similar gestures every day, for every woman, regardless of her personal beauty or personality."
"Meaning the good, the bad, and the ugly alike," said Em. "Which is why you offered me your coat," she added, teasingly. "I assume I'm the second one."
"That's rubbish," he answered.
"Never mind, then. I get the point you're trying to make."
"Thank you." He tucked his glasses into his pocket. "It's a choice of behavior that becomes easier after you see what blind attraction does to people. It washes away every sense of self, every shred of common sense. It leaves them an empty shell, or embitters them to the lowest levels, once they're rejected."
His words reached into Em's past, touching a forgotten piece of it. The memory of Charles was there, the lonely caller with no one else to turn to that night.
"I can think of a similar circumstance, yes," she conceded, a ghost of a smile on her face. "But you'd rather not hear about it, I'm sure."
Colin glanced at her, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"I mean it's from my past career. When I was a disc jockey, there was this caller. Your story made me think of him." She glanced at Colin. "See? Even worse than being a radio therapist, I was merely a disc spinner taking people's late-night requests."
"Really." Colin's tone was flat, but he was paying attention to her.
"Anyway...this guy called one night. His name was Charles. And he had been utterly, utterly crushed by the woman he loved, because she had never really loved him. She'd been using him. I got the impression he was weak-willed; she strung him along, and I'm pretty sure she was unkind when she told him to leave. She must have said the cruelest, most mocking things to him. You could hear it in his voice, in all the things he wasn't saying."
Colin was still listening. Em stopped along the side of the bridge, gazing over the rails at the water below. In her mind, briefly, it was the darkness outside the tiny, desert studio long ago, the roar of traffic, the static over the line during Charles's silence.
"He was so alone," she continued. "And in that moment, I was really afraid for him. He was one of those people who couldn't express pain. It was just ... he seemed like the kind of person who might not walk away from this and have a second chance at love. Not if he loved her and hated her at the same time. So I said anything that came into my mind that I thought would help. I don't even remember what, or for how long."
She turned away from the bridge, leaning against the rail. "Anyway, that's what made me first think about a show where people talk their problems out with a listener — Charles, and all the other lonely, late-night callers."
"Is it?" Colin looked surprised.
"Yes. There's a part of me that still hopes Charles will call in someday," she admitted, shamefaced. "Just to know that everything turned out okay for him. To know if anything I said made a difference. Or if I would have been better off to just play him a stupid heartache song." A wry laugh followed this line. Even now, there was a catch in her voice. The memory of someone else's pain had that effect on her, sometimes.
Colin was silent. "You should let go of it," he said, finally. "Don't keep wondering. Don't keep waiting for him to come back."
Em looked at him. "Why?" she asked. "Is it wrong that I care? What does it matter if I want to know?"
"Because the odds that you ever will are slim," he answered. "And whatever decision Charles made, it was his choice. You have no blame and no part in whatever happened after he hung up the phone."
"Maybe I do," argued Em. "How do you know?"
"Because it's common sense, Emma." Colin met her gaze.
She stared at him a moment. Her lips parted. "I want to think I helped him," she said. "I think I'm strong enough to accept the truth if I didn't. If I based my whole career on a failure, for instance." She didn't laugh this time, even though this last part could very well be a bitter joke, if it was true.
Colin didn't break their gaze. "I'm sure you made a difference to him in some way. You've made a difference to a great many people. Why should he be an exception?"
"The soothing, sympathetic voice to the rescue," Em recited.
He shrugged. "Are you saying you don't actually believe in its power? Because if you do, then let go, Emma. Don't let the past cling to you."
His voice was warmer than usual. More alive than the stiff-and-stolid tones she had grown accustomed to hearing. The sound of it was making her blush, strangely enough. This was why she turned away, and began walking again. After a moment, Colin was walking beside her.
They didn't say anything for several minutes. The words Colin had spoken made her feel better about Charles' unfinished story in a way nothing else had. Until now, the notion that his story would fade as surely as the sound of his voice had been forgotten, the name of the song she played after his call, had always bothered her. Now, however, it seemed natural. She didn't forget because she didn't care, but because she cared as deeply for her present-day callers, and all the chances she had to help them. It made sense, really, whe
n she thought of it that way.
"This is Isabel's place." Em nodded towards the apartment building a few yards away, one with a cluster of balloons tied to the stair rails, the signal for Izzy's party.
He climbed the steps with her. She pushed the intercom button. "It's me, Iz."
"Come on up." The door release buzzed.
"I'll take you to the door," said Colin.
"All right." She didn't issue an objection as he came inside.
"Shouldn't you have a gift?" he asked her. "It's your friend's birthday."
"We did a group gift. A set of skis," answered Em. "She's going to Colorado for a weekend in November." They were climbing the stairs to Isabel and her husband's third-floor apartment. The distant beat of music echoed from the floor above them. On either side of the middle right-hand door, there was a big cluster of helium balloons tied with bright ribbons.
"Thank you," said Em to Colin. They had stopped outside the door. Em knocked on it twice.
"You're welcome," he said. He drew a step away and opened his mouth to say goodnight, Em surmised, at the exact same moment Isabel pulled open the door, a metallic party hat askew on her corkscrew curls.
"There you are —" Her speech ended at the sight of Colin. She looked shocked, and slightly puzzled. "Em. Doctor Ferris. Come on in." She gestured towards the room behind her — clearly Isabel was being magnanimous with regards to Em's unlikely companion.
"I was just leaving," he answered. "But thank you." He smiled at Isabel, then at Em. "Goodnight, Emma."
"Goodnight." She watched as he turned and walked away, descending the stairs again.
"What was he doing here?" Izzy asked. She ushered Em inside and closed the door again. "Seriously, couldn't you find a better date?"
"He wasn't — he just walked me here from the restaurant to be polite," said Em. "I wish he had come in for a drink, at least."
"Good thing chivalry has its limits," answered Isabel.
Still, Em wished he had stayed instead of leaving. Something had been different about him tonight. At least, it had felt that way to her on the bridge. That brief conversation had seemed more meaningful than any she'd had in quite awhile.
Maybe she was imagining it. It was the breeze from the water that affected her. Or the scent of cologne clinging to the coat she had refused. For a brief second, she wished she had let him put it around her shoulders. Maybe she was wrong to refuse the gesture from someone who had earned her respect so recently — no doubt his book would agree with this.
To love a woman selflessly is not an error. Not when he loves her truly — and separately — from himself. He may suffer pain as a result of it, if the relationship ends...
Em propped herself against her pillow as she read. The words were a little blurry from her sleeplessness at this late hour, usually a groan-worthy reminder of the glasses looming in her future. She blinked twice, clearing her vision, as she turned the pages.
But a man with personal strength and character, whose love and respect for his partner were equal, won't have to suffer the bitterness and betrayal of a man whose partner was an illusion, and whose relationship was an emotional sham for both of them.
Love and respect. There it was again, even in the face of failure. This time, it seemed less foreign to Colin's character than times past. It seemed natural and believable to her. That was the last thought in Em's head before she dropped off to sleep until morning, the book still cradled between her hands.
Chapter Twelve
Harriet already had a second date lined up with Randy, this one a camera-free evening at a frozen yogurt place. A likely third date on the horizon, an upcoming movie they both expressed an interest in seeing. Dinner was nice, Randy was so sweet, he'd been to Paris once, actually — these were the details crammed into the message on Em's phone.
She hadn't had time to talk to Harriet in person. Right now, the subject of her and Doctor Ferris's joint project was too busy to answer the phone — and Em herself was busy, mostly with the effort not to think about the next debate.
She'd already erased the cringe-worthy recording of the first one. Listening to her voice — was her voice really that shrill? — hurling scarcely-veiled insults at Colin was merciless enough without seeing the nervous tic in her shoulders. Her 'listening' expression was moronic, in her opinion. And smug.
As for Colin ... well, he was his usual self on television. She supposed that was the benefit of being a stiff and uncomfortable figure half the time you're in public — no one notices anything different onscreen.
She turned her attention to a different sort of footage: the latest video in the Harriet project. Vic had spliced clips of Harriet's second first-date attempt in between one-on-one candid segments with her.
"I'm really happy that things are changing. I mean, you can't stay the same person forever, can you? And maybe Doctor Emma and Doctor Ferris can't help me fall in love, but they've still made me a happier person."
Onscreen, Harriet was laughing as she listened to something Randy was saying. She looked worlds different from the girl in the oversized sundress in the mall, who looked so lost and so determined at the same time.
"All the things they've taught me just make every day better. I don't have to just look forward to an office party, or something nice somebody says to me in the break room anymore. I look forward to going out for a walk. Spending time with myself. Or with people who really like me. That just makes a difference." Candid-segment Harriet ended this narrative with a smile.
Em clicked off the page. She felt proud of Harriet. She had made amazing progress in only a few weeks' time. More than Em ever dreamed was possible, given their first meeting, and the subsequent disaster of Elton.
It left one tiny problem, however. What were she and Colin going to do with the remaining weeks?
Apparently, Colin had the same concern. "We need a new strategy," he said, over the phone. "Clearly, Harriet doesn't need us to keep foisting romantic partners on her. Or interfering in her dates, for that matter. We need a different role in this project."
"What do you suggest?" Em was curled up in one corner of her sofa. Until now, she'd been reviewing the transcript of yesterday's show — a habit that helped her avoid noticeably repeating phrases or words on the air day to day.
"I have no ideas, currently," he said. "Unless we plan to sabotage our progress."
"Not a chance," said Emma.
"Any suggestions for the next webisode, possibly?"
Em hugged her throw pillow. "Why don't you come by and we'll figure something out," she said.
A moment of silence on the line. "Are you certain?"
"Sure. I'm not busy," she answered. "Just come by for a little while."
"All right. I'm close by, so ... I'll see you shortly." He hung up.
Em hung up as well. She needed to change into something more appropriate than loose-fitting capri pajama pants and a cami. Stuffing the transcript pages into her shoulder bag, she tossed the sofa cushions into place again and rose from her seat just as she heard the knock on the door.
He was here already? How close had he been? In a moment of panic, Em seized the nearest garment, a sweatshirt jacket, and tugged it on, zipping it closed as she simultaneously kicked a mostly-empty box of crackers out of sight under the sofa.
"Coming!" she called. On the other side of the door, Colin was waiting.
"Come on in," she said. "Let me just finish tidying up. Take off your coat and make yourself comfortable." She tossed a few stray magazines onto a side table, then rummaged for Harriet's portfolio on the bookshelf by the lamp. Being barefoot seemed too intimate for this meeting — where were her flip-flops? She glanced around, but didn't see them.
He had moved from the center of the room, draping his coat over a chair. When she turned around, he was studying a framed photo. "Is this your family?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered. "It's a terrible picture. I don't know why I keep it around." The photograph was one she disliked, an
unflattering one of her amid her five sisters — Lydia had pinched her the second the photo was taken. It was one of the few her mother had bothered to send her.
"I didn't realize your family was so large," he said, setting it aside.
"Like Old Mother Hubbard's," answered Em. "I didn't even realize you'd ever thought about my family." She tossed a pair of sneakers in the coat closet and shut the door.
She had never thought about his family until now, either. Were there siblings — younger versions of Doctor Ferris? She caught herself wondering if the others were as good-looking as their brother, feeling ashamed of this.
"Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?" she asked.
"No, thank you."
"A glass of wine?"
He hesitated. "Yes. Just one."
"Coming up." In the kitchen, she pulled a bottle from inside her fridge, then two matching glasses from the cupboard.
She sat down on one of the floor throw pillows, pouring two glasses side by side on the coffee table. To her surprise, Colin sank down on the second cushion. He had removed his suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up as if they were preparing to physically grapple with their notes. Instead of lifting the portfolio, however, he lifted one of the glasses.
"To Miss Smith's success," he said.
"To Harriet," corrected Em, with a smile.
After the toast, it was all about work. The arguments about helping Harriet — more exercises? Coaching her on assertiveness? Stage a campaign to face the office friends who rejected her?
"I don't think she's ready to deal with them," said Em. "Why would she be? A week ago, they humiliated her. I don't want her to try to express her feelings to them directly, not now."
"But what better time than when her confidence is finally growing? She might feel better if she was capable of looking Elton in the eye and telling him that her crush on him has been erased."
"Has it?" Em wondered. "Or do you think we've just pushed the tiger into the box again? Once a girl like Harriet is attached to something, it's hard for her to give it up just because it hurts her."
Emma Knows All Page 12
