“I made reservations for eight o’clock, but I went to Harry’s around seven-thirty before I picked up Peg. I wanted to tell the maitre d’ what I was going to do, and I wanted to leave Peg’s engagement ring with him so she wouldn’t see the lump in my jacket pocket from the ring box or feel it and ask what it was. So I go there, I tell the maitre d’ my plan, give him the ring, and then I take a cab over to Peg’s apartment. But as I’m riding over to her place, it suddenly dawns on me that I’ve just given a total stranger a $4,000 ring. I don’t know his name. I don’t have a receipt. I don’t even have something to prove I went there. So I’m sweating bullets all the way over to Peggy’s and all the way back to Harry’s. Well, to make a long story short, I get her seated at our table, I go up to the maitre d’, and I ask him for my ring box…”
I paused for a second to add to the suspense.
“…which he instantly retrieves from his desk and hands to me…with a huge smile…a pat on the back…and a really nice ‘Good luck, son.’ “
“That’s a great story. Was she surprised?”
“Yes, she was,” I replied as my eyes started to fill with tears. “And very happy. She loved me very much and wanted to spend the rest of her life with me. And she did. Just not for as long as either of us thought.”
Nancy put her hand on my arm, but she said nothing. She just listened, and I kept talking. About Jennie and John and what we’d gone through to have them. About the trips we’d taken. About our house and how we’d made it our own room by room. About how my parents had loved Peg like the daughter they never had. About the beautiful, seemingly charmed life we had led. About how we learned Peg was sick and what we did, step by step, day by day, until she died. About how much I loved Peg and how much I missed her.
I told Nancy how grateful I was to be able to talk to her about things like these. How much I appreciated her listening, and how she always seemed to know what to say. I told Nancy many things that night.
We never did make it to the movie.
I hadn’t yet pulled away from the curb in front of Nancy’s apartment before the voice started to grumble.
Do you mind telling me what that was all about?
“What do you mean?” I asked. I really wasn’t enthused about another encounter with me.
What do I mean? Well, let’s start at the top. First of all, tonight was a date. I think we can agree on that. Reprehensible though that may be. And given tonight was a date, why the hell did you spend most of the evening talking about Peg? You barely know this woman, and yet you tell her all about your dead wife and how much you love her and miss her. Why would you do that? I’m sorry, but something’s wrong here, and I don’t get it.
“What’s to get?” I replied reluctantly. “I needed someone to talk to, and for whatever reason, I can talk to Nancy.”
But why are you talking about Peg when that’s so painful for you? And why are you talking to Nancy about her?
“Maybe talking about Peg,” I said after several moments of thought, “is a way of keeping her here—with me—a little longer. Maybe it’s a way of not letting her slip away. Maybe, if she can hear me, it’s a way of telling her I love her. I don’t know. You tell me.”
Can’t help you there, pal
,
the voice retorted.
Only you know the answer.
I slowed down for an upcoming red light. “As for why I talked to Nancy about Peg…I have no idea. I only know I was able to. About Peg. About everything. We really connected. I think maybe we’re a lot alike. Kindred spirits, sort of.”
Oh, gimme a break, will you?
the voice shot back, exasperated by this last speculation.
You just met this woman, and suddenly she’s so special? I don’t think so, John.
The light changed to green. The voice said nothing more.
I saw Nancy the following Saturday night and the one after that. Both times the same thing happened. We made a drink before we left the apartment, then we sat down on the couch to talk, and we kept talking until the evening was half over, and it was too late to do what we had originally planned.
But on our fifth date, Saturday, September 27th, we were determined not to let that happen again. We had resolved earlier in the week that we wouldn’t have a drink before we went out, that we wouldn’t even sit down. But our resolution didn’t help at all, because instead we stood in the middle of the kitchen and talked. Finally Nancy realized if we didn’t stop, it would once again be too late for us to go out.
“We really should be leaving if we’re going to go,” she reminded me.
“I know,” I replied, but I didn’t move from where I’d been standing for the last twenty-five minutes.
“Don’t you want to go out for dinner?” she asked.
“I do. I was just enjoying talking to you. But I can do that over dinner.”
“Well, we don’t have to go, you know. If you want to stay here, that’s fine with me. I’ve got crackers and cheese we can have with our drinks and frozen pizza we can have for dinner if that’s what you want to do.”
“No, no, I’d like to go out for dinner. Assuming you do.”
“I do. I’m ready.”
“Then why aren’t you moving?” I asked.
Nancy smiled. “Because I’m waiting for you to. You really don’t want to go, do you?” she added a second later.
“I want to if you want to.”
She smiled again. “I’d rather stay here,” she admitted.
“Me too.”
“Does this mean we can sit down now?” Nancy asked.
I started to laugh. “I think so.”
“And I can get out of these high heels and into something comfortable?”
“That too.”
“Good. Then take off your jacket and tie and make yourself something to drink. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
She opened the closet, took something off a hanger and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I laid my jacket and tie over the back of the armchair and stood in the living room doorway, uncertain as to whether I should start rummaging through Nancy’s closet for something to drink or wait for her. After a second of deliberation, I decided to wait and went over to the couch to sit down.
A minute later, Nancy emerged from the bathroom with her dress and slip over her arm. She pulled a hanger out of the closet for the dress and hung her slip on a hook. Then she turned and came into the living room.
The transformation was startling. Instead of a black cocktail dress and black high heels, she now wore a faded denim work shirt, probably her father’s or her brother’s, and many sizes too big for her. The shoulders came a third of the way down to her elbows, and the shirttails came almost to her knees. She had left the top two buttons undone, and she was barefoot. She looked…undressed. Yet she wasn’t. The shirt and bare feet gave her a totally relaxed look, but her make-up and hair were just as they were before and added an elegant dimension to her appearance.
“You look beautiful,” I said to her softly as she walked over to the couch. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“Yeah, right,” Nancy replied, oblivious to the effect she was having on me. “Don’t you want something to drink?”
“I do. I was just waiting for you to get dressed. Or undressed. I’m not sure which you did.”
“Is this okay?” Nancy asked, suddenly serious. She held out the side of the shirt between a thumb and forefinger. “I can put something else on if you want.”
“No, you don’t have to change,” I said, shaking my head and smiling at her obvious concern. “I meant it when I said you look beautiful. You really do. It’s just that you also look…sexy. Very sexy, as a matter of fact. That’s all I was trying to say.”
Nancy looked hard at me for a few seconds and then started to head back into the kitchen. “I’m going to pour myself a Chardonnay. What can I get for you?”
“I’ll have some Chardonnay too if you have enough.”
“Oh, I have enough. Not much for dinner, but lots of Chardonnay.”
She came back a few minutes later, a glass of wine in each hand, and sat down next to me. We touched glasses and took a sip.
“This is good,” I said after the first swallow. “And this is good.”
“What’s good?”
“The wine and being here. With you. Just the two of us. Not having to sit up and behave in a restaurant.”
“Sit up and behave? What do you mean?”
“Oh, that’s just an expression my folks used when I was little and started to get fidgety at the dinner table. I’d be told to ‘Sit up and behave.’ In no uncertain terms, I might add. So I think of going to a restaurant as meaning I have to sit up and behave.”
“Well, you don’t have to sit up and behave here.”
“I don’t have to behave?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Nancy replied, and she gave me a gentle push away from her.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Sure. What?”
“I don’t mean to pry, but you’re such an attractive girl, a beautiful girl. And so much fun to be with. I just don’t understand why you’re not already taken. Why you’re not involved with someone. Maybe not married or engaged, but at least going out with someone seriously. I would’ve thought someone would’ve scoffed you up in a minute. And yet, here you are with me.”
“I told you why the first night we went out. Every guy I’ve ever dated turned out to be a disappointment in one way or another. Usually even before the first date was over.”
“Is it possible you expect too much from people?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think so at all, as a matter of fact. I know what I want in a man, and it shouldn’t be that hard to find. Although it has been so far,” she added wistfully.
“What are you looking for? If you don’t mind telling me.”
“Funny you should ask, because my mother and I had a conversation along the same lines just a few weeks ago.”
Nancy turned the stem of her wine glass slowly between her fingers, searching for the right words to describe very personal feelings. “I’m looking for someone,” she began slowly, “who makes me feel good about myself. Someone who respects me. Who treats me like a lady. Someone I’m attracted to. Mentally and physically. Someone I’m not intimidated by. Someone I can talk to. And someone who will listen to me when I do.”
“That’s it?” I asked, feigning incredulity.
“That’s it,” Nancy replied with a shrug of her shoulders and a toss of her head. “That’s the man I’m hoping to find someday.”
“Well, I’m sure you will. You just have to be patient. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find you.”
“Maybe. But sometimes I wonder if things would work out even if he did come along.”
“Why would you wonder something like that? You’re attractive. You’re smart. Funny. Why wouldn’t things work out if you found the right person?”
“I told you already.”
“Tell me again.”
“Because I don’t have a lot of experience with men. As a matter of fact…”
Nancy looked at me and stared directly into my eyes. She seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to continue. She was still looking directly into my eyes when she started to speak again.
“You are looking at a twenty-five-year-old woman who is still a virgin—hard though that may be to believe in this day and age.”
She took a deep breath. Her face was flushed.
“I kind of assumed that from some of the things you’ve said,” I replied.
“I’ve actually wondered at times,” she continued, “if something’s wrong with me. Not because I’m still a virgin, but because I need to find the right person first. There are times when I almost feel like a freak or something. All of my friends have had sex, and they all know what it’s like. But I haven’t, and I don’t. At the same time something—call it my moral compass if you want—won’t let me get involved with someone that way if I know he’s not the person I’m looking for. Waiting for. Does any of this make any sense at all?”
“What you’re saying makes perfect sense,” I said, amazed by her candor. “And what’s so terrible about still being a virgin? Sure, kind of rare these days for someone your age, but as far as I’m concerned, a beautiful thing. You’re saving yourself for the right person. That’s all. And that’s good. Nothing to be ashamed of. Something to be proud of. Nothing wrong with you if that’s the position you take. Someday that special person will come along, the time will be right, and…you’ll want to give him that gift. Believe me. Just be patient.”
Nancy nodded and looked away. We sat perfectly still, Nancy staring at a spot on the opposite wall, me staring at Nancy, thinking how beautiful she was. She was sitting at an angle to me, one bare leg tucked up under the other. The top two buttons of her shirt were open, exposing her throat and upper chest, but the shirt added an element of mystery by revealing nothing else. I was certain that in her mind she was adequately dressed—and she was. But I couldn’t get past the thought that she was wearing only a shirt. And that bothered me. I shook my head in an attempt to get rid of that thought and broke what had become a silence of more than a minute.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
She turned towards me. “At that moment I was thinking about our ride home from Caminari’s. About what you did to my fingers.”
“And?”
“I was thinking about how terrified I was. How I didn’t know if it was right or wrong to let you do that. Part of me said it was wrong. But it was so tender, I couldn’t pull my hand away. I was afraid to let you keep doing it, but I was more afraid to ask you to stop.” Nancy shivered. “Why did you do that?” she asked very seriously. “I mean, wasn’t that a very intimate thing to do?”
“It was. And totally inappropriate. I apologize. Really, I do.”
I took a sip of wine and returned Nancy’s steady gaze. Her eyes were searching my face for something, and I wondered what she was looking for.
“What are you trying to tell me?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“May I kiss you?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes, and I kissed her softly. Her lips were warm and dry. I drew away. Her eyes remained closed. I kissed her again. Harder. I ran my fingers through her hair and buried my face in it and smelled her shampoo and her skin. I kissed her ear, behind her ear, the side of her neck, under her chin, her lips again. A harder, wetter kiss.