Just Friends With Benefits

by Schorr, Meredith

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me after a little more sake,” my mom said.

  “There’s nothing to tell, Mom. Hille did not come around, but a guy asked for my phone number at the book store today. Before you ask, I don’t think he’s Jewish and I have no idea what he does for a living. Let’s wait for him to call before we discuss wedding plans, okay?” I was actually totally psyched, but didn’t want to jinx myself by talking about it too much.

  “How old is he? Where does he live?” my mom asked.

  The chef gave us all an equal amount of noodles and scooped the rest onto my plate. Since I loved the noodles most of all, I looked up at him and smiled. He winked in response and I wondered if maybe he had a Jewish mother, too.

  Thirty

  I was emptying out my dishwasher the following night when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, hoped it was Ryan and said, “Hello?”

  “Is Stephanie there?” he asked.

  I recognized his voice but feigning ignorance, said, “This is she. Who’s this?”

  “George.”

  Grinning, I said, “George who?”

  “George Glass.”

  “Wow, and all these years I thought you were imaginary.”

  “Nope. I’m flesh and blood. Actually, it’s Ryan. George isn’t available at the moment.”

  I closed the dishwasher still containing clean utensils, and walked to my living room. Sitting lengthwise on the couch, I said, “That’s too bad. Did something suddenly come up?”

  Ryan laughed and said, “Something like that. So, how are you? How was dinner in Bethesda?”

  “It was good. We went to Benihana for my sister-in-law’s birthday.”

  “I love that place. Did the chef do the shrimp in the pocket trick?”

  “Of course. It was the highlight of my meal!”

  “Nice.”

  “And how was your night?” I asked.

  “Uneventful. Just walked my dog and watched some college basketball.”

  “What kind of dog do you have?” I asked.

  “A pug. Do you have a dog?”

  “Nope. I always wanted one, but my mom didn’t think my brother and I would take care of it so she lied and said she was allergic. Then she would torture us by bringing us to pet stores so we could look at all of the puppies she wouldn’t let us have.”

  “Oh, man. That’s cruel. What about your dad? Couldn’t talk him into it?”

  “Parents are divorced. My stepfather didn’t come into the picture until later but my mom wears the pants in the relationship anyway, although Al’s awesome,” I said.

  “Glad you get along with your stepdad,” Ryan said. “I’ve heard some horror stories.”

  “He’s been good to me. More of a dad than my real one, who certainly won’t win any Father of the Year awards in this lifetime.” I hoped it wasn’t too soon to share personal information and held my breath for Ryan’s reaction.

  “Some people get two shitty parents, at least you only got one.” Ryan chuckled and said, “Although that mom of yours sounds like a tough cookie!”

  Giggling, I said, “She’s a spitfire, all right. I like to think some of it got passed along to me. But I’d let my kids have a dog!”

  “So, I could ask you all the usual questions like what you do for a living, where you’re from originally and your biggest fears and greatest desires but then we’d have nothing to talk about on our date,” he said.

  “Hmmm, I don’t recall planning a date,” I said. I felt my heart beating rapidly in anticipation for what he would say next.

  “Aha. That’s why I’m calling, actually. Wanna go on a date with me?”

  If I was glowing at Benihana, I was probably fluorescent by now and was glad Ryan couldn’t see me through the phone. Smiling like the proverbial Cheshire cat, I said, “Sure.”

  Because Ryan wanted to save his best material for face-to-face contact, we quickly nailed down the plans for that coming Friday and hung up. After I saved his number into my contacts, I got up from the couch and walked back to the kitchen to finish emptying my dishwasher. I was still grinning as I sang, “Everybody’s Smiling, Sunshine Da-ay!” into a spoon.

  Thirty-one

  “So, how’s the mom-to be?” I asked Jess the following night. I had increased my bi-monthly phone call to once a week to check on her.

  “Vomitous.”

  “Morning sickness?”

  “Morning, noon and night sickness is more accurate,” Jess said.

  “Really? Wow, that sucks. It’s normal though, right?” I didn’t remember Amy getting sick at all when she was pregnant with Lillie.

  “It falls in the range of normal. No worries, Aunt Stephanie.”

  “Cool. Still sucks, though.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. Hold on a sec.”

  “Okay.” While I waited, I scrolled the TV guide channel. I had about 500 channels, yet there was absolutely nothing on.

  Returning to the phone, Jess said, “Sorry about that. Eric wants to talk to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hey. What’s up?” Eric asked.

  “Nothing. Just checking in on your wife. What’s new?”

  “Not much. What’s up with the beach house? You’re in, right? Hille asked me to check with you.”

  “I completely forgot.” Not quite accurate, although I really hadn’t discussed it with Gerard yet.

  “What’s the hold up, Cohen? You wanna go, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “Steph, it’s probably the last time we can party together before I’m a dad and things change forever.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “So, can I tell Hille you’re in?”

  I knew once Jess had the baby, things would change. While I was having one-date wonders and pining over unavailable (or just disinterested) bachelors like Hille, my friends were falling in love, getting married and making babies like real grownups. I couldn’t miss this. I had hoped to avoid temptation to hook up with Hille but at what expense? And maybe I’d be totally over him by then anyway. Maybe Ryan’s boyish charms were just what I needed to wash Hille’s quiet yet sexy reserve out of my hair once and for all. “Yes, count me in,” I said.

  Thirty-two

  Suzanne came over to help me get ready for my first date with Ryan but mostly she finished off an opened bottle of wine and leafed through my collection of In Style magazines. She looked up occasionally to give me the thumbs up or down sign while I tried on different combinations of jeans and tops.

  Lying stomach down on my bed with her head near the edge, she asked, “What were you thinking, waiting till the last minute to decide what to wear?”

  “When was I supposed to decide, Suze? Last month? It’s not like it’s the prom. It’s just a date. Been on at least a hundred of them.”

  “Yeah, but you’re actually psyched for this one!”

  She was right and without a will of their own, my lips curled into a grin. I held up a short-sleeved purple tunic with a somewhat plunging neckline. “I should show a little skin, right?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. It puts the idea of sex in his head without you saying a word. Not too much, though. Save that until you’re ready to drive it home. I assume not tonight?”

  “Definitely not. My slutty days are over. Anyway, he’s definitely kissable but whether he’s fuckable has yet to be determined,” I said.

  “I still don’t think your ‘slutty days’ ever began, but if it makes you feel closer to Samantha than Charlotte, go with it. So, what does he look like?”

  “He’s shorter than Hille and more stocky.” I buttoned up a pair of dark blue jeans and turned my back towards Suzanne. “How does my butt look in these?”

  “You’ve got a great ass, Cohen, but those jeans are too dark for that top. Try a pair that’s more washed. Any more wine?”

  “Yeah—in the fridge.”

  “Coolio.” Climbing off the bed, Suzanne lost her balance and plumme
ted knees first onto my wood floor. “Fuck a duck. Your bed is too high.”

  “Or maybe you’re just drunk,” I said. I pulled up a new pair of jeans and asked, “These better?”

  Returning from my kitchen with the bottle of wine in her hands, she nodded and said “Perfect. So he’s short and stocky?”

  “Not really—just compared to Hille. He looks like a little boy in a man’s body. Nothing like Hille.”

  With one hand on her hip, Suzanne said, “I asked what he looked like. Not for a side by side comparison of him and Hille.” Thrusting the bottle towards me, she asked, “Wine?”

  “No. I don’t want to be drunk before I get there.”

  “Smart. By the way, if there’s even a chance you’re gonna bring this dude over, you might want to do something about that.”

  I followed Suzanne’s gaze to the piles of jeans, sweaters and shirts which had been pulled from my closet and strewn haphazardly in accidental piles in the vicinity of my closet.

  I had no intention of inviting Ryan home with me but just like I had gotten a bikini wax in case I changed my mind, I picked up the clothes in one shot, threw them in the closet and quickly closed the door before they could fall off the shelves. Although I liked to think my experience with Hille had taught me not to spread my legs prematurely, if this was the date from heaven and I decided to release slutty Stephanie, I didn’t want clothes on my floor or an ungroomed vagina to be my cock block.

  After I brushed my teeth for the third time, applied lipstick and showed a three-sheets-to-the-wind Suzanne out the door, I pushed the clothes which were peeking out from my dresser back into the drawers where they belonged, grabbed my bag and headed out to meet Ryan. According to my calculations, I would be seven minutes late. Perfect.

  Thirty-three

  Although walking was an activity I tended to take for granted, as I approached Rosa Mexicana and saw Ryan waiting in the entrance, I was consciously aware of each step and hoped I would make a good second impression. He was leaning against the wall, dressed in a black sweater, slightly washed black jeans and a welcoming grin.

  Taken aback by how truly nervous I was, I smiled and shyly said, “Hey, Ryan.”

  Ryan leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Hey there, Brady fan. I put our name down but we should have time for a drink first. You game?”

  I couldn’t wait to have that first drink in my hand and watch it disappear along with my first date jitters. “Absolutely,” I said. I looked through the glass door behind him into the restaurant. It was packed with crowds of people surrounding the hostess area and seeping into the bar.

  “After you.” Ryan opened the door to the restaurant and motioned for me to go first. As I walked passed him, he momentarily placed his hand on my lower back, where my shirt fell above the low rise of my jeans. The warmth of his hand felt good on my bare skin. From behind me, I heard him say, “I was gonna wait for you at the bar but it’s kind of a madhouse in there.”

  Still walking, I turned slightly backwards and said, “Good thing I’m an expert at navigating my way through crowded bars then!”

  “Are you now?”

  “Yup. Years of practice in college and only one casualty.”

  Ryan looked at me appreciatively. “Casualty, huh?”

  I shrugged matter-of-factly. “Yeah, I killed someone once, but she was a bitch anyway. And it was last call.”

  Laughing, Ryan said, “Remind me not to get on your bad side. Especially in a bar at the end of the night.

  After we made our way to an area at the bar just wide enough for him to squeeze his way in to order us a round, Ryan turned to me and asked, “You a margarita drinker?”

  Nodding, I said, “Definitely. Not frozen, though. Just on the rocks, no salt.”

  “Me too. That’s what I’m gonna get. What are you thinking?”

  I cocked my head to the side and quickly pondered my drink of choice while Ryan awaited my answer. I was well aware that margaritas could be lethal. On the other hand, if we both drank the same thing, it might lend itself to splitting a pitcher with dinner and I liked the idea of sharing. I’d just make sure to drink one glass for every two he drank. “Same,” I said.

  While he worked on getting the bartender’s attention, I pretended to look at the festive Mexican masks mounted on the wall. It was the first time in years I felt excitement around a guy whose name wasn’t Craig Hille and I wanted so badly to have a good time.

  Interrupting my thoughts, Ryan said, “Here you go” and handed me my margarita which was poured beyond capacity into the glass.

  “Thanks so much. Just a warning, I’m a bit clumsy. Promise not to hate me if I accidentally spill some of this.”

  “I promise not to hate you. But I’ll laugh.”

  “I’ll accept those conditions.” Raising my glass in the air, I said, “Cheers, Ryan.”

  Clinking his glass against mine, he said, “Salud.”

  “Wow. You’re bilingual, huh?”

  “Si.”

  By the time I was a quarter finished with my drink, I was entirely at ease in Ryan’s company and decided tequila should be a required beverage on all first dates.

  “Do you like being a guidance counselor?” I asked.

  “Definitely. Middle-school kids are an interesting bunch. The land of the ‘queen bees’ and ‘wannabes.’ And boys getting boners while giving oral presentations in class always adds to the drama.”

  Laughing, I said, “Good times!”

  “Honestly, my part-time gig as a soccer coach is more up my alley, but you can’t make much of a living that way.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “And what about you? Are lawyers really that scummy or is it just a stereotype?”

  “Nope. Some are pretty scummy! But I work with some really nice folks. I’ve been at the firm since I was twenty-five.”

  “And how long is that exactly?”

  I quickly answered, “Seven years,” before it occurred to me that we’d never divulged our ages. “How old are you?” I quickly prayed that he was older than me or at least the same age.

  “I’ll be thirty in July. Practically your age.”

  Wishing he was older, but relieved he didn’t seem put out by the age difference, I joked, “I’m surprised you actually remember the old seventies sitcoms. Were you even born?”

  “Repeats. And, if I’m not mistaken, The Brady Bunch was a bit before your time, too.”

  “True. So, have you ever dated someone older than you?” I asked.

  “I dated my sister’s college roommate for awhile. She’s thirty-four—older than you. No worries.”

  “So, you’ve got experience with mature women, huh?”

  Raising an eyebrow, Ryan said, “Yeah, but something tells me the gap in our maturity level isn’t that wide.”

  “I might be insulted by that if I actually wasn’t kind of a late bloomer.”

  Ryan smiled. “I was merely pointing out that I’m wise beyond my years. What about you? Into younger men?”

  Locking eyes with him, I said, “Depends on the man.”

  “I see.” Ryan looked at me as if to say something else, but the pager lit up and whatever he intended to say was replaced by, “That’s us! Ready to eat?”

  Glancing down at my almost empty margarita glass, I figured solid food was probably a wise idea and the aroma of Chile peppers permeating the restaurant was almost as inviting as tableside guacamole service. “Starving.”

  I noticed how many people occupied the space between where we were standing and the hostess and was not entirely comfortable with my ability to navigate a clear path. “You lead the way this time,” I said.

  As I followed Ryan, it occurred to me I had never seen him from behind and so I took the opportunity to check out his rear end. I figured he’d already checked out mine on our way into the restaurant so it was only fair. His butt looked kind of flat but I could tell it was just the loose fit of his jeans. I giggled, comfortable he wouldn’t be able to
hear me over the loud conversations taking place around us.

  The hostess led us through the restaurant, a vibrant pool of pink, red, blue, aqua and orange, to our cramped but cozy table and, after we got comfortable in our brightly colored webbed chairs, we quickly agreed to order guacamole and a pitcher of margaritas to start.