This was the final story I wrote in my fiction writing class at K-State (it earned an A, naturally). There are some humourous elements, but looking back at it now, it seems alot like a 'chick story' (cousin of the chick flick). Nevertheless, a group member told me she read it to her sorority friends and all would be interested in meeting the author. Naturally, I didn't follow up on it... because I'm stupid. Enjoy.
Smile and tell her she looks great… smile and tell her she looks great. Doug repeated the thought through his head as he stepped out of his rusty, 1979 Caprice and headed up the sidewalk toward the house on the corner. 1836 Eppinger Street – this had to be the right place. He had already stopped by 1638 Eppinger, and he was pretty sure the shirtless, old man with the Old English bottle held in his spindly fingers was not the “sweet, cute girl” he was supposed to be set up with.
The porch step creaked as he stepped on to it and Doug jumped back at the sound. He was always easily startled when he was nervous. Not even a year before he had been on a similar blind date and let his nerves get the best of him. As he had held the screen door to that date’s home open for her, the moisture from his sweaty hands nearly saturating the wooden frame, the neighbor’s basset hound bellowed at him. Doug, his heart already pounding, flinched, letting go of the screen door. One scream (hers) and face full of screen mesh (also hers) later and Doug’s date had gotten off to a rather rocky start.
He went after the step again, fully prepared for the aching groan of the wood this time. He was not going to let his social misgivings screw up this date.
Smile and tell her she looks great… He repeated the thought as he pressed the doorbell. But what if she didn’t look great? What if she has a face like a frying pan or has her hair dyed green?
His roommate’s girlfriend had set him up on this date just a week earlier. She had said the girl was cute, but Doug had learned to be skeptical of girl’s judgments of the appearances of others of their persuasion. Oftentimes, if a girl was “cute” in girl terms, she might be radically overweight or have somewhat of a horse-face. Should he stick with his plan if that were the case? Of course he’d smile, but what about saying-
The door slowly opened, and two of the bluest eyes Doug had ever seen met his own from the opposite side of the doorway. There was no horse-face, and she was definitely not overweight. Blonde hair hung down to her shoulders, and her face had the look of a finely crafted piece of art. No blemishes, and no irregularities. This pleasant development swept Doug’s mind clean. What had he planned on saying? He wanted to try to remember, but he couldn’t just stand there and not say anything. He went with the most pressing thought in his head.
“You look great,” he said, breaking into a smile.
“Thanks,” she said, quickly glancing down while the hue of her face became red.
“So you are the one that ordered a night guaranteed to be full of awkward silences and lame attempts at small talk, right?”
She glanced back up at him, eyes bright, but lips shut tightly. Doug knew she was suppressing a smirk, maybe even trying to keep from laughing out loud. Despite his insecurities, Doug loved trying to make his dates, however few and far between they were, laugh throughout the night – as long as it was with him, not at him.
“Sorry, I guess I have the wrong place,” Doug responded. “I’m supposed to be picking up a girl that can speak.”
She gently punched him in the arm, and then held out her hand as a greeting. “I’m Laci,” she said. “And you will probably be tired of hearing me talk by the end of the night.”
Doug strained to listen to what Laci was saying as they cruised down Crimson Street, on the way to Applebee’s. His concentration troubles weren’t because he was bored by what she was saying, or because he had other things on his mind, he simply could hardly hear her over the noise his car created. His muffler was not exactly in prime condition, and Doug was in no position to shell out the money to have it fixed. He and his buddies called the car his 747, and not just because it constantly sounded like it was preparing for takeoff. In an age of shrinking, compact cars, Doug’s seemed like an elephant stuck in the gopher exhibit at the zoo.
Through the roar of the pasty-white road beast he could hear Laci saying something about her roommates. Stupid car, it could ruin everything. Sure he could mostly piece together what she was saying, but what if she asked him something particular about the conversation later on? No amount of smiling and nodding could get him through that. Then again, she was probably just rambling because she was horrified to be riding in this car.
Doug took a quick glance to his right, past the fabric drooping from the ceiling of the vehicle to the passenger seat. He expected her to be slouched down in her seat, shielding her face from any possible eyes that might steal a peek of her from outside the car. Instead, he saw Laci sitting trim and proper, gazing out the window, continuing on about her roommate hogging the bathroom. She must simply be too polite to comment on his junk-heap with wheels.
Suddenly, Laci broke away from the roommate conversation, and said, “This is such a joke,” with a giggle in her voice. There it was. The car had finally made her crack.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Doug said. Beads of sweat materialized on his brow as he prepared to explain how he had been given the car from his grandpa, and how it would break the man’s heart if he got rid of it. It wasn’t entirely true, but it was the only way he could explain the car situation without mentioning money woes.
“Why are you sorry?” Laci asked. “You can’t really keep struggling actresses from recording crappy songs about being heartbroken.”
Crappy songs? The radio – that’s what she had been talking about. She wasn’t commenting on the prehistoric vehicle after all. He quickly ran his hand through his short, brown hair, beginning at his forehead to take care of the sweat. No sweat.
“I’m just sorry you had to be witness to such an atrocity of a song in my vehicle.”
“Well, it’s not going to be past your curfew by the time we get seated, will it?” Doug asked with a kidding tone on the surface that was masking a stomach bubbling with anxiety.
“It’ll probably be a 20-to-30 minute wait,” the hostess had said. Funny how restaurant folk always seemed to operate on a different time system than everyone else. It was like they condensed every two minutes into a single one. Applebee’s seemed to be especially bad about this.
“It’s fine,” Laci said, smiling. “There’s probably more atmosphere out here, anyway.”
They were seated on a bench just inside the entrance, across from a family of six – four kids, the oldest no older than ten, and two parents looking like dejected occupants of cell block D who had just been denied parole.
Doug and Laci watched as a dirty-blonde haired boy gave his younger sister an Indian burn, and the young girl fell crying, face-first into her mother’s lap.
“Don’t you just love kids?” Laci asked, eyes remaining on the action before them.
Was this a test? What type of answer did she want? Here came the sweat again. Of course he’d say yes, but how should he do it? If he was too enthusiastic, she might think he was looking to procreate right away, but a simple nod could send an apathetic message. What if it was just a rhetorical question? How could such a simply question become so-
“Williams, party of two.” The stocky, redheaded waitress had ended the stress. Doug glanced down at his silver Rolex. 8:17 p.m. They had arrived at 7:36. The time-bending phenomenon of the restaurant world was definitely in effect. He knew his watch wasn’t wrong. Granted, it wasn’t a real Rolex. It was a knockoff he’d bought from a sidewalk vendor in New York when he’d been there on a class trip. It kept good time, though… and it looked good. Laci had even said so.
He’d never met, or even talked to Laci before tonight. It was the blindest of blind dates.
“That’s us, shall we?” Doug asked, getting up from his spot on the bench in the waiting-to-be-seated area and motioning for Laci to walk ahead of him.
“Absolutely,” she responded, picking up her purse and running her delicate, finely manicured hands down the sides of her skirt as she stood. The skirt wasn’t short, but it wasn’t ultra-conservative either. Doug liked the happy medium.
As they approached their table, the booth in the far corner, Doug thought back to their conversation when he had arrived to pick her up. So far, neither of them had been correct. Despite his raging anxiety, conversation had been flowing smoothly, and he had really enjoyed listening to her. Her voice seemed to be just a few decibels above soft – but, other than over the roar of Caprice the beast, he never had to strain to hear her – and she had an adorable giggle. Doug remained focused on getting her to laugh.
“Order anything you want. Price is not an object,” Doug told her. He was lying, of course. Price was definitely an object for any college student, let alone one that earned minimum wage working in the mail center on campus. He knew that tonight would cause problems with his budgeting, but he told himself that having a good date would be worth eating tuna sandwiches for lunch a few more times a week. Then again, if she went with a steak he might have to forfeit his cable.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “I don’t eat much.”
Score another one for Laci. Doug pictured a giant checklist of positives in his mind. Cute… check. Good sense of humor… check. Doesn’t hate my car… check. Won’t put me in the poorhouse… check. Times were good.
“So, besides going to school, what do you do?” Laci asked, peering at the salads on her menu.
D’oh! Doug wanted to avoid any conversation involving his feeble-paying job. He had only dated three girls in his four years in school, and his minimal funds had been at least part of the reason that two of the relationships hadn’t worked out. He couldn’t just completely ignore the question, could he? No, he had to tell her something. His heart kicked into a higher gear.
He panned the Applebee’s wall, looking for inspiration. A youth hockey coach? A mobster? An international man of mystery? Damn that wall and the stupid movie memorabilia on it.
He had to think of something. Something impressive, but still believable. “I’m a lawyer, I try mostly civil suits.” Impressive, yes. Believable… not exactly. Doug immediately cringed when he realized what he had just said.
“A part-time lawyer?” Laci asked, examining his eyes deeply. It was like she was trying to see right through his lying ways. “You must manage your time really well.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not the truth. I really-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Laci said, her peering eyes turning soft as her sweet smile spread slowly. “Whatever you really do, I’m sure it’s cool. I’m the one that should be embarrassed about their job.”
Doug stared at a single bubble in his Pepsi as it floated up to the top of his glass. He was running the previous statement back through his head, trying to detect any sarcasm. It had seemed sincere, but surely someone who was so personable could not have any sort of embarrassing job. He hadn’t really put any thought into what she might do. He’d just assumed she worked at one of those trendy clothing stores or brought in big tips as a waitress somewhere.
The bubble had attached itself to an ice cube. He ran Laci’s words repeatedly through his head. His eyes held onto the bubble intently, as if he was trying to pop it with his mind.
“Doug, are you all right?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, just fine,” Doug said, glancing back up to Laci, deciding he had to know the truth. “So what can you possibly do that’s so horrible?”
Laci sipped her tea, her eyes immediately glancing down at her straw when she heard the question. She took the straw in her fingers, nimbly stirred her drink, and glanced around the room as she answered.
“Well,” she paused, as if she was considering whether she wanted to tell the truth. She had to be teasing him. “I bag groceries at Applemart.”
A grocery bagger? There was no way. Grocery baggers were one of just three career opportunities that Doug and his mailroom buddies felt comfortable making fun of.
As he thought about what joke he might make to call her bluff, Laci spoke again.
“It’s nothing great, but I think anyone who bases their judgment of a person on what they do to earn money for school is probably too shallow to talk to.”
Doug realized she was being truthful. Completely truthful. She wasn’t like those other girls he had dated – worrying more about what they were wearing than who they were with. She would be completely accepting of anything he said.
“I disagree with everything you just said,” Doug said, unable to keep from smiling to mask his joke. “After all, I have one of those high profile jobs you hear about. You know, the ones where you sort mail all day.”
The whole Caprice shook as Doug turned off the engine in front of Laci’s house. It had done this since Doug had begun driving it, and although he’d let it pass earlier in the night, he figured he should at least mention it now.
“You’d think some of those rust spots would fall off with all that shaking.”
“It’s fine, every car needs a little character,” Laci said, patting the dashboard.
Was this some sort of trick? Throughout the entire evening, Laci had been exposed to a number of phases of his life that made Doug’s stomach uneasy with a simple mention, and she had delightfully accepted everything. Surely this whole thing was too good to be true. He half-expected Laci to tell him he was on “Candid Camera.” Instead, he found himself walking her up to her front door.
How in the world had that just happened? Was this one of those out-of-body experiences? He’d never been bold enough to initiate such a move on any previous first date. It was practically mind-boggling.
Nevertheless, he now had much larger issues to confront. What in the world was he supposed to do when they got to the door? He ran the options through his head as his heart bounced in his chest like Evander Holyfield’s punching bag.
He could simply put out his hand for a shake. It would be a pretty safe move, and stood no chance of offending her, but it seemed too safe. Was he running for office? Who shakes hands at the end of an enjoyable evening?
Then there was the hug. The positives and negatives flew threw his head as they walked up the sidewalk to her home. It was still pretty safe, and there was nothing wrong with establishing a little body contact. Of course the hug could quickly turn sour. Too tight of a squeeze could make him seem too clingy, too loose of a grip and he would come off like a fragile grandmother.
The porch step groaned louder now that two sets of feet had bore their weight upon them. They were getting down to crunch time, and he had no idea what to do.
Leaning in for a kiss was obviously a high-risk, high-reward move. He was pretty sure she had enjoyed the night. She had laughed at his jokes, and been smiling the whole night – it seemed a kiss could be the perfect capper… or a knife to the chest. If he leaned in and received a blank stare or a turned head in return, he could probably forget any plans about a future date, or having any more confidence in the future. The denied kiss was something Doug and his friends even hesitated to joke about, it was that rough to deal with.
They stopped. The arrival at the door meant it was time to make a move. He turned towards her, and the sheer blueness of her eyes struck her once again.
“Well, thanks for putting up with me. I hope it wasn’t too painful,” Doug said, the thoughts of the moments ahead still cycling through his mind.
“Well, I thought about downing the cyanide pill in my pocket a couple times, but somehow I pulled through,” Laci said, not missing a beat.
The evening had gone too well. How could he avoid screwing it up? This final goodbye was big, and he could not afford dropping the ball.
He dropped his head quickly, trying to weigh his options one final time, but something brought an immediate halt to the whirlwind. His peripheral vision showed that her face had drawn in close to his, and a light press on his cheek confirmed his thinking.
“Anyway, thanks. You’ve got my number, don’t you?” She asked opening the door and stepping across the threshold, cocking her head slightly at an angle in mock interrogation.
Doug smiled wider than he could remember smiling before, and nodded. He declined speaking because there was only one thought in his mind. “She looks great.”
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