Dancing Hours (16 page)

He opened the door to his car – a classic Corvette- and assisted me inside.  It was so
low,
I thought I might rip my dress trying to get inside.  After a few false starts, I turned to face X, sat down on the seat and then swiveled my legs inside.  If I’d thought to do that first, it would have seemed pretty graceful, but the Jeep hadn’t given me much practice for getting into sporty cars.

We were seated immediately and X walked slightly behind me with his hand on the small of my back, not pushing but guiding me through the restaurant.  He sat close to me
in the
booth
and leaned in to speak as though all of his attention was on me.  It was hard to say how I felt about it – at least a little nervous
- but also flattered
. 

We talked a
bout the weather, his business
and my classes. 
The chef came out to visit with us
toward the end of the meal
.  He seemed pleased to stretch his creativity on us.  He said not many people ordered that 7 course excursion. 
I was truly impressed
by the whole evening
, but it was my turn to give a gift.  I pulled a small box out of my new purse.

“I didn’t know if you were the kind of guy who likes surprises or not so I decided not to ask the waiter to sing to you over ice cream with a candle in it.”
I smiled.

“Wise decision.”
He said mockingly serious.

“Good!  I did get you something for your birthday.  Well, I made it actually.”
I said.

I put the box on the table in front of him and urged him to open it.  I hoped he would
like it.  It was a homemade duck
tape wallet.  I’d been practicing for ages and always
a fan of the many uses for duck
tape.  I didn’t make the wallet specifically for X, but it seemed like it would work and I though
t
it turned out rather nicely.  At least it was a conversation starter.

When X received a call that he said he needed to take, I excused myself to the restroom.  It was fancier than any restroom I’d ever been in.  I had a little trouble trying to figure out how to turn on the faucets, but a woman sitting close by offered to help and gave me a towel.  That’s when I realized that she must be working in there.  I suddenly felt embarrassed.  I hadn’t brought my purse in with me.  Then I remembered the emergency $20 bill I had stuffed in my bra
– Nan’s advice for any evening out -
and I struggled with whether to stiff
her,
overtip
her or ask for change.  None of them seemed like a great idea.  Ultimately, I threw myself on her mercy.  I practically explained my life story and apologized
for not having a tip
, but Sharon – that was her name- was very nice and told me n
ot to worry about it.  She said
I could tip her next time.

“Oh, I don’t think there’s going to be a next time.
” I explained.
 
“
I’m not so sure about this guy.  He’s nice
and all, but not really my type and places like this are way too fancy for my student sized budget.
” 

“He’s nice and he’s rich and he wants to spend money on you and he’s not your type?  What exactly is your type?”

I thought first of David
and felt strangely about that, but found myself describing him to her.  After all, L.A. was anonymous.  She’d never meet David and probably never see me again.  It was a strange, honest moment.

Sharon looked at me with a polite smile.  “I’ll bet you that $20 bill in your bra that I’ll see you again real soon.”

I took Sharon up on her bet.  When I returned to the table, X stood up and assisted me to my seat.  I thank
ed
him for that and also for a lovely evening, but he protested immediately. 
 
“Please don’t give up on me now.  I want to take you to a show tonight.”

“A show?”
  I looked at the spot on my arm where my watch would be if I had been wearing one.  It was a reflex that made me feel stupid.
  “It’s late
..”
I began, but before I could get the rest of the thought out, X reminded me that it was his birthday. I
reluctantly
agreed and texted my roommate to cancel our morning jog – and somewhere in the back of my mind to let her know where I was.  I didn’t realize that I had just agreed to a private
jet
trip to Las Vegas.

I was nervous on the flight, this was all so much and I was starting to think my emergency $20 wasn’t going to cover getting into trouble now.  X acted like a perfect gentleman, as promised. 
In fact
it was more like a loving boyfriend.  He had skipped straight past
all of the getting to know each other and see if we like each other.  He was effusive with compliments, held my hand like I was a prized possession and was quick to express jealousy if I smiled at someone else. It made me uncomfortable.

I reassured him three times that evening that I wasn’t flirting with
anyone
.  That’s when it clicked for
me,
this guy really was bad news.  In what I thought was a stroke of genius on the flight home I asked if I could transfer the conten
ts of his old wallet to the new
one
I had made
.  He smiled at me as though
I had finally accepted my fate as his girlfriend and handed over his two wallets.  I noted that his wallet was worn well with a couple of holes.  I felt embarrassed at pulling out a wad of cash to transfer, then credit cards, some phone numbers (one had a kiss print on it)
, a condom (that couldn’t have been more embarrassing)
and finally what I had been looking for – a driver’s license.  The date of birth listed was nowhere near today’s date.
  And it said that he was 1
5
years my senior.

“This says you were born in August.” 
I held it in my hand.

His dark eyes flickered to me with what momentarily appeared to be anger,
then
cooled as a calm ma
s
k returned to his face.
  He pulled the wallet and its contents away from me carefully.

“In my line of business, I find that it’s beneficial to keep my personal details under wraps.  That license doesn’t have my correct address on it either, in case you were wondering.”
  He looked away quickly as if he thought he might cry
then
got down on his knees in front of me, laying his head in my lap and wrapping his arms around my hips.

“I will never lie to you.  You mean so much to me.”
  He said.  I couldn’t see his face and that made it harder to tell if he was being sincere.

Those were words that every girl wants to hear.  A passionate man professing that you are his world, that everyone else
may be lied to, but he will always be honest
with
you. 
T
he problem
was
he hardly knew me.  I wanted to believe him, to believe that in spite of his strange behavior and professional life he was a good person inside and I wanted to be needed that badly.  Perhaps my judgment was off.  In the late night hours, it seemed like he cared about me and I about him.
  I patted his back awkwardly and told him it was okay, but I really didn’t know what to think.

When the limo stopped at my apartment, I thanked him
again
for the
e
vening.  I was so tired I was dreaming with my eyes open.  Just as I turned to get out, I felt his hand on mine.  I looked back at our hands, then up at him.  He abruptly kissed me.  I had expected it, but it was still a surprise.  He reached up and caressed my face, my hair
and I managed a weak smile
.  He said good night and that he would call me in the morning, which technically it already was.

I felt his eyes watching as I went into my apartment building.  I collapsed into bed realizing that his kiss hadn’t felt right, wondering why I’d thought of David when I mentioned X wasn’t my type and hoping that X wouldn’t call.  Unfortunately, I was not that lucky.  He called too early and I ignored the call and went back to bed.  The phone rang again 15 minutes later and 15 more after that.  Finally, I answered.

“Good morning,
Michael
” I yawned into the phone.

“Why didn’t you answer? I was worried about you.”
He accused.
I stepped out o
nto the
balcony
so I wouldn’t bother my roommate.

“Worried?  Why would you worry?  I was sleeping.”
I countered.

“Alright, but I just wanted to see that you’re okay.”
He said.

“Yes, I’m okay.  Thanks for checking.  I’m going back to sleep now.”  I wasn’t being very nice to him.  I slept until almost noon, then showered and ch
anged.  When the doorbell rang that day
I knew
exactly
who it was and what he had – a welcome dose of home grown comfort.

13

My middle aged courier’s name was Ed Wright.  He was a friend of the family and had heard stories about Nan his entire life.  Nan and his parents had been very good friends when she lived in Los Angeles.  Other than that, he said I’d have to ask Nan for details.

These days when he came, I always invited him in.  We’d sit and chat for a few minutes, I knew that he was married, had some kids in middle school and was a businessman, which seemed to have special meaning to people out here.  I looked forward to my talks with Ed.
  He’d told me once that Nan mailed him her packages because she wanted Ed to keep an eye on me.  I thought it was sweet.  I had never had an uncle.

That day my package consisted of a plane ticket home for summer, a new
bikini
, flip flops and store bought cookies – classic Nan.  I laughed and Ed laughed with me.

“I guess she wants you to come home.”
He said laughing.

“I guess she does.” 
I agreed. 
But the more I thought about it, the sadder I was.  It’s not that I didn’t want to go home… I really missed
everyone.  But I was starting to feel like I didn’t fit there anymore. 
Before I knew it,
I
was
crying uncontrollably.

“Feeling homesick, kid?” 
He asked.

Ed looked a little uncomfortable, like most men confronted with a crying woman.  He offered me a glass of water and I laughed.  The same thing had happened to me once when my Jeep broke down and the guy at the garage told me it would cost over a thousand dollars to fix it.  At any rate, I thought it was funny and when I laughed Ed did too.  The awkwardness of the moment was gone.