Face Time

by S. J. Pajonas

  “Nothing.” She shakes her head and pulls her scarf off her neck. “So, I texted Theresa I’m having dinner out instead of going to the gym and getting takeout which is my usual Friday night routine.”

  “Will Theresa be disappointed?” Laura said she was free tonight, and now I’m wondering if she stood up her friend to go out with me.

  “No, no,” she says, waving her hand. “I’m sure she will be asleep early instead. Being pregnant knocks you out, I guess.”

  The cab driver hurriedly changes lanes, and I’m thrown against Laura, but she deftly catches my shoulder and rights me. “I should wear a seatbelt.”

  “Pshaw, Lee. No one here does. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Alive and well.” Still, I reach back and pull the seatbelt across, and she does too with a small smile. “How do you know Theresa?” I ask, making small talk back to our original conversation.

  “We met as undergrads at NYU. Where did you go to school, Lee?”

  “Berkeley. Undergrad and law school.”

  “Oh. You’re a lawyer. I asked you last night and you didn’t answer.” She’s still smiling at me which is not the reaction I expected. I tried to pick up women in Seoul when Sandra and I were broken up (the many times we broke up), and I was rebuffed when they realized, (1) I’m American, and (2) I’m a lawyer. Cori keeps pushing me to try again because, in her words, I’m “easy on the eyes.” This always makes her husband, Chris, roll his eyes and punch me on the shoulder. Women.

  “Sorry. I often don’t tell people I’m a lawyer. We have a bad reputation.”

  “Indeed. I can think of a dozen lawyer jokes off the top of my head.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Okay.” She heaves a deep, sarcastic sigh, and I shake my head in response and temper the barking laugh that I got from my father to more of a yap. So far, she’s funny, witty, and smart. All things I love in a woman. “I’ll spare you. We’re here. I’ll get the cab.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out her wallet, but this time I push it away.

  “Everything’s on me tonight.” Pulling out my wallet, I pay cash and refuse the receipt. I could expense everything tonight, but I’m not going to. I want this to be a real, honest date. I want to treat her out to dinner and more. I’m suddenly inspired to make the most of this night.

  “Lee, you don’t have to. Really. I can pay for myself.” She presses her wallet forward again, but I place my hand on hers and look her straight in the eyes.

  “No. I insist.”

  Her hand trembles under mine, warm, soft, and real — a physical connection I haven’t had with a woman in months now. And I can tell by the way the evening light is angling into the cab and hitting every strand of her hair, blinding her eyes, and softening her cheeks that I have never, and probably never will, see another woman this beautiful again. I’ll try to make the most of my time with her while I’m here.

  Chapter

  Three

  =

  Laura

  This is definitely a date. My heart raced and my stomach clenched as Lee placed his hand over mine in the car and insisted on paying. Fuck, this seems like a bad idea. I am in a bad place in my life to be dating, and he lives so far away. I should let him take the lead though. Let him enjoy this. Let me enjoy this. It’s been a long time since I was out on a good date.

  I’ll throw caution to the wind. I’ll take caution, throw it on the ground, and stomp on it. I’ll push caution into the next sidewalk grate and hope I never see it again. Caution has been my best friend for too long, and I used to be more impulsive. I’ll just pretend like nothing is waiting for me at home later.

  I didn’t anticipate East Village curry, and, not wanting to do the same places every tourist does when they come here, I forgo the crazy, seizure-inducing, twinkling lights of Fourth Street, and direct Lee around to Sixth Street and Brick Lane Curry House. Miracle of miracles, there’s no wait for a table, but even 7:00pm is on the early side for Manhattan dinners. I usually don’t eat until eight.

  “Tell me, Lee. What kind of food do you like to eat? Is there a food you just won’t touch?”

  I was sitting all day at my desk thinking of things to ask him, to keep the conversation moving. I figure food, weather, and hobbies are pretty good neutral ground, and we can branch out to families if the date is going well, though I’d prefer to hear more from him on this. My family is always the first thing that turns a date off about me. I can see it in his eyes when I explain my family situation. The conversation goes from sadness to pity to incomprehension pretty quickly, and then I’ve lost him. Whole past relationships of mine have lived and died within the time it takes for me to hold back any and all information about my family.

  Lee picks up the menu. “Not really. I’ll eat anything, which is a good thing I guess.”

  “Yes. There are McDonald’s in Asia and India but I’m sure that’d get boring after a while.”

  “There are Starbucks now in China. My family was in China a lot when I was younger and there was nothing even vaguely Western about it.”

  Running my finger down the menu, I head straight for the vegetarian options. I had meat at lunch. “I feel old whenever I talk about how things were when I was a kid, and I’m not even that old.”

  “How old are you, Laura?” Lee folds his menu and directs all his attention to me with the same intensity he must put into being a lawyer. I need a sip of water.

  “Thirty-two. Last December. You?”

  “Thirty-five. Last October. Laura, I don’t even know your last name,” he says with a smile, and I relax my tense shoulders. For a moment, I wondered what he was thinking. Was he judging me for being unattached in my early thirties? But no, he’s single too or else we wouldn’t be on this date.

  “It’s Merchant. Laura Merchant.” Leaning over the crisp white linens and lit candle on the table, I whisper, “Is this weird to you, having dinner with a complete stranger?”

  “No.” His face softens, and he leans a little closer to me. “I don’t think we’re complete strangers anyway. This is better than a blind date.”

  “Okay.” I return to the menu again, hiding my sickly sweet and totally flattered smile. Our waiter arrives with water, and Lee orders tandoori chicken. I’m hungry enough for samosas too, so I order them with Malai Kofta, and we both get draft Kingfishers.

  “I like a girl who likes to eat,” Lee says, placing his napkin on his lap. “I can’t tell you how many women I know that starve themselves.”

  I shrink inside and try not to let revulsion show. I almost starved to death once, and never again. “I love to eat and cook, but I work it all off at the gym, and I walk everywhere.” I prop my chin on my hand while waiting for the beer to arrive.

  “What’s your favorite exercise?” he asks.

  The real answer to this question is, of course, sex. I love it, and I miss it a lot. I’m thirty-two years old and not been laid in my thirties yet which is a damned crying shame. But that’s not the answer Lee is looking for.

  My hesitation and inward smile (I’m a horrible liar) though cause Lee to pause, a knowing glint to his eye that makes me blush.

  “Yoga, spinning, running,” I blurt out before taking a sip of beer. “I’m also trying this new thing called Bar Method once per week that I like. I need to be active. I’ve always been like this. Track and field, soccer, and tennis in high school. Hiking and running while traveling. Now, I’m addicted to the gym.”

  These are things I don’t normally tell a guy when I first meet him. Some men are intimidated by women who like to workout especially if we lift weights. But Lee looks fit. Yes, fit in alllllllll the right places. I recross my legs under the table.

  “I belong to a gym back in Seoul, but it doesn’t get much use. When I travel, I use the hotel gyms, and I run if it’s safe.”

  “Do you do races? I’m always training for races in the city. There are several each year.”

  “I try to do 5k and 10k’s in Seoul when I c
an. It’s hard to know when I’ll be in town for them.”

  I sit back in my chair once the food arrives and let Lee ramble on about all the different places he’s run in his lifetime, on the beach in India, through the streets of Bangkok when he almost got run over by a tuk-tuk, and, of course, Seattle where he grew up. I get the feeling he’s been traveling for a while now without any companionship because his face and hand gestures are so animated describing every scene to me, every turn in the road, every misstep he took and got lost.

  “I’m love my iPhone. It works pretty much everywhere in the world. I’ve used it to help me find my way when I was lost several times.” He picks up his phone and swipes it on. “Smile for me, Laura.”

  I sit up straight, hoping I don’t have any curry on my face, and smile lightly at him as he takes my photo. He stares at his phone, his eyes squinting and taking in every detail of my reflection. It’s so sweet. He wants to remember me even though we only met last night.

  I stare hard at his iPhone and then down at mine. We both have them. Maybe this connection between us doesn’t have to end tonight. Caution is obviously beaten to a pulp in a dark, back alley.

  “Lee, let me send you my contact information. What’s your iMessage email address?”

  His head tilts, and he’s probably weighing whether or not this is an element of his privacy he’s willing to give up. But, a moment later, he smiles and spells out the address, and I double-check it before starting a text to him.

  I type, “Hi there,” and add a blushing smiley face. Send. I go straight to my contacts and text him my information. It has everything: my emails, my mailing address, my phone number, and where I work. I don’t know why, but I trust him. Sometimes I trust too easily, but this time I hope my instincts are right.

  Chapter

  Four

  =

  Lee

  My phone buzzes in my hand, and Laura’s text pops up. I shake my head at the blushing smiley face. She uses emoji like Cori does. I’m horrible at emoji. I’m aware they exist, but I forget to use them. Her second text comes through with her business and contact information. I glance across the table at her, and she’s adding more rice to her main dish, not paying attention to me, so I add her contact information to my address book and attach the photo I took of her. Even in this lowlight and grainy photo, she’s beautiful, confident, and so sure of herself. Laura is the real deal, the kind of woman men fall all over, then she walks out of the room, and they’re left staring wide-eyed at the door not knowing what hit them.

  I take the moment I have to run through all my options. I can pocket my iPhone, finish this dinner, say goodnight, and head back to the hotel, deleting her text in the cab on the way back. That’s what a player would do, and as Cori always tells me, I am not a player. I have too much heart. When I fall for a woman, I fall hard. Deep. And when I’m in a relationship, it’s hard for me to let go. As evidence, I present Sandra.

  My instincts are screaming at me that Laura is worth the effort.

  I need to be bold. I text back, “Hey gorgeous,” and add my contact information.

  The six-second wait as my data buzzes along the networks to her phone only a foot away from me is nerve-racking.

  Her phone dings, and she bursts into a full-on laugh. “Lee, you’re a charmer.” A little blush blossoms along her neck, and she blows out a deep breath, switching her long hair off her left shoulder to her right. I adore that blush. Last night, she instinctively touched the reddened skin along her collarbone when I smiled at her, and my desire skyrocketed.

  While she’s tapping away on her phone, I text Cori Laura’s photo with, “My date for the evening.” Cori will get a kick out of that.

  “Okay, your turn. Smile, Lee.” This time Laura snaps my photo, and I try to look as normal as possible for her. She smiles at it, turns off her phone, and slips it back in her bag.

  The waiter comes and takes our empty plates, asking if we want dessert.

  “Laura, would you like to get coffee or something?” I don’t want our evening to end, and it’s only 8:30pm. I don’t plan on getting a lot of sleep tonight because my flight out tomorrow is early in the morning, and I’d like to sleep on the way to Seoul. I can try to kick the jet lag at home. I have two weeks before I travel to India again.

  “Absolutely, Lee. I’m all yours for the evening.” She spreads her hands wide with a quirk of a smile. If this situation were different, if I were going to be in New York longer or she lived in Seoul, I’d be tempted to try to sleep with her on the first date. No. I would tease out our dates, as much as I’d want to sleep with her right away. I’d take her out on several dates, daytime and evening, and treat her to a weekend away.

  I haven’t romanced a woman in ages, and the thrill of it is on par with riding a roller coaster. The first few dates, the anticipation kills me as we ride to the top of the first hill, and then, if everything is on track, the pace picks up, zooming around corners, up and down hills, until the end when you get out of the car and walk away hand-in-hand, laughing off the adrenaline and settling into a peaceful companionship.

  There was no thrill with Sandra. Her family is friends with mine, and I’ve known her most of my life. We didn’t even date. I came home three summers ago, we got drunk, I slept with her, and she’s been playing me ever since. I’m her ticket to good fortune. We’ve broken up numerous times in the last three years and each time, she’s come back asking to get back together. I should have said no the last time, but she said we could keep things “casual.” I haven’t seen other women before tonight. Sandra has dated half of Seattle.

  Needless to say, Cori hates her guts.

  My phone buzzes.

  Cori Winslow

  She’s gorgeous. Do not leave tonight without telling her you’ll see her again.

  Yes, ma’am.

  “There’s gotta be a Starbucks around here right?”

  “Of course there’s one around here somewhere,” she says, rolling her eyes. “This is New York, after all. I will consult the oracle while we wait for the check.” She pulls out her iPhone again, and I laugh. If people from a hundred years ago tried to use an iPhone, they would think it was an all-seeing god.

  I pay the check and don’t even look in Laura’s direction when I do. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t protest, doesn’t peep. Exactly the kind of reaction I want. Can she read my mind? I automatically fear I’ve found the perfect woman, and she lives on the other side of the world from me.

  (>’o’)> ♥ <(‘o’<)

  We decide to walk to the Starbucks on Broadway instead of staying in the East Village, and the time on our feet gives me the chance to make my move on Laura. I know plenty of people who fell in love on the first date or went home with the other person or immediately turned around and saw their date the very next day, but that’s never happened to me.

  Cori and Chris were like that, I hear. Chris met Cori at a party, and he was into her right away. He saw her ass from across the room and said to himself, “I want that.” At least, this is the way he describes it. He hounded Cori for a date all evening, and, when she gave in, she thought, “Well, I’ll go out with him once, and if I don’t like him, I’ll refuse a second date.” But she kissed him on the first date and by the third, they were sleeping together. Chris is pretty proud of this fact, and Cori laughs every time he mentions it and calls him a slut. I have strange friends.

  “I’m so full of curry, I could burst,” Laura says, clutching at her belly. “Thanks for dinner, Lee.”

  “Thanks for joining me.” I reach over and slip her hand into mine, and I don’t let go though her eyes widen in shock. I use her hand to pull her closer to my side and make eye contact.

  “Lee…” She draws out my name, long and hesitant, while pushing her hair back with her other hand. It’s a decisive moment. She can either withdraw her hand and make this totally platonic or… She smiles and sighs, bumping her shoulder into me, so I lace my fingers with hers and smile back.

/>   “Lee,” she whispers, “you live so far away. This is probably a bad idea.”

  “I know.” I shrug my shoulders at her because I don’t care. Not now. Not here. I thought this over at dinner and weighed all the possible outcomes, as I normally do, and this is the direction I want to go in. I really like Laura already. She seems bright, smart, and funny, and she’s so attractive. I love her long legs and her V-neck sweater plunged enough to make my eyes travel back to her cleavage every few minutes. But most of all, she seems to like me. She kept the conversation going at dinner, her iPhone tucked away almost the entire time. She didn’t flirt with anyone else or talk about old boyfriends constantly. She ate dinner and enjoyed the restaurant. She’s the kind of first date most men hope for.

  Stopping at the light at Bowery and Fourth Street, I pull her closer to my side and stroke my thumb along the back of her hand. She groans and closes her eyes for a moment while my pulse pounds in my ears. This sudden connection is torturous, and I know it, but she’s worth flirting with, or trying to, at least. It’s been a long time since I went on a legitimate date with a woman, and I want her to know I’m interested in her but not going assault her or anything. I chose coffee over drinks on purpose. We can still talk and flirt, but there won’t be a drunken mistake at the end.

  A dozen people stream past us to cross the street, swarming around us without giving us a second thought, the light switching from the white, walking man to the red, blinking hand. This is how I know I’m not in Asia. None of the crossing walks chirp. Laura squeezes my hand again with her eyes closed, and my gut clenches.

  “Come on.” I pull her along, and she stumbles on the curb before laughing and righting herself by my side. When we’re safely across, I slow down with her. “Laura, you’re not dating anyone, right?”

  “No, Lee, I’m not.” She clears her throat and smiles at the ground. “I haven’t dated anyone in over two years.”

  “No one?” This doesn’t seem possible.