Jealousy 19

The bar is quiet except for the performers. People are swaying and smiling, but aside from these small movements, no one would know that people were having a good time. I sit back and listen, taking sips of my drink which I now recognize as a Long Island Ice Tea. The drink is good for bar quality, but far from stellar. I can’t see much of the band as the booth we are sitting in is on the far side of the bar. It’s rumored that this is the booth Al Capone would sit in with his henchman. They could keep an uneasy eye on both doors. I am appreciative of this historical perspective as I realize that I can also watch both doors for John.

I look at the large painting of sailboats on a cloudy day at dusk hanging above the booth. The picture feels as if it is brooding, upset by being placed in such a place. The only light comes from the tall white walls of the lighthouse and the spiritual feeling of the church, although even its spires and windows fall under a shadow. The heavily sculpted framing is thick. Its deep brown is only a few shades lighter than the wood paneling of the walls and booths. The crisp white table cloths offer a stark contrast. Red lighting gives everything a sinful feel, much like it must have felt to go to a speakeasy under prohibition. The new owner has done well in keeping with this theme.

The singer introduces the band and I listen to the solo rhythm of a drummer exhibiting skills outside of the confines needed to play as a band. He is good and generous applause follows his final flourishes. The piano player takes over, followed by the trumpet and saxophone. The singer encourages them with soft humming and oohing. Desi’s eyes are fixed on the stage daydreaming of the day she can play this stage. I smile at the idea of sitting in a VIP booth, listening to her deep voice seducing her audience. I clap as the band converges into a single unit. They play one more number and then break.

Desi turns to me smiling. “Oh my God! They are sooooo good,” she enthuses.

“I know! I’m loving this. And thank you again for everything.” I raise my glass and we clink rims, each taking a drink. We talk about Wollensky’s, about men, and about music. A half an hour later, the band reappears for their last set. We sink into silence and listen. Slowly, the crowd clears out, headed to other popular destinations. I see the stage and the VIP booths. There is a booth with four or five people in it. One of the men has deep brown hair, but the way it lays tells me it is not John. The other gentleman has blonde hair and a woman under each arm.I continue to watch the band. There expressions flit from lighthearted to focus to pure joy as they move through the movements, paying attention to the subtle shifts of the others. They are back light with pink and green lights. There only competition for attention is the white statue of Ceres, the Roman goddess of the harvest. She stands tall, confident in her unearthly origins, carrying grapes that nearly sweep the floor. She seems to offer protection to the musicians.

Jealousy 18

We are standing, waiting for the “L”. Men are looking at me appreciatively and I realize it has been a really long time since I put any real effort into my appearance. For all of the pleasure I take from my appearance, I certainly haven’t done anything to help others see the possibilities. I have been wasting my time waiting for John to notice me. Why would he the way I use to look. But now, I can see real possibilities in gaining his attention. The thought makes me warm and giddy. Desi finally asks about my behavior. “So, you are awful giddy for the Green Mill. You do know you have to sit quietly and politely right? No real conversation. Why did you really pick this location as a coming out party, hmmmm?”

“I don’t know. I guess I am not completely ready to through myself into the world. Baby steps. I have a look that I can try out without the commitment of actually having to talk to anybody. Plus, the music is always great. And tonight, the company will be even better.” I smirk. It’s our usual flirtation with each other. We call it Diva treatment. We compliment the other in absolutely ridiculous ways, all of which have some element of truth to them. I do think Desi is great company.

“I’m not sure I am buying it,” she says.

“But you are great company!” I say too loudly, hoping to distract her from the more material conversation. “And don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

She is amused and loving the few people who are staring at us. “Damn it! You’re right. I am fabulous and I need to start expecting other people to see it.” I laugh at her, grateful she has decided to follow the more playful conversation.

“Damn right!” The train arrives, unloading its passengers and accepting the new ones. We walk through the doors, still giggling at our silliness. It’s a night out and most people have reached their first destination. Its 10:50 and seats are open. We sit down around the half wall barricade by the door. Lawrence is only 2 stops away. In 10 minutes, we will be standing just inside the doors of the club.

My heart beats a little bit faster at the thought. I am anxious. “How are things going with the career?” I ask Desi so she will talk and I can just sit quietly and breathe. I feel like Champaign bubbles are floating around in my stomach, bouncing off the deep red lining.

“Its good. Really good as a matter of fact. I had to tell mark I couldn’t work Thursday nights for the next few months because I have a couple of standing gigs.” Her brown eyes are wide and deep laugh lines have formed at the ends of her lips. Her whole body has become animated as she starts to talk about the places she will be performing. I half listen so I can give the perfunctory reactions.

My head is swimming in just the possibility that I could see him tonight. I imagine his messy dark hair pulled back with a thick black band. The black jacket pulls together in the middle of his chest. The silver of the zipper teeth are easily visible on the black T he is wearing underneath. The jacket itself ends at his hips. He wears royal blue carpenter pants. They look soft and comfortable, falling to the tops of his black and white tennis shoes. The overall statement his outfit makes is comfort. I saw him wearing this outfit, unshaven, coming out of Nobu in Malibu a year ago. Sitting on the train, I see myself snuggling up with him on a couch watching football during a cold Chicago winter.

Desi grabs my hand and starts to stand up. We have reached Lawrence, the stop closest to the Green Mill. Suddenly, I am incredibly nervous that I might actually see him and stop walking. Desi takes two steps forward, stopping only when she feels yanked by my unmoving force. “Come on” she says. “You look great! Baby steps remember? Don’t waste the effort you put into the night already.”

“Yeah.” My response is muttered. I am filled with what ifs. What if John really is in there? What if he does notice me? What if he wants to talk? What if he doesn’t notice me? What if he sees me and laughs? What if attached to a million possibilities ricocheted in my brain. I feel nauseous as my feet stumble a few steps closer to the building. My eyes are glued to the blinking lights and message board. “Desi.”

“No. We are not having this conversation. We aren’t going to have any conversation. We are going to walk through those front doors, pay our cover, find a seat, and listen to music. I’m not asking you to do anything else. Let’s go.” I am taken aback and the ferocity of her tone. I don’t dare argue with her and slowly follow her across the street. My hands start sweating. All I can hear is the heavy pulsing of blood in my ears. My chest hearts from the hard thumping of my heart ready to explode.

We walk through the doors and the place is packed, as expected. The bouncer asks us to wait until someone leaves as they are at capacity. Desi flashes her deviant smile that makes all men melt. He tells her for the inconvenience, he will let us both in for free. The sweet deep tone of the singer washes over me. The trumpet is shrill, hitting exceptionally high notes. The drum is deep and daring. The sax holds the middle ground, making all the extremes work.

I look around and can’t see much of anything. I hear the bouncer tell Desi a couple of people are about to leave. He summons another bouncer over and tells him to seat “these two beautiful ladies” in a booth that is about to be vacated. We are carefully paraded between the multitudes of people and given a seat in one of the large booths lining the wall. I sit down, holding my breath. “Thank you. You are so sweet.” I hear Desi crooning to the bouncer.

I scan faces, backs of heads, arms, and profiles. Nothing looks like John. I breathe an audible sigh of relief, knowing none of the ‘what ifs’ matter since he isn’t here. I listen to the music. The tension in my body drains to the slow waltzing sound of the music. A drink is put in front of me and I take a couple of sips without asking what it is or where it came from. I start to enjoy myself.

Jealousy 17

At 9pm, I punch out and grab my shopping bag, taking it to the bathroom with me. I’m in a great mood. The VIP tables gave me about $300 in tips plus another $200 from my other tables. Wollensky’s really does pay well for a part time job. Carefully, I put the money inside my purse in the zippered pouch. I decide to get dressed at Desi’s house and settle for just washing my hands. I find the key in her purse, wave goodbye to mark, blow Desi a kiss and head to her place. I’ve been out with Desi several times and I know she will be home and ready to go by 10:15. I need more time so rush to catch the train. It’s a much more pleasant ride than the night before and I enjoy watching the people on the train. There is a group of three teenagers that I would never have guessed would be friends. Big boxes of Mika and Ike’s or Junior Mints hang out of their pockets and they are still looking over the playbill for The Blue man Group. They are chatting excitedly and reenacting their favorite scenes. I have seen the performance 6 times already and would go again.

Across from them are a mother and her little girl. The little girl looks to be about 4 and is wearing a pastel pink dress and a matching bow in her hair. She has on thick white tights and a cute little white winter dress jacket. She is curled up in her mother’s lap, sound asleep, while her mother smoothes her hair and kisses the top of her head unconsciously. The mother looks like she would also like to be sound asleep.

All around us are people ready to go out. It feels good to identify with this group. Finally, the Sheridan red line stop is called and I disembark. I walk half a mile to her apartment and let myself in. It’s a decent enough place, but lacks much of the architecture I love. Her apartment is an “L” shape, with her bedroom being on the corner of the building. It is decorated with a lot of mismatched second hand furniture and is always a mess. I would pick up for her, but I don’t have time. I have to get ready assuming that I will see John and want to make an impression.

I strip off my work clothes and take a 10 minute shower, just long enough to rinse the Wollensky smell off and shampoo the crinkle left in my hair where my hair ties were pressing it. I dry off quickly, using her Aveeno lotion. I love that it is unscented. I have never been fond of smelling like a fruit or flower. When I am done, I slide my pretty black and pink under clothes back on. I realize I don’t have anything but my work pants with me and leave the bathroom to raid Desi’s closet.

Desi is bigger than me, but I know she keeps a small stash on I-will-fit-into-these-one-day clothes hanging at the back of her closet. I rifle through them quickly and find a cute pair of dark washed skinny jeans. They do not fit me like skinny jeans and I have to cinch a belt to the last notch in order to make them fit. I look in the mirror and know it is not going to work. I take them off and place them back on the hanger. I rummage some more and find a pair of jeans I must have left when I crashed over at her place for the all night John marathon we had when her boyfriend broke up with her. She’s a John Cusack fan as well and it was a lot of fun, even though there were frequent tears.

They are slightly wrinkled, but I know I don’t have time to deal with it. I doubt John will have any reason to look at my ankles. Quickly, I put them on and then grab my shopping bag and put on my new shirt. I take the towel off my head and vigorously dry my hair. The clock reads 10pm. Desi will be walking in the door any minute.

I go back to the bathroom and dig through her drawers until I find her hair dryer and curling iron. I plug in the curling iron and it starts to heat up instantly. I don’t hear the front door open, but Desi is calling from the kitchen. “Okay chaquita. I am home. I’ll be ready in about 10 minutes.” I flip on the hair dryer and start smoothing down my hair with her brush. When my hair is barely damp, she walks in. She has changed into a long sleeved, very low cut shirt and a pair of jeans. She reaches over me and grabs a sparkly barrette. “Oh my god! I love your top!” she says. “What are you going to do with your hair because I have this great fabric headband that will look awesome with it.”

“Well, I was going to curl it and leave it down.” I am talking to her back. She has already turned around and is walking to her dresser where she keeps most of her hair supplies and jewelry. In her hand, she is carrying a thin black hair band that has small silver swirls woven through it.

“Curl your hair, but don’t leave it down. Pull it back with this,” she says holding out the band, “so people can see these!” She opens her hand to reveal a pair of black tear drop chandelier earrings encased in antiqued silver. I am in love with them.

“Are you sure?” I ask, not wanting to take the very few accessories she has.

She takes a step back, closing her hands around the items and placing them on her hips. Desi pretends to be taken aback and scowls at me. “You know I don’t offer it up if I don’t want to give it up.”

I put my hands in my pockets and shrug my shoulders. “Aw baby. You know I want wha’ you got.” We both crack up laughing. It’s an inside joke from the first time we went out. We are mimicking the hooker and client we saw outside the Rainbo Club. I put my hands out and she freely hands me the contents.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“It’s like 10:15, I think.” She doesn’t glance at the clock, but I am certain she is right.

“Okay. I’ll hurry. Do you want to make us a quick pre-bar drink?” My nerves are starting to get the better of me and I am hoping the Apple Pucker in 7-Up equivalent of a wine cooler will make my hands stop shaking.

Desi disappears. I curl my hair and pull it back with the hair band, adding the earrings to my lobes. It all looks wonderful together and I feel really pretty for the first time. She comes back with the drink. I take a gulp. “Desi. Will you help me with my make-up? I am tired of my plain Jane neutral colors and would like to spice it up…. A little.” I warn.

“Really?” She is surprised and she had reason to be. She has tried to talk me into adding a little color for a long time and I always turn her down.

“Yes! Absolutely.” I exhale. “Laura and I were talking today and I realized I need to turn over a new leaf and start making myself known. I don’t want to be the wall flower anymore. She suggested that I start going out and dressing up a bit. So, will you jump on the bandwagon and help me?”

“Hell yeah!” she says enthusiastically. “What made for the big change of heart though? Was it the incident last night?”

“You heard, huh?” I am slightly embarrassed, but know that Desi would never do anything to make me feel uncomfortable. She shakes her head yes. “Yeah. She told me that if I wanted to be noticed and have any guy in my life, I needed to get out there. I thought I better give it a shot now because if I don’t, I will sit in my room and change my mind by morning.”

Desi has already grabbed her impressive make-up stock. I’ve never known anyone who loves make-up more. She could open her own counter with the supply she has. The best part is how good she is at it. She tells me she was forced to learn a lot about make-up application from being on the stage. I think the statement is inaccurate. I don’t think Desi had to be forced to learn about make-up. Ten minutes later, I look like amazing. I finish drinking my Apple Pucker and we head out the door.

Jealousy 16

I walk through the employee entrance at Wollensky’s 15 minutes before my shift. Mark sees me and smiles. I wave and smile back. After I take care of my coat, I approach him. “Hey Mark. How are you doing?” My voice is chipper and to be honest, I am actually in a pretty good mood.

“I’m okay. Bad headache tonight. Are you going to do anything to make it worse? Do I need to worry about you tonight or in the future?” Mark has always been kind of gruff, but he is a softie at heart. I can’t imagine this is an easy job for him. He takes a lot of flack from the chef if anything goes wrong on the floor. I feel bad that I caused him so much grief last night.

“Actually, I wanted to apologize to you about last night. After I left, I went home and had a good long cry and then my roommate and I hung out today. She was great at pointing out how delusional I’ve been. After her little talk with me, I can assure you that I am capable of doing my job regardless who walks through the doors.” I had been thinking about what I was going to say to Mark on the train and now I am hoping my little speech helps reestablish the trust he has in me.

He looks at me suspiciously, unsure whether I am really capable of turning it off just like that. “Besides,” I say, “Mr. Cusack is unlikely to be back anytime soon so I have plenty of time to prove myself to you.”

“Jodi called in sick” Mark tells me. “I want you waiting her VIP tables tonight.” He turns and walks away. He still trusts me, even if he doesn’t say it directly. Waiting the VIP tables means big tips and he never puts people there who can’t give exceptional customer service. It’s a tip of his hat or a challenge. Either way, I am elated! I check my hair and make-up in the staff bathroom and punch in.

After about half-an-hour, Desire walks in. She tells everyone her Mamma named her that because she knew her baby girl would grow up to be someone others would desire. Although she works at Wollensky’s, she has a lot of musical talent and I fully expect her to make a name for herself. “Hey Desi!” I call out. “What are you doing tonight?”

She smiles and steps into the bathroom to check her hair and make-up. She has her father’s beautiful dark skin and everything else belongs to her mother. I met Desi here on her first day. We didn’t like each other at all. She thought I was stuck up and I thought she was a bit of a slut judging by her really short skirt and stilettos. For the first week, we never had to deal with each other. Training took up a lot of her time. Wollensky’s is too up-scale to allow anyone on the floor with the customers until after they have the job down. Instead, you practice in the kitchen by taking orders from the wait staff. “Fix the salad; dish the soup; I need brushcetta with feta” are all things that you might here in a 5 minute span. She was rushing to keep up and missed making a salad for one of the senior wait staff. I covered for her and in return, she gave me a really sweet homemade gift the next night. I think we were both surprised by the other’s reactions and started to talk to one another. Over the next few months, we built a great friendship. Two years later, we still delight in each other’s company.

I take drinks to my table before she comes out of the bathroom. At some point, we will pass each other in the kitchen and she will answer. This is how most of the conversations take place while we are working. About 20 minutes later, I find myself dishing up soup next to Desi. “Not much. My boyfriend is out of town for a week for an unexpected work thing. Why, what do you have in mind?”

As I pour a side of the house Honey Mustard I ask her, “Want to go to the Green Mill with me? I hear a great group is playing and I even bought a new outfit today.” And then I depart as Mark is looking in our direction.

“What time and where?” she says a little while later.

“I’m off at 9pm. Anytime you can be ready after that works for me.” I say, really happy that I have someone to go with.

Desi considers it for a brief time. “Sure. I’m off at 9:30. Want to meet at my place? Keys in my purse.”

I nod in agreement.

Jealousy 15

“I am so excited about this possibility!” I tell her. We hug again and then start giggling. I am excited to be spending time with Laura. We hang out until about 2pm, when I tell her I have to go to work.

“Already?” she says. “I didn’t think you worked until like 5 or something.”

“I don’t, but I fell and ripped a hole in the knee of my pants last night. I have a really busy week with the studio and need to make sure I buy a new pair before next weekend. I wanted to run to the store and get a pair before my shift.” It’s true. I am busy meeting with some clients on final choices and other prospective clients this week. My schedule isn’t packed, but it is full. It’s the biggest con of working in Interior Design. I frequently have sporadic mid day and evening meetings, making it difficult to run errands.

“Okay” she says, slightly disappointed. “Maybe I will call Jeremiah and see if I can talk him into taking me to a movie or something. I don’t know.” Her legs have already started to migrate north. Pretty soon, I will be talking to her feet. I move off the loveseat to give her more room. I pick up our lunch dishes, wash them in the sink, and then head to my room to do my makeup before leaving. When I reach my door, I turn around. “Laura? Thank you.” I am very genuine. Her feet stop wiggling a moment and then I hear a small “You’re welcome” come from the loveseat.

I close my door and breathe a deep sigh of relief. Grabbing my make-up bag, I walk to the mirror and start applying my make-up slowly. Wollensky’s wants the staff to be available but not noticeable or distracting. Make-up must be neutral. Long hair must be worn up in a twist or bun or other simple style that does not compete with the customers who are required to wear jackets and dresses. I think of how the neutral tones of the make-up make my face blend in with all of the surrounding points. Laura is right. Wollensky’s doesn’t count as being a presence in his life.

I finish my make-up. I put my work shirt on a hanger and grab my work shoes. It’s Saturday night and I know John is in town. Tonight, I am going to take Laura’s advice. I am going to go to a club or two he has been rumored to attend. And I am going to do so looking like someone who expects to be noticed, but for the right reasons. I just have to think of who would go on such short notice.

I decide to wear my work shirt and shoes. No wrinkles in your clothing is another Wollensky rule. Professional, polite, and presentable. It’s really what it boils down to meaning. Last night, I was evidently not capable of pulling off all three. I walk out of my room. Laura has either left or moved to her room. I put my coat on and look for my hat. Damn! It blew off in the wind last night and I just let it go. I’ll pick up a new one at the mall. I go back and put a hairbrush in my bag. I will probably need it to fix my understated updo.

“Bye!” I call out, just in case Laura is home. I think I hear a muffled response, but am not sure. I unlock the apartment door and close it quietly behind me, securing the locks once more. At the elevator, I look in the mirror. I am much improved over last night. The elevator arrives and I take it to the lobby. As usual, a few people are chatting in the small dispersed groups.

Outside, it is cold and windy. Nothing new. It is Chicago. I walk the two blocks to the train station and catch the red line headed south. In Bucktown, I get off the train and walk to the shopping district. I swing into Limited and pick up a pair of $110 dress pants. They are on sale and I am pleased with being so lucky! Then I browse some of the other racks. I find a basic black shirt with long sleeves. It fits me beautifully, flattering my shape well. My favorite part is the soft beading around the neckline. While standing in line, I peruse their jewelry. It’s a bit gaudy and nothing feels right. Then I see a wide beaded bracelet that is similar, but far bolder, than the beading on the top. I pick it up and pay for all three pieces, pleased that I have an outfit for the night.

I glance at the time and realize I have enough time to eat a quick dinner. I head to a small deli a couple of blocks back toward the train. It’s in the chic part of Bucktown. I’m not really dressed for it, but don’t care. I go in and sit at a table for two in the corner after ordering my ham and swiss on rye bread and a small raspberry tea. I contemplate Laura’s advice and decide it really is solid. Mentally, I begin to list the places I know John likes to go. My Droid is in my purse. I pull it out and start looking up which jazz musicians will be playing in Chicago.

The Green Mill is always a favorite. Maybe I will try it tonight. They always have a good jazz group on Saturday night. And the expected etiquette in the place means that I won’t have to explain myself to anyone. Even if he isn’t there, I will have some time to practice mild flirting. It’s getting late and I decide to go, clearing my plate from the table and dropping it on the bus boy’s cart. I catch the Red Line and head to Wollensky’s.

Jealousy 14

“Okay” I say, but I am feeling nervous about this. It’s not like I will be able to walk up to John and ask him to hang out with me more. Maybe letting her believe it is a co-worker is a bad idea. “And how am I going to do that when I rarely see him?”

“Now, I might be going out on a limb, but it seems as if he thinks of you as a co-worker only right now. The first thing you have to do is give him something more to identify with besides Wollensky’s. Pick somewhere he likes to go and show up looking completely different. Do you know what I mean?”

I have no idea what she means. “Not a clue. You mean go to a baseball game wearing something other than my Wollensky’s shirt? Because, news flash, I already do that.”

“Yeah, but do you look good? Do you wear your hair down and make-up or do you still pull your hair up? Ya’ know?” I love it when Laura’s southern drawl slips out. She hates it her accent. When we first met, she was working diligently on making it disappear. When she is excited about something, she still slips. It makes me smile.

“Kind of. So, let’s say that I am going to a baseball game. What would you dress me in?” I think I understand, but want to make sure I can do this with as little help down the road as possible.

Laura’s hands fly up. They are hovering in front of her about shoulder height, hands splayed open, as if she is directing traffic. “Okay. If I were going to dress you for the game, I would look at two possibilities. First, you could go the totally casual look. Baseball jersey with a little lace cami underneath and a pair of jeans. Wear your hair down and smooth. Get some of those big movie star sunglasses and a baseball cap. Then, cheer like mad. Dressed like a supportive fan and looking cute could easily get your face on the big screen. He may not recognize you at the game, but then at work you can tell everybody about it. Word will get around and he’ll be like, ‘No way. I was there. I saw her!’ It will be kind of like bragging rights and men love to be able to brag.”

My heart sinks a little because I know that word of mouth is not going to work in this situation. “But what if he doesn’t hear it from a co-worker?”

“It doesn’t matter! He will still have seen you and you can use it conversationally at some other point.” She seems so positive and I feel like I should have made up another story. “There is also the fun option. You know, wear that cute little pink top you have, your skinny jeans, and then some kitten shoes. I would put on some big earrings and a few long necklaces or something for a little spice. Curl your hair and try to purposefully, " she puts finger quotes around the word purposefully, "run into him at some point in the game.”

Now it is my turn to laugh. “Yeah right. Just run right into him at the game? It’s clear you have never been to a game. You can't find friends if you coordinate a meet-up time and location while at the same game! You don’t just run into people at Wrigleyville.”

“Well, then try a few bars after the game. You’ll fit in either way with how you are dressed. It might mean a little bar hopping, but no biggie. If you don’t find him, you will still have a good time." Laura pauses for a moment before pushing a single pointer finger toward my chest. "I almost forgot! Bring a friend for these ventures. Otherwise you may look like a stalker or a very desperate person. Neither of these are attractive on you.” I know I have to agree to try. Some of it could actually work. I usually try not to be noticed by John. I prefer to observe him at a distance most times. The restaurant is the only time I ever interact directly with him.

Laura’s advice isn’t too far off base. She isn’t saying to walk up and just start talking to him. She’s saying be part of the crowd until my presence is just natural. I can do that.

“Baseball is over, but I get what you are saying. I think he likes the Green Mill jazz club so maybe that could be somewhere to go.” I am already thinking about other places I could show up without it seeming too odd. I start to think that this aspect of Laura’s plan could work.

Then, Laura provides the nugget of information that tells me this will all work. “Honey, we are building the quintessential romance story. Your beloved John Cusack movies are all about this. The man is desperately in love and only the woman who is pining after him knows it is with the wrong woman. Then, through karma or personal preservation, the pining woman becomes the center of his world. One day, he wakes up and realizes that she is his life. You are the pining woman and this mysterious tall, dark, and handsome man with deep brown eyes is John Cusack. Here we are, finding a way to give you John Cusack on bended knee.”

At this moment, I love Laura more than I have ever loved any other person in the world.

Jealousy 13

** I have 15 minutes to write tonight, so don’t expect too much! And now I have wasted one of those minutes writing this disclaimer!**

I am moved by her generosity and more so, her desire to help me. I know this is within Laura, but sometimes I am so sidetracked by silly things like dirty dishes and randomly missing food that I forget. “Thank you. Thank you” I cry into her shoulder. We release each other and sit back. It is slightly awkward and we both nervously laugh. “Ummm.” I lean back against the arm of the loveseat to create more space between us. “So, where do we start?”

Laura doesn’t move. In her artsy world, there is little need for personal space. I am comfortable with the space between us. She laughs a free spirited laugh and then smiles. “Well,” she says excitedly, “let’s start with you telling me about this amazing man of your dreams!” She is giddy and has taken both of my hands in hers. I lean forward slightly. Sitting like this reminds me of the early days of our friendship.

I gush. “Oh my gosh Laura. He is so cute! Tall, dark, and handsome. Amazing smile. Deep brown eyes! He makes me laugh too. And he’s so smart. He is into sports and architecture and independent films and music. We just have so much in common. He’s just…. perfect! I really like him.”

“He sounds great. What does he think of you?”

“I don’t know. I thought he could like me. We’ve never really talked about it. Mostly its just been short conversations. You know, in between waiting tables and stuff. We aren’t there on the same nights all that often.” I’m not sure if this is a good answer or not. I am nervous that she will see through my plot.

Laura’s eyes open wide. She gasps. “He doesn’t even know you like him, does he? You haven’t told him.” I look down sheepishly. I inhale deeply and then shake my head no. “Well, then I think the first step has got to be getting him interested in you and we can’t do that unless he starts to have more contact with you.”