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Joanna had been dressed for an hour. Her makeup was perfect. She'd checked it four times already. Her hair looked great, curling up sharply at the shoulders. Kelly had put something in her hair, that wasn't gel or mousse. Her hair bounced and moved and felt silky, but still held its shape. Joanna had trimmed and filed her nails before putting on her stockings. She hated to lose the better part of a ten dollar bill to a run.
Her purse was sitting by her chair, and she was reading one of Kelly's books. That is, she was reading, and rereading a particular paragraph, without any comprehension or recollection of what was in it. Her date was late. Carson was supposed to be here at 6:30. It was already after 7 p.m.
Joanna scratched her right eyebrow where it itched from plucking a few hairs. Her hair stylist waxed her brows. Usually she did nothing else, but Kelly had thought it wouldn't hurt to pluck a few of the hairs just starting to grow back in. Joanna sighed and checked her purse again, making sure she had everything: ID, cash, credit cards, lipstick, a small comb and mirror. Kelly had insisted she take a paper packet with two aspirin saying, "I always found that even good dates gave me headaches, although that might have been my heels. Maybe you won't need these, because your shoes are much more sensible than mine are. But it can't hurt to bring them along. It's not like you don't have space for them." Kelly always teased her about her big purse, but Joanna couldn't fit her cell phone, her PDA and her gun in a mini-bag.
One day, about a month after Kelly and her family had moved in next door, Jared and Tyler had started to visit, usually in search of their mother, or because they could smell Joanna baking something sweet. Shortly afterwards, after much internal debate, Joanna had told Kelly about her gun, showing her the concealed weapons permit and the lock box she kept the gun in. Surprised, Kelly had asked, "What do you need that for? This is a good neighborhood."
Joanna had explained, "I know, and I know here it's a little strange to keep a gun. People here don't worry about protecting themselves as much as where I grew up in Phoenix. That's why I stayed in the area when I graduated. Living here, I started to think people back home were nuts. I mean, back home, people who don't have guns are considered a little strange. Some people wear them to go to the grocery store. You can see them. The laws are different there. You aren't supposed to conceal a gun."
Worried at her new friend's complete silence, Joanna pushed on. "Anyway, my mom took me to the range when I was growing up. She always told me not to rely on men to protect me, because they might turn on me. When I moved into my own place for the first time, she gave me my own gun, and did all the research on where to go to get a permit, where the best ranges were in the area, and all the rest. To her, it's like knowing how to do laundry, or cook. It's just a normal part of life. She'd worry if I didn't keep a gun in the house. When we talk on the phone, she always asks if I've gone to the range lately."
"Your mom bought you the gun?" Kelly had asked, stunned. Joanna worried that Kelly wasn't absorbing what she was trying to communicate. Joanna knew that the people she liked best in the Pacific Northwest were the most likely to ostracize her for carrying a gun. But she didn't want to risk Kelly finding out after her kids had been hanging around for months.
"Yes. My dad had a different perspective." Joanna smiled, remembering the stories he'd told her. A lot of men who wanted sons never treated their daughters right. But her daddy was a good man. When he learned he would only have one child, a girl, he did all the things with her he would have done with a son.
"What did your dad say?"
"He had a million stories about couples that were jumped, and the guy froze because he was worried about the woman. But she took the initiative and they both got away safely, or at least she did, and came back with help."
"Where did he get those fairy tales?" scoffed Kelly.
"No, they're true! He worked for the police department. I've got some books around here with stories like them, if you want to read one. Sanford Strong, Gavin de Becker. I have books just about women defending themselves, too, and not just with guns."
Kelly had given her an odd look, and declined. Joanna hadn't pushed it, but instead returned to her original goal in the conversation, "I'm showing you this because your kids come over here sometimes. When I'm not carrying, I always keep it locked up in one of these." She'd shown Joanna how the combination lock and buttons on the lock box worked. "There's nothing for you to worry about, but I think it's only fair to tell you. I wanted to reassure you that I keep my permit up to date and obey all the laws."
Kelly had left abruptly, leaving Joanna to wonder if she'd lost a friend. But Kelly had come back the next day. "Hey, I'm sorry I left in such a hurry the other day. I kind of freaked." As Joanna opened her mouth to reassure her, Kelly held up her hand. "Give me a minute. I'm not done. I'm here to apologize, and I want to do it right, because I want to be friends, and I'm glad my kids like you and you're good for them. You don't spoil them, but you like them, and that's rare, and I appreciate it. I talked to Dave, and he didn't think it was weird for you to have a gun, especially since it's so hard to keep a dog in an apartment. In fact, he said more women should carry, and said if I wanted to get one, or at least go shooting with you, I should. Who would have thought?"
And that had been that. Joanna had been too busy to go to the range recently, or at least, she'd avoided that chore as one too noisy, dirty and unpleasant to feel like doing while the rest of her life was such a mess. She knew it was important to practice regularly, and that she would have to go soon. But just because something was worth doing, and needed to be done, didn't mean she always enjoyed doing it. Kelly had been noncommittal about going with her, but she hadn't turned her down flat.
Joanna had been of two minds about bringing the gun on the date, but her mom had raised her with rigid ideas on the subject of self-protection. She could no more leave the gun at home on a blind date than she could buy a pair of heels too high for running.
She heard a knock at the door, and got up to answer it. Her date still hadn't arrived, but Kelly was checking again. "Still not here?" she asked.
"No show. Maybe I'll be hot tubbing with the manager after all," commented Joanna lightly.
"Hmmm. Not a bad idea. Mind if I hang out for a few minutes?"
"The kids driving you bats?" Joanna asked sympathetically.
"What gave it away?" Kelly asked rhetorically.
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, flipping through magazines. After a few minutes, they heard another knock on the door. Joanna looked through the peephole, but didn't see anyone until she looked down. She opened the door. "Hi, Jared. Looking for your mom?"
"Yeah." Manners temporarily forgotten in the course of an urgent mission, Jared squeezed past Joanna. He ran over to his mother. "Dad says he's sorry and will you please come back? He says he won't pull your hair anymore."
Kelly arched one eyebrow at Jared. "He does, does he? Well, are you and Tyler going to keep pulling my hair? As I recall, you started it."
Jared looked down at the rug with great interest and mumbled something.
Kelly asked, "I can't hear you. What did you say?"
While Jared was negotiating the fine line between a prideful reluctance to apologize audibly and the worrisome prospect of returning home without his mother, Joanna answered a third knock at the door. She expected it to be Tyler or Dave or, possibly, both. Joanna wasn't sure she would survive in a home as chaotic as Kelly's, but over time she had come to understand that the family's closeness was somehow related to their rambunctiousness.
Joanna was never surprised to see people tossing their kids around. Some of her fondest memories were of her dad's friend and coworker Luther picking her up and holding her against the ceiling, tickling her and telling her she hadn't paid her gravity bill and these were the consequences. But the first time she saw Kelly and Dave chasing each other around the apartment, tweaking each other's nose, or ears, slapping each other on the ass, one grabbing the other by the ankle, she had panicked. As soon as Kelly saw the look on her face, she stopped, and Dave stopped a split second later. Seeing how fast it ended, Joanna understood it was a game, but she had never before seen married adults engage in such. . .physical play.
But it wasn't more of the family descending to restore peace. Instead, an unfamiliar man was at her door. "Hi, are you Joanna Leonard? I'm Carson Smith. My friends call me Sonny, and we're going to be good friends, aren't we?" He did not offer to shake hands. Women's handshakes were invariably unpleasant, sometimes not a shake at all, just a dead-fish-like offering of the hand. A previous date had drilled him out of his habit of bowing or kissing hands, and he wasn't about to start some new, obnoxious habit that would make him a pariah.
"Uh, hi, yeah." Joanna was at a loss. Should she offer to shake hands? Reluctant to touch someone whose manners were so off-putting, she said, "This is my friend Kelly, and her son Jared." Joanna considered springing Kelly's suggested bailout, but Carson hadn't done anything wrong, really. Other than being forty five minutes late.
"Hey," said Carson casually, glancing at Kelly and then immediately looking down at his watch. "Are you ready to go?" He didn't want to get stuck here talking to some married chick and her brat. It was bad enough the date had gotten a late start. Joanna should have been ready to go. He hoped she wasn't going to ask him to sit down and talk for a while. He was hungry.
Kelly and Joanna exchanged a glance. Not a good sign when a guy shows up on a date, and makes no effort to ingratiate himself with his date's friend. Worse, he hadn't looked at Jared. Then there was the part about being forty five minutes late.
Predictably, Jared responded to this slight by raking his eyes up and down Carson's moderate height, stopping briefly at his doughy middle, then openly peering up at the hair combed forward, to cover a receding hairline. "Hale's cooler than him." Knowing what would land on him for making that crack, he ran past Carson out the door. Kelly rolled her eyes. As she left, she whispered to Joanna, "Remember what I said if you need to bail out early, use me as an excuse."
Joanna grinned and said, "Thanks!", wondering, not for the first time, if Kelly read minds. She said to Carson, "I'm ready." She grabbed her purse and jacket. After locking the door, she looked at Carson, expecting him to lead the way to his car. He looked right back at her, his expression unchanged. To end the awkward pause, Joanna asked, "Where did you park?"
"I used public transportation, since my car is not currently working," Carson said. He just stood there, looking at her, thinking she was very slow on the uptake. Did she not have a car?
Joanna translated that in her head to, "Took the bus; you'll have to drive." She led the way to her car. As she unlocked the doors, she asked him, "Were the buses running late again?"
"Nah," Carson said as he slid into the passenger seat. "Those schedules are confusing. I misread it." She was going to bitch about him being late, he just knew it. But she was going to pussy foot around it for god knows how long before she said it out loud. He hated that women were so passive-aggressive. It just drove him nuts. Maybe if he kept talking, she'd forget and talk about something more interesting than his own alleged social failings.
Late because of his own mistake, yet he didn't bother to call and tell me, Joanna thought to herself. He didn't even offer a cursory apology. I bet this fool read the weekday schedule not realizing it was Saturday. She wondered why he didn't call to have her pick him up. For that matter, why didn't he call a cab? She thought it would be rude to ask. Besides, he was talking again.
"I thought we'd go to Trendy's."
Joanna thought at first he hadn't finished the sentence, then realized he was talking about a restaurant on the waterfront. "All right." She was about to ask him what he did, to start the conversation, but she didn't have a chance.
"So tell me about you. What do you do? I'm an accountant," rattled Carson. Joanna was stunned. He'd asked her a question, but then started immediately talking about himself with no pause at all. Maybe it was a rhetorical question. He went on, "I work for CSR, you've probably heard of them. They were in the news for donating a bunch of land for ball fields a couple years ago."
Joanna knew about CSR. They had indeed donated land. They had no further use for that land, since they'd mined it out completely. She was a little surprised Carson thought it was exciting to work at a paving company. She nodded. "Are you a CPA, then?"
He should have known she'd be a snob. As if an accounting certificate wasn't good enough for her. He could have predicted, from her glasses, and her hair style, she was going to be one of those women who expect their men to make boat loads of money and know all the right people. "Oh, no, I didn't bother with the test. I make great money with the degree. I started in accounts receivable when I finished school. I'm currently an NTO rep." That ought to slow her down.
"What's an NTO rep?" asked Joanna. She didn't care one way or the other, but he expected it.
"I'm basically responsible for sending legal notices out for the company. It stands for Notice To Owner." There's no way she'd know what that meant, and it sounded good. He'd impressed people with that job description before.
"Ah," said Joanna, as she digested that piece of information. Something was funny. She thought she'd heard that term somewhere.
When Joanna didn't respond, Carson started describing one of the projects he was currently working on. Over the last two years, he'd taught himself a lot about programming, using macros in Excel. He'd automated a lot of the work done in his department, eliminating the need for two clerical support staff. He'd received commendations and raises for his work and he hoped to use that experience to become a programmer in time. She seemed to be listening to him. Maybe she wasn't a prissy snob. He liked that she didn't interrupt.
Joanna listened to Carson puff up his questionable technical skills, picking up along the way that he was in collections. An NTO was something you send out when you have a lien on a piece of property but the owner isn't paying a bill. She thought to herself, he's just a glorified collections agent, and he's trying to impress me with his job? She started listening more carefully again.
"So I figure after another year or two, I may be able to switch over to programming full time, with all the experience I'm getting."
That's a laugh, thought Joanna to herself. I've interviewed twits like this. Hell, I remember having to clean up after them when I was working temporary clerical jobs during the summer when I was in college. She pulled into the parking lot at Trendy's. It was very full, but an elderly couple was pulling out of a space. She had seen it, and was waiting for it. Just as she was about to pull forward, Carson pointed it out to her. She took the pause he offered for her to thank him to ask, "When were the reservations for?"
His original assessment of her was right. Was he supposed to remember everything? Women always expected perfection. In his defense, he replied, "I didn't make any. It shouldn't be that long of a wait, and we can walk along the waterfront."
They walked in silence from the car to the restaurant. Carson opened the door to the restaurant, gesturing for Joanna to enter. She stepped through, thinking that this first example of good manners was not exactly the kind to endear him to her. She felt his hand touch her lower back in an assist. Joanna's attempt to like Carson for old-fashioned chivalry dissipated in instinctive revulsion at his touch.
At least she wasn't the kind of woman who harangues a guy when he holds the door open. That had happened to him on his last date. He looked around the foyer. It was full, but one of the hostesses was gesturing forward a group of people. He grabbed one of the newly empty seats.
When she saw Carson sit down immediately, Joanna shrugged and walked over to the other hostess. She gave her name and asked, "How long of a wait will it be?"
"You don't have a reservation? Um, we might have a spot in twenty minutes, but sometimes people hang around for a while, if they're having a meeting. The bar's over there."
Perplexed, Joanna thanked the hostess. Who would have a meeting in a restaurant on a Saturday evening? For that matter, what kind of restaurant would be so used to it? Shrugging, she walked back to Carson. "We could go sit in the bar," suggested Joanna, thinking a drink would improve this date. They might be able to order dinner in the bar, if it was comfortable. Belatedly, she remembered she had her gun with her. It was illegal to have a gun in a bar in this state, even if you had a permit. On the other hand, it wasn't a felony, and besides, how was anyone ever going to find out? Joanna decided not to worry about it.
"Oh, no, this is fine." He didn't want to start drinking on an empty stomach. He shuddered briefly, remembering what had happened the last time he'd done that. Besides, it wouldn't fit into his budget for the evening. Drinking in restaurants was expensive.
Joanna noticed Carson's disproportionately negative reaction to her suggestion that they go into the bar. Maybe he didn't drink, or was allergic to smoke. She could understand that, and hadn't been looking forward to having to clean the smell of secondhand tobacco smoke out of her hair later on tonight.
She sat down next to him in the one remaining empty seat, and looked out of the corner of her eyes at the other people waiting to be seated. The men were all wearing Dockers and loafers, including Carson. Looking at the women, Joanna suspected that for the first time in her erratic dating life, she was the most stylishly dressed person. Somehow, she'd thought this moment would make her feel good about herself. Mostly it made her wish she were back at home, getting in a lap or two before a late night soak in the hot tub.
At least Carson didn't require anything from her. He'd been droning on about how carelessness with e-mail attachments could undo the best computer security system. Absently, she tried to imagine how Christene might react. Joanna could almost hear Christene's voice rise as she rattled off a long list of approaches to mail filtering that could be implemented at the corporate firewall. She knew that ultimately, Carson had a point. Christene also said that people were always the weak point in a security system, but somehow, it wasn't quite as dull when Christene was off on one of her rants.
At a particularly suspenseful point in his story, Carson paused. When she didn't respond immediately, he looked at her expectantly. She had been listening to him, hadn't she?
Joanna racked her memory, trying to remember what he had just said or asked. She had no idea, so she risked a neutral, "Yeah?"
Carson's niggling fear that she might just be stringing him along disappeared instantly. "Exactly! That's what I keep telling people," responded Carson emphatically.
Dismissing a concern that she might have just agreed with something horrible, Joanna instead focused on Carson's chin. He had fine, blonde hair that blended into his skin, but she realized he actually hadn't shaven recently. This is the guy Kelly and I spent over an hour getting me ready to go on a date with?
Joanna was considering getting up and going into the bar for a drink, when the hostess asked, "Would you please follow me?" A quick glance at her watch told Joanna they had waited less than 15 minutes. It had felt much longer. As they were sitting down, the hostess asked, "Can I get you something to drink?"
Carson requested, "Rocks vodka martini, extra dry, hold the olive."
"Did you want an onion in that?" asked the hostess.
"No."
Joanna had opened the wine list, but was distracted by Carson's order. Why hadn't he just ordered vodka on the rocks? She hastily chose an Oregon Pinot Noir. That region rarely failed her. Their wines were inexpensive and good.
When the hostess left, Carson launched into a description of how he had spent his day. He started by asking, "I suppose you're wondering why I was late?", but continued speaking without pause. Joanna wondered how he'd gotten to his age, and kept a job, with such unspeakably poor social skills. His car had broken down in some unspecified way that Joanna privately concluded was the result of failure to adhere to the maintenance schedule. He had spent the day calling repair shops. "You know how garages always try to rip you off? Well, here's how you avoid that happening. Of course, they like to pick on women, so you should get a man to make the calls for you, and maybe take the car in, but this is the strategy." He then described the standard negotiating ploy of claiming to have a great deal, then asking the shop to beat it.
Mercifully, their server arrived with their drinks. Joanna noticed that he skillfully waited for Carson to pause for a breath before smoothly rattling off the day's specials. Joanna ordered grilled halibut, and Carson the salmon. She sipped her wine slowly, watching Carson deal with his vodka on the rocks. With each swallow, he looked about to choke, or cough, but didn't quite do either. Even allowing for bad vodka, the ice had melted enough that his reaction struck Joanna as odd.
Carson was relieved to finally have a drink in his hand. Maybe he should have taken Joanna's suggestion to go into the bar. He was surprised to realize he was wishing the woman he was out with would say something. Usually, he couldn't get them to shut up, and they rarely said anything interesting. But this woman was eerily silent. He didn't care for alcohol, particularly. He drank vodka because it was always available and didn't taste like anything other than alcohol. He used to drink gin, but juniper bushes were bad enough outdoors. He didn't want to be drinking them, too.
When the server returned with bread, Carson ordered a second vodka. It was just as well his car had broken down, Joanna thought to herself. She wouldn't want to get in a car with him driving. After a slice of bread and halfway through her glass of wine, Joanna decided this date wasn't all that bad. The waiter looked like he might barely be old enough to drink the alcohol he was serving, but he had a great smile. She thought he'd winked at her once, but wasn't sure.
Their entrees arrived, and Carson ordered a third vodka. The halibut was a little dry, cooked past the flaky point that Joanna loved best. The garlic mashed potatoes were good. As she sampled the overcooked asparagus, Carson reached over to touch her forearm where it rested on the table. She tuned him in briefly, to hear him say, "The food's great, here, isn't it? I don't like undercooked seafood."
Joanna nodded in acknowledgement, drawing her hand off the table and putting it safely in her lap. The food back home had never been as good as it usually was in the Pacific Northwest. The pleasures of eating varied foods, prepared with skill, appreciated fully by friends and coworkers, had played a large role in her decision to stay in the area after she received her degree. Joanna thought wryly that she must have been unusually fortunate to have thus far avoided the Carson Smiths of the region. She finished her glass of wine with dinner, and regretfully turned down the waiter's offer of another.
She didn't notice when Carson ordered vodka number four, but she watched the check arrive with relief. She had been afraid he would keep drinking after dinner. She refused the offer of a dessert menu or coffee. She could feel a headache developing that on another night she might have attributed to the wine. Tonight, she was convinced it was the company. She watched Carson pick up the folder containing the bill, and insert a corporate American Express card. Was he going to expense this dinner? It hardly seemed possible.
"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't take American Express here," said the waiter with what to Joanna's ears was ill-concealed glee.
Carson flushed, and pulled his wallet out again. His mind dulled by too many vodkas, trying to deal with an unnervingly silent date, he'd forgotten Trendy's only took Visa and Mastercard. He opened the fold, showing only a ten dollar bill. "I don't have any other credit card," he said. "Are you sure you can't take this one?" What were they going to do, he thought to himself? Make him wash dishes? They had to take the card. He was shocked to see Joanna reach into her purse.
Rolling her eyes, Joanna slipped a Visa into the folder and handed it to the waiter. Inspired, she kept the purse in her hand, and said, "Excuse me for a moment," to Carson, and went to the restroom. Stunned, Carson tried to remember any date he'd been on, or heard someone describe, in which the woman paid. This was fantastic. She must like him a lot to pay for dinner, right?
Even a few minutes away from that horrible date helped her headache. She pulled out the packet of aspirin, mentally thanking Kelly, and swallowed them. She refreshed her lipstick, thinking as she did that she had no reason to do so. Lacking further reason to stay, she walked back to the table.
The waiter had left the charge slip during her absence. She hastily calculated a generous tip, and added it with her signature. She tucked her copy into her purse, then got up to leave. Carson flubbed an attempt to pull her chair out for her. She ignored it. Reaching the door, she stepped through it first, then ostentatiously held it for Carson to step through.
Carson knew he hadn't quite gotten the chair-pulling-out bit right, but when she held the door for him, he warmed to the possibilities of true feminism in action. Instead of complaining that he held a door for her, this woman held a door for him. She'd paid. True equality could be possible with a woman like Joanna. He'd never had a date go so well in his life. Abuzz with vodka and anticipating being invited in, he forgot to continue the conversation.
Joanna didn't know whether it was the incident with the credit card, or her own gestures of independence, but Carson had finally fallen silent. Relieved, she drove back to her place. As she pulled into the parking lot, she belatedly thought she should have offered to drive him home. Then she remembered that $10 dollar bill. He could take a cab back. She suspected that since she'd paid, she was now hosting the date, and was therefore responsible for getting him home, but she no longer gave a damn about social rules. Carson had talked her ear off about nonsense from the minute he'd arrived on her doorstep. He could damn well get his butt home the best way he could find.
Hale was walking across the parking lot from Building E to the office. He raised a hand in acknowledgement, and she smiled back at him. As she pulled into her parking place, she heard herself say to Carson, "I don't know what buses are running at this time of night, but there is a phone booth at the office over there. I don't know if there are yellow pages, but there is an advertising sign in the booth on which several cab companies list their dispatch numbers." She got out of the car, and waited for Carson to get out and close his door. When he did, she locked all the doors and added, "I'm going to assume you have enough cash to get home. Good night."
"That's it?" asked Carson incredulously. "You're not going to invite me up? Or at least give me a ride home?" They were getting along so well. She'd paid for dinner. What had happened?
"No, I am not," said Joanna decisively. She felt oddly as if she were at work. She was never like this socially. That was one of the many reasons it had been so easy to let her social life atrophy and focus her energies on her career. She could either be effective, or a sort of inoffensive nonentity. She did not have the easy wit of Lisa, the energy of Kathryn, the charm of Kelly, or the sophistication of Amy. None of that mattered much at work, where professionalism was valued. But in this social situation, she knew exactly what to do. Her mom and dad had always agreed about what to do when someone wouldn't take no for an answer: Draw a line, and refuse to budge. She pulled her purse closer to her right hand. She glanced across the parking lot, trying to spot Hale. She couldn't see him. If he was out there, he was standing between the lighted areas.
"Are you mad because I didn't pay for dinner? Isn't that just like a woman. You want to be independent, but you still expect us to pay for you, open doors, the whole nine yards."
Joanna wanted to turn around and walk away, but mom and dad would never approve. Surely it would be okay this one time? She could holler for Kelly, or for Hale. But she hated to ask for help, and besides, she could solve this one herself. "I am not mad," she lied, "but this date is over. I suggested a way for you to get yourself home. I'm not going to drive you anywhere, and you are not invited into my home now or ever."
"You think you can just dismiss me like that? You arrogant, elitist, I'm-too-good-for-you bitch." Joanna watched as Carson worked himself into a rage. With another glance around the parking lot, she resigned herself to stronger measures. She opened her purse. Reaching slowly inside, she angled the purse towards him.
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Copyright 2013 by Rebecca Allen Updated July 17, 2013