by Claire Adams
Jess shrugged, still smiling. “Look, everyone benefits; I get help for Economics, Derick gets a date with a girl he’s into, and you get a chance to get back out there—and a free meal.”
I wanted to be angry at her but I had to laugh.
“You didn’t—I mean he’s not expecting anything other than the date, right?”
Jess nodded quickly. “Yeah, no, there’s no guarantee of anything other than you going with him to dinner. He’s on his own if he wants to get you to make out or sleep with him—I made that completely clear.”
I shook my head, smiling in spite of myself. On the one hand, it was kind of soothing to my battered ego that someone wanted to take me on a date. On the other hand, it was a bit irritating that Jess had volunteered me for a date with a stranger. One of the last things I wanted was to get involved with a member of the opposite sex; I was only just recovering from the aftermath of my feelings towards Zack.
“And you specified only one date, right?” I asked her, wanting to rebel but not quite feeling up to it. If Jess had guaranteed the guy that I’d go out with him for as long as he wanted, I’d say no flat out.
“One date. Dinner and a movie. That’s it. No sleeping with him, no guarantees for a second date, nothing like that.”
I sighed. “Well, what’s he like?”
Jess shrugged. “He dresses in polo shirts and khakis most of the time, kind of shy, not a bad guy but not all that interesting. But he’s got the highest grade in the Econ class and he’s smart.” I popped a few more cheese crackers in my mouth and chewed them meditatively.
“Fine,” I said, shaking my head again. A date was the last thing I wanted—but Jess was my friend, and it wouldn’t kill me to get out for once. “For you, I’ll do it. But next time you decide to barter me for favors, do me a favor and ask me first.”
Jess grinned. “You’d have just said no.”
“If you do this again I will say no and there will be nothing for you to do about it but find someone else.”
Jess’ face fell into more serious lines and she nodded.
“Fair enough. But we have a deal on this one, right? You won’t decide at the last minute not to go?”
“If he turns out to be horrible, I will leave him in the middle of the date if I have to, but I will at least give him a fair shot.”
“That’s all I’m asking. My GPA thanks you.”
CHAPTER THREE
In the few days leading up to the date, I tried to prepare myself; apart from the date with Zack, I hadn’t really gone out with a guy since junior year of high school. In my senior year, I’d been so focused on getting scholarships, and so wrapped up in my mom’s decline and death that I hadn’t been able to even consider the possibility of going on a date with anyone. It just hadn’t even been on my radar. Derick had gotten my number from Jess and sent me a couple of text messages, confirming that my friend’s offer was legitimate and that I was willing to go out with him. I said what I was supposed to—that I was looking forward to it, that I was happy to get to know him, all of the polite things. But my heart wasn’t really in it. I was still—in spite of the anger I had felt—more than a little bit turned around and flipped over in my mind about Zack, still questioning what had happened and whether it was for the best.
The night of the date, Jess pulled me into my room and went to work at making sure that I was appropriate for the evening.
“Jess, it’s just dinner and a movie,” I insisted with a groan. “It’s not even someone I particularly want to impress. I can go as I am.”
Jess shook her head, going through my wardrobe quickly. “He’s taking you to a really expensive restaurant; you need to look right for that. And anyway, you don’t know—maybe he’s just your speed.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes, but I knew that when Jess was in her educational mood, it was useless to argue with her. She pulled out one of the few really nice skirts I owned, a button-down silk shirt, and a blazer that I’d last worn to my college interviews. I raised an eyebrow, but at least, I thought, I couldn’t be accused of leading anyone on in an outfit like that. Jess went into her own room while I changed and came back with a pair of heels that went perfectly with the outfit—taller than I normally wore, but I could manage them. She pushed me down into my desk chair and quickly did my hair and makeup; in the end I looked like a sleek, put-together woman—kind of like my mom. The comparison made me almost want to cry; but I held back my tears, knowing that I’d just ruin the makeup and start my date off on completely the wrong foot.
I sat in the common area of the dorm to wait for the guy to show up. He apparently had quite a nice car, according to Jess; I’d never seen it myself, and I wondered if he was like the kinds of guys I’d known in high school who’d had the nicer cars—braggarts who didn’t care about anything other than their material possessions. One thing I’d always liked about Zack: he didn’t put that much importance on his possessions. I shied away from the comparison. I wasn’t going to think about Zack at all. I wasn’t going to compare him—especially favorably—to the guy that I was with. I would put him completely out of my mind.
Just when I was starting to become really impatient, there was a knock at the door. I stood quickly and heard Jess’ door slam open. She was right there at my side. “Remember,” she said quietly. I rolled my eyes but nodded, and opened the door to let Derick in. He was taller than Zack by maybe an inch or two, but not as muscular; where Zack had medium-brown hair and dark eyes, Derick had sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, and slightly freckled pale skin that had an almost-translucent look to it. He smiled at me as he stepped over the threshold, dressed in a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt that was just slightly too big for him, though the deep maroon color of it complemented his skin and hair.
“It’s good to meet you, Evelyn,” Derick said, extending his hand. I shook it quickly, feeling awkward and uncertain. He seemed like a perfectly nice guy and Jess had said more than once that he was, but there was something stilted, something just a little bit off-putting about his excitement. “You look lovely.”
He pulled me closer by the hand, giving me a quick hug. I could smell his green, reedy-smelling cologne, with the sweat-smell underneath that told me he was nervous.
“Have a great night, you two,” Jess said, beaming at us both. Derick turned to lead me out through the door and she shot me one last cautioning look, mouthing “be nice,” as I let myself be pulled out of the comfort of my dorm.
Derick’s car was nice—it was a relatively recent model BMW, which was the first real topic of conversation that I could actually feel comfortable discussing; the ride down on the elevator had been awkwardly silent, and the walk to the parking lot wasn’t much better. “Nice Beemer,” I said, smiling politely.
“My parents got it for me as a graduation present; not new, but with a car like this new isn’t really needed.”
He opened the door for me on the passenger side and I reached over to unlock the driver’s side as he walked around the front of the car. When he started up the car, his stereo came on, not quite blasting Hot Hot Heat over the speakers. I gave him at least a few points for having decent taste in music and tried to relax against the lush seat as Derick pulled out of the parking spot.
He let me pick the movie and I tried to choose something that neither of us would hate. It was easy for me to see that Derick was trying to impress me; there was an intensity to his gaze on me, something in the way that he kept checking to see if I was comfortable, if I was happy. It wasn’t like with Zack—and I stopped myself hard and fast in the midst of that thought. Derick was a different person from the guy I had dated before. He was a little shy, he was a little awkward. The movie I picked was sold out for the closest showing, so we had twenty minutes in the lobby to stand and talk.
“Jess says you’re the best one in the Econ class,” I said, trying not to fidget or pick at my clothes.
“Oh yes,” Derick said, smiling quickly. “Economics is really fascina
ting if you can get into it and understand it.”
I was relieved and bored at the same time as he launched into an explanation of his theories as to how economics could explain anything and everything in the world, even how he’d been thrilled to have a chance to put his economic understanding to use in bargaining his help in exchange for a chance to impress me on a date.
When it was time to start heading in for the movie—a comedy that I’d seen trailers for on TV that at least cut the difference between the romantic dramas and action flicks that were the theater’s other offerings—Derick asked me if I wanted anything at the concession stand. Since we were going to dinner afterward, I settled for a soda; Derick bought some candy that he offered to share, and I found myself then agreeing to make sure I ate some of it. I checked the time on the big wall clock on our way into the theater and told myself that at least during the movie we wouldn’t have to talk much.
I wasn’t being totally fair to Derick and I knew it. He wasn’t a bad guy—he was nice and polite, holding the door for an older couple who came behind us, saying “please” and “thank you” to the ticket booth person and the concession stand person alike, and looking after my comfort constantly. But I couldn’t really see anything obvious that we had in common. He asked what I was studying and listened patiently as I explained why I went into Journalism, why I wanted to go on to work in that field.
“Your position at the campus newspaper will probably put you really ahead of your peers—and it’ll give you a head start on getting internships, too,” he told me, beaming at me proudly as if he was thrilled that I was thinking so far ahead.
I had already thought of it, of course; for news writing, a portfolio and experience counted almost as much as the degree did. But I also knew that if it came down to quitting the newspaper or preserving my GPA, I would pick my classes in a heartbeat—whereas I’m sure Derick would have found a way, in his smartest-guy-in-the-room way, to cut back on his sleep but still manage to do both. We struggled to find something that we had in common, comparing our interests in books, music, movies, and even—as a last resort—art. There was something about Derick that made me think he was subtly checking off a list in his head of expectations he had for me, that he was comparing me to some image he had in his mind of the perfect, economically sound girlfriend. There were some bands that we both liked, but our tastes were mostly different; in the back of my mind, I thought to myself that Derick was probably only agreeing on the few bands we did both like just to have something in common. He liked nonfiction books while I was a fan of fiction; he preferred documentaries and realistic art while I was more into light entertainment and the modern art movement, even post-modern, from an art appreciation class I had taken in high school.
The movie started and we both went quiet. I wondered if Derick felt as much relief as I did. I ate some of his candy at his behest—though sour gummies are not my favorite—and sipped at my soda as I got more and more into the movie. The most convenient thing about the kind of date that he had chosen to take me on was that there was the entire span of the three-hour movie where we didn’t, and couldn’t, speak.
My mind wandered a little bit as I watched the movie; the plot wasn’t very demanding. I thought about Zack, wondering in the back of my brain what he was doing while I was on this almost-disaster of a date. I shouldn’t have, but I pictured him in my mind at a party hosted by his frat—or maybe a sorority party down the block. He would be grinding on some girl, telling her all the sweet, sexy things he had said to me, conning another woman into sleeping with him. In spite of the fact that I knew I should just drop the question in my mind, I dwelled on it, getting more than a little irritated at him. If it weren’t for the fact that I knew full well that Derick had done nothing wrong in our date, and that Jess needed me to come through for her to get help in her class, I would have just left.
After the movie, Derick managed to finagle his way into holding my hand while we walked out to his car, talking about the funnier aspects of the story. It was nothing incredibly original, but I was at least more comfortable talking about that than I would have been talking about myself, or hearing about Derick. I already knew that there would be no second date; I just couldn’t make myself interested in him, in spite of the obvious evidence that he came from a well-to-do family and seemed perfectly nice. But I wasn’t about to demonstrate to him that I had already given up hope of finding any kind of spark between the two of us. It wouldn’t be fair or nice to him, and on top of it, I wasn’t sure that he would honor his agreement with Jess if I didn’t manage to make it all the way through the date. I was absolutely starving by the time we got into his car, and I was more than happy with the fact that we were going to dinner next.
I kept up my end of the conversation as we drove from the theater to the restaurant, telling Derick about the time that I had seen Hot Hot Heat play live and how I’d managed to talk myself into a quick meeting with the band. Derick peppered me with questions about it—how I’d convinced the roadies and the security people, what I had talked to the different band members about.
“Well,” I said, smiling slightly, “I had a press pass from the high school newspaper, and I basically just sort of…pressed my point with the security guy, saying that even though it was a high school paper, I was a very professional type of person, and that I really wanted to write an article for the school rag about the concert and the band.” I shrugged.
“And they actually bought that?” I laughed.
“Well it was partly true anyway; I did want to do an article. But I think it was mostly that I just stood there not being rude or fan girl-like, persistently arguing the point. The guy just eventually gave up and led me back to where the band was hanging out in their green room.”
It was one of the more daring stunts I had ever done in my life—the sort of thing that, looking back on it, was more the inspiration of the moment than something I could have planned. If I had tried to plan an attack to get backstage, it would have failed miserably from me overthinking it. But because I had just had the idea and acted on it, I’d pulled it off.
The restaurant that Derick pulled up to was obviously expensive; there were Mercedes, BMWs, and a few higher-end sports cars parked among Priuses in the parking lot, and the red, brick building had an understated sort of comfortable luxury appeal. Quietly elegant piano music filtered through the outdoor speakers, and when Derick opened the door, the smell of delicious things wafted out to greet us. When the hostess asked if we wanted to sit inside or on the terrace, Derick looked at me for my preference.
“Let’s sit outside,” I suggested; I hadn’t missed the braziers stationed around the patio—it would be comfortable enough even with the autumn chill.
We sat down and I looked at the menu; for a long moment I was both pleased and appalled. There wasn’t a single entrée under $25, and most of them were closer to $40. Derick was definitely pulling out the stops to impress me, and I was guaranteed a good meal—something that I would probably be able to remember long after my memory of my date had muddled itself into near-nothingness. I talked to Derick about the different items, trying to feel out just how much he was willing to spend—but he insisted that I should order whatever appealed to me the most, without worrying about price.
“If I had to worry about what your dinner would cost, I wouldn’t have brought you here,” he said, smiling at me happily. “I just really want you to have a good time, so please, anything that seems to be the most interesting or tasty—feel free to order it.”
It was a hard decision even if I tried to take the concern of money off of my mind. There were so many things that sounded so delicious, and I was so hungry, that I couldn’t even remotely make up my mind. I was a little surprised when the waiter came and took our drink order, not batting an eyelash as Derick ordered wine for both of us and not carding either of us. I supposed that if you went to such an expensive place, they didn’t really think that anyone under a certain age would be among th
eir clientele.
I finally settled on my selections from the menu, giving into Derick’s insistence that I have one of each course: appetizer, salad, entrée, and dessert. It would make for a long dinner, but at least, I thought, there would be a good meal in my stomach and apparently wine to help lubricate the awkwardness between us. I tried to take an interest in Derick’s detailed explanations about the differences between several of the presidents and their policies, but I really couldn’t make myself do more than just nod and occasionally make comments about a particular president’s interaction with the press of their era and what it had done to contribute to current affairs.
When the appetizers arrived, I was absolutely relieved. Derick might be a perfectly nice guy, but he was tedious—and I couldn’t feel any kind of spark of interest in him. Our conversation lagged as we both tucked into our separate first courses; Derick had ordered oysters Rockefeller, while I’d taken seared scallops with a kind of crouton. It was delicious, and I savored every bite, taking only the few opportunities to talk to Derick that I had to—when he asked how I liked my food, if I’d ever had scallops before.
I sipped my wine and looked around idly; we were clearly the youngest people at the restaurant, and I wondered again at the fact that the waiter hadn’t been the slightest bit suspicious of the fact that two college freshmen were in the restaurant ordering wine. But I decided abruptly that it was just as well that no one had questioned it; it was easier to tolerate my boredom with Derick with the help of the wine and the excellent food. The salad came quickly and I used the excuse of more delight than I really felt at the dressed mixture of bitter salad greens, sweet citrus and crunchy nuts to keep my mouth full so I could avoid answering more questions about how much I liked the food.
Derick seemed to have settled in by the time the entrée arrived; at his goading, I had ordered filet mignon with pommes Anna, grilled asparagus, and hollandaise sauce. Derick had ordered swordfish with some kind of roasted tomato side and couscous, and seemed to be enjoying it quite a bit. I was definitely looking forward to dessert—not only because of the fact that I was excited for the crème brulée, but also because once we had finished dessert the night would be nearly over.
