His smile was genuine. She could see that, finally.
"So what are you doing tomorrow night?" he asked.
"Actually, I am free then," she said, trailing off a little with the last word.
He hunches a little, obviously nervous. Why? She wondered. Probably because he wasn't expecting that she would say that, but rather some game about how busy she was, testing how earnest he was. Maybe. Maybe not. There could actually be some honest women in the world. People who didn't play games. He wasn't sure if he was one of them.
Was he?
The thought that she was eager somehow shook him a little. She actually would want, intended, to spend some time with him, if that was where he was getting at.
Was it?
He took a quick look at her. She was looking at him, but took her gaze off as soon as he looked at her. She looked into the distance a bit and then into her glass of martini.
"Can I take you to that little Spanish restaurant just two blocks down, you know which one, right?" he wanted to ask. It's been rehearsed in his mind many times for many different occasions and many different women. It had been used once, and only once, and it didn't work. So even though he would very much like to take a woman he liked to that Spanish restaurant down two blocks, he didn't dare to.
But instead, "They have decent drinks here. You wanna meet here again tomorrow?"
He felt ashamed, a coward who couldn't say what he really wanted to say, or at least had rehearsed to say what he had convinced himself, somehow, was the right thing to say.
She looked at him, thereby startling him and making him focus his attention at the glass of beer. She said, "Sure." Her eyes got noticeably larger, which encouraged him. He smiled. Then he remembered to breathe, finally. There shouldn't be any shame in breathing, he always thought, but somehow his body forgets very often to take in some good chunk of that free oxygen in the air.
"How about 9PM?"
A little late, no? Could that be interpreted as his wanting something.
His heart sank when he saw her smiles fade, confirming his fear that she was suspecting something. He wanted to say something, and she could see it, but she got before him, "I would love to hang out all night with you, but I have to be home by 10 at the latest."
She was a woman in her early 30s, can't be more than 35, he thought. His face had bewilderment written all over it. She could see it, obviously. And she became more embarrassed, even awkward. She couldn't look at him with a straight eye. He, feeling more confident seeing her in such sorry state, thought that he should be gentleman-like and loosen up the atmosphere of this strange interaction called courtship. "So do you turn into a pumpkin at 10?" he asked, smiling. She looked at him and, apparently affected by the quip, smiled a little. But that resurgent expression was short-lived. She frowned a little, moved closer to the man, her body contorted slightly, and said, "No. I have to be back for my son; his babysitter wouldn't stay beyond 10...."
Her face was almost apologetic. Her head lowered a little, as if awaiting for yet another verdict. He, on the other hand, was shocked. She suddenly looked different. Her blond hair suddenly seemed a little grayer, her rosy cheeks seemed a bit paler, and when she raised her head, as if in some defiance, and showed her eyes again, they looked, this time, to have born new wrinkles. Her beautiful dress now seemed to be wrapping around the trunk of a tree, having born so many years of hardship.
His heart was racing to the rhythm of his guilt and regrets. And the loudest voice in his head was calling for an escape route.
"Baggage, lots of baggage, not just the kid, but her, like the bags that have just appeared under her eyes," the chorus was singing.
But he was a good actor, or so he thought, and he said, while fingering up and down the cold glass of beer, "That's cute! A babysitter!" He didn't want to say too much. He learned that saying too much reveals the insincerity of a person's true thoughts. He waited for her to smile too, to allow her some room of possible relief. He then asked, "How about 7?"
Her eyes, to his surprise, didn't get bigger, there wasn't a renaissance of delight in her. He knew now why she was happy to be with him, to oblige his wishes that didn't interfere with her plans with that other man in her life. Suddenly she seemed desperate. His heart sank further.
She said, smiling, but not so obviously sincere, "That sounds good. Here, right?"
"Yes,here."
Waiting another five seconds to allow for collecting thoughts and rein in emotions, but not too long lest awkwardness could quickly envelop them, he got up, gave her a kiss goodbye on the cheeks, and left with a smile. He was careful not to leave with any gait of hurry, but the loudest voice in his heart wanted him to be out of that woman's claws as soon as possible. Guilt would soon take over as the loudest voice, but, he knew, that would not last for too long.
