“That was some night,” he said into my hair, as he rubbed my back. I breathed in the scent of his muscular chest.
“Yeah,” I said dreamily, because what else could I say? It had been spectacular. It had been the kind of fireworks sex I’d seen in movies but didn’t know really existed.
Perfection,
I thought again. This was perfection. I hadn’t known, until last night, that anything could really feel this way.
Matt started kissing me on the top of my head until I looked up at him. Then he started in on my forehead, then down my nose, across both cheeks, and finally down to my lips until we were kissing with the same passion we had last night. Again, his hands started roaming tenderly over my body, appreciating curves that I hadn’t yet learned to appreciate myself.
We made love again, faster this time, with more of an edge of need and less tenderness than we had the night before, but it was still wonderful. It was wonderful to feel wanted and needed for all the right reasons. It felt wonderful to be filled by someone who wanted me for
me
.
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” Matt said into my hair as I lay, breathing hard into his hard, sweaty chest after we’d finished. He gave me a quick peck on the top of the head and rolled over. “Do you have a towel I can borrow?” he asked over his shoulder, walking toward my bathroom as I admired the perfect, chiseled contours of his naked body from behind.
Perfect, perfect, perfect,
said the voice in my head.
“Sure, I’ll get you one,” I said, hopping up from bed and quickly sliding into one of the oversize T-shirts I usually slept in. I wasn’t quite as comfortable with my naked body as Matt seemed to be with his. Maybe in time I would learn to be, though. Matt lingering on my curves didn’t hurt my confidence any, that’s for sure. He had spent almost half an hour last night touching and kissing the admittedly small breasts most men skipped right over. I’d always figured that men didn’t like them much because they were so small. But Matt kept whispering how beautiful I was. I flushed at the memory.
I took out a towel from the linen closet, and looked at it for a moment in confusion before realizing why it looked unfamiliar. It wasn’t mine. I looked at the stack of towels and groaned.
None
of them was mine. With the exception of my own towel, which I’d been using for a few days and hung in my bathroom, I had apparently given the Irish handyman the wrong stack when he’d showed up the other day. My linen closet was filled with the towels that apparently belonged to the buddy whose couch Sean was crashing on. I felt terrible; the poor guy had been so kind to help me, and I’d done nothing but screw him up, making him come over twice to pick up towels because I forgot all about him, then giving him the wrong pile to top it all off. I wondered if he had noticed yet.
I resolved to borrow one of the towels for Matt, because what else was I going to do, ask him to air-dry? Hmm, not that that would be such a terrible idea. I thought about it for a moment. Yes, more naked Matt, I could definitely handle that. I giggled and chided myself for being ridiculous.
The towels had made me think of the handyman, which made me think of his prophetic words. As I carried one of his towels in to Matt, I thought about what he had said in that endearing Irish brogue of his.
If they’re not appreciatin’ your intelligence, they’re clearly not the right guys,
his deep voice echoed in my head. I smiled. He was right. All the ridiculous men of The Blonde Theory had preferred me stupid. But Matt had appreciated my intelligence in ways no one ever had before. He had told me he liked me
because
of my intelligence and success, not
despite
them. And he
was
the right guy. I knew it. I said a silent
thank you
to the sweet Irish handyman for inadvertently steering me in the right direction.
Matt left after he had showered and slipped back into his clothes. His good-bye kiss was short and sweet, a tender peck on the lips as he ran his hands through my hair and told me again how much he’d enjoyed the night before.
“You’re amazing, Harper,” he had whispered, his breath brushing past my ear as I unlocked my front door for him. “I’ll call you.”
“You’re amazing, too,” I whispered back. He smiled. I watched him until he had disappeared down the stairs leading to the ground floor.
Perfection,
the voice in my head said one more time.
A
FTER MATT LEFT
, I took a quick shower, snapped out of my daze, and checked the voice mails on my cell phone. Three concerned messages from Molly, wondering where I was, which made me feel instantly horrible. One call from Meg, wanting to talk about Jill. And one from Jill asking me to call her.
I called Jill back first, my heart in my throat, feeling horrible that I hadn’t been available for one of my best friends in the middle of what was probably the worst crisis of her life so far. Some friend I was—curled up with a hot guy in my bed rather than tending to my friend’s needs. I felt like a real jerk. This wasn’t like me. Then again, it wasn’t like me to have a hot guy in my bed, either. Ever.
Jill picked up on the first ring.
“Are you okay?” I asked right away. “I’m so sorry I didn’t answer when you called,” I added guiltily.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said, her voice sounding surprisingly chipper for someone who had discovered just last night that her husband was cheating on her.
“You...you are?” I asked, thoroughly confused. Last night was seeming more and more like an episode of
The Twilight Zone.
Maybe I’d imagined it all. Maybe Alec hadn’t really cheated on Jill and Matt really hadn’t showed up at my door. Maybe I was going insane. That would be a logical explanation for all of this, I supposed.
“Oh yes,” she said brightly. “I just called to tell you not to worry about me. Alec and I talked everything through. Everything’s fine. I also wanted to apologize for snapping at you last night. I know you were just trying to help.”
I paused, not quite sure how to respond. Okay, so last night hadn’t been
The Twilight Zone.
This morning evidently was. Of course I accepted her apology; I had never expected one because I knew exactly where she was coming from.
“Alec and you talked it through?” I finally asked, keeping my tone even.
“Oh yes,” she said, laughing tightly. “It was just a mis-understanding.”
I paused and chose my words carefully.
“A misunderstanding?” I asked finally, speaking slowly. “Jill, what do you mean? We caught him kissing another woman, whom he has been seeing for at least a few weeks. You saw the pictures. What, exactly, is the misunderstanding?”
“Oh, it’s not what you thought,” she said, keeping her voice light and cheerful in a way I knew was artificial. I just wasn’t sure if
she
knew her lightness wasn’t real, or if she had managed to brainwash herself into believing that everything was okay. “The woman was just a friend of his,” she explained brightly. “A colleague at work. Another doctor. The kiss that you photographed, it was just a friendly peck. The woman is from France. That’s how they greet each other over there, you know.”
“Jill,” I said slowly. “You can’t really believe that.”
“What do you mean?” she chirped back instantly. “Of course I believe it. Alec wouldn’t cheat on me. Alec loves me. He explained everything.”
My heart ached for her. I knew she wanted to believe that every-thing was perfect. But how could she possibly believe that Alec was innocent?
Did
she really believe it? Or did she just want
us
to believe it so that we wouldn’t see that she was imperfect?
“Jill, I’m not saying he doesn’t love you,” I said finally. “But he
was
cheating on you.”
“Harper, that’s just a mean thing to say,” she said stiffly, sounding wounded. “We’re trying to work things out. I would appreciate your support.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Look,” I said finally, feeling helpless. “You
always
have my support, Jill. You know that. I love you. But I can’t pretend that what happened last night didn’t happen.”
“Meg and Emmie said the same thing,” Jill said, her voice heavy and tense. I could hear her take a deep breath. “Look, I know you’re trying to help, so I’m trying not to be mad,” she said. “But this is something Alec and I have to work on. And if we’re going to fix this marriage, I am going to have to take him at his word. If he says he wasn’t cheating on me, then he wasn’t cheating on me.”
I was silent. I didn’t know what to say in the face of such blatant denial. I only knew that I had to stand by her as best I could. But that didn’t include lying to make her feel better or accepting her lies as truth.
“Okay,” I said finally. “Look, Jill, please just know that I’m here for you. All three of us are here for you. Whatever you need, we’re here. Okay?”
“I appreciate that,” she said, sounding relieved, her voice artificially bright and cheerful again. “I’m lucky to have such good friends.”
If only she could admit to herself how much she needs us,
I thought. Instead, I told her to hang in there and to call if she needed anything. We said our good-byes and I hung up feeling even more discouraged and worried about her situation than I had the night before.
I
canceled the date I was supposed to have that night with another NYSoulmate.com match, because I obviously couldn’t even consider going out with someone else while Matt was still so fresh in my mind. The scent of his cologne lingered in my apartment—and on my pillow, which, I admit, I had buried my face in appreciatively more than once since he’d gone. After thinking about it for an hour or so, I also called and canceled with Kevin Corcoran, the restaurant owner whom I was supposed to go out with the next night.
I was done with The Blonde Theory.
Sure, I probably had more dates to go on to complete my official obligation to Meg. But the fact was, I had my answer. Sure, it was easier to date as a dumb blonde. That was a depressing truth I’d have to learn to live with. But Matt James had taught me last night that it was possible to find a guy to appreciate me just by being
me,
too. I could include that realization in the article I wrote for Meg, so I felt sure I wasn’t letting her down. Besides, I couldn’t see how anyone could expect me to go on any more blind dates after the amazing night I’d had with Matt. I couldn’t imagine spending another waking second with anyone else.
After apologizing again to Molly for my tardiness and after taking my 1 pm meeting with the head of development for Cambridge Pharmaceuticals, I called Meg to see if she was busy and then decided to head uptown to surprise her in her office.
After signing in at the visitor’s desk and having my name cleared by the receptionist at
Mod,
who knew me from the numerous times I’d come in to see my friend, I was whisked up forty-six floors by one of the express elevators on the left side of the hallway. I stepped out into a hallway painted bright red and lined with blown-up covers of all the
Mod
issues produced in the last two years.
“Hi, Gina,” I said to the receptionist, a beautiful girl with thick, dark hair, enormous green eyes, and porcelain Italian skin.
She smiled widely at me. “Nice to see you, Harper,” she said. “I’ll let Meg know you’re here.”
I flipped through an issue of
Mod
while I waited. The cover promised to
help me to find a man today!, to keep your skin looking 21 forever!, and to please him in bed tonight! Well, all those things sounded good, but I doubted I’d absorb enough to make my reading worthwhile in the few minutes before Meg arrived.
Five minutes later, she came through the door to reception, dressed in a simple brown dress with three strands of wooden beads.
“Well, this is a surprise,” she said, smiling at me as I put the magazine back on the table, stood up, and gave her a hug. “Everything okay?”
“Yep,” I said. “I just wanted to talk to you about The Blonde Theory. Do you have a minute?”
In Meg’s office, I took a deep breath and poured out the story of what had happened last night with Matt James.
“So I think I’m done with The Blonde Theory,” I concluded. “I mean, I found out what I need to know. And then I found Matt.”
Meg was silent for a moment, and I started to feel just the slightest bit uneasy as she regarded me thoughtfully.
“It almost sounds too good to be true,” she finally said in an even tone. I nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes, yes it does,” I agreed eagerly. “But Meg, it was amazing. I can’t believe I’ve known this guy for a couple of years, and I didn’t take the time to realize he could be the guy for me. I just assumed that an actor like him would never go for a lawyer like me.”
“Hmm” was Meg’s only response. I started to feel uncomfortable again.
“What?” I finally asked.
“It’s just that...” Her voice trailed off and she seemed to choose her next words carefully. “It’s just that I’m afraid you’re jumping the gun.”
“By finishing The Blonde Theory early?” I asked. “If you want me to go on a couple more dates to finish it out, I will. I don’t want to let you down. And I’m sure Matt would understand. He’s a great guy. But wasn’t the point to test out whether dating as a dumb blonde would make my life easier? I
did
test it. And I feel like I have my answer.”
“I wasn’t talking about The Blonde Theory,” Meg said after a moment, her eyes looking troubled. She sighed. “If you feel like you’ve learned what you needed to learn and it’s enough for a fifteen-hundred-word article, that’s fine with me. I’m concerned that you’re jumping the gun with Matt.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, surprised. I thought Meg would be as happy for me as I was.
“It’s just that it happened awfully quickly,” she said slowly. “And you haven’t even had a first date with the guy yet. I don’t want to see you count on anything too soon.”
What, now Meg was a skeptic? Romantic Meg, who had wanted to believe that Alec was being faithful to Jill, even when Emmie and I tried to tell her otherwise? Who was she to naysay my newfound happiness?
“Meg, it was perfect,” I protested finally. “I really don’t see any reason to worry. Like I said, I’ve finally found someone who says he likes me
because
I’m smart.”
“I know,” Meg said after a moment’s pause. “I just hope you’re being careful.”
Although she agreed to let me end the Blonde Theory experiment early, I couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable without her complete endorsement. And for whatever reason, she wasn’t giving it to me at the moment.
Oh well. What did she know? She hadn’t been there to see me and Matt together. She hadn’t seen the incredible fireworks between us, the way he had touched me so tenderly, the way he had looked at me so lovingly. She didn’t know a thing about the situation, and I wasn’t going to let her pessimism get to me. Sometimes I felt like she was at least a little bit out of the loop after a decade off the dating market. She had been with Paul, her husband, since we had been teenagers. Maybe she didn’t even remember what the first sparks of love were really like. But I did: I had experienced them in blinding brilliance last night.
We talked for a few more minutes about Jill and how sad we felt. Meg repeated that she thought we needed to give Jill her space for a bit and let her come to her own realizations in her own time. Then I told Meg I needed to get back to work.
“Listen,” she said before I left. “I have another article on file that I can fill the August ‘Dating Files’ slot with. Why don’t you take another month with the Blonde Theory article instead of trying to turn it around for me next week?”
I looked at her blankly.
“Why?” I asked. “I’m done with the experiment. I can have the article written for you by the end of next week.”
Meg shrugged. “I’d prefer you take some time to think about things before you start writing,” she said simply. “At least do that for me. Okay?”
I paused and nodded, not understanding at all where she was coming from but realizing that I owed her at least that if I was going to bail early on The Blonde Theory. We both stood up and she walked me back to the lobby, where we hugged good-bye.
“Give me a call if you want to talk,” she said as I turned to leave. I looked at her in confusion. What would I want to talk about? Jill was having marital problems; Emmie was worried about an upcoming audition. For once, I was the happiest and sanest in our group. I shrugged and nodded.
“Thanks,” I said simply, surprised at how short I sounded. Then, waving good-bye to Gina the receptionist, I took the elevator down to street level, grabbed a cup of coffee in the lobby, and took the R train from 49th Street back to my office downtown.
I
T WAS EIGHT
o’clock before I had finished my paperwork at the office. Like an insecure teenager, I had called home four times that evening to check my answering machine. I was growing increasingly insecure by my fifth call home.
No calls.
No messages.
No Matt.
That was okay, I reminded myself. After all, it wasn’t like he had said he’d call me at a certain time. Or even that night, for that matter. It was just that I had assumed he would. I had been hoping that after I finished my long day of work, I could unwind with Matt somewhere, maybe a romantic little bistro where we could talk about our days as we sipped French Bordeaux or something. Meg was right; we hadn’t even technically had a first date yet. It clearly didn’t count that he had crashed my date with someone else. I supposed I wanted to have one with him. But that was stupid. Obviously he had things to do. I couldn’t very well expect him to just drop everything for me, now, could I?
I called Jill to check on her before I left the office, and she thanked me stiffly for my concern but reiterated that I didn’t need to worry. I sighed, made small talk for a few minutes, and then we said our good-byes. Then I called Emmie to talk for a bit, but she was on the way out for a date with a guy she’d met at the grocery store. I smiled and shook my head; she could always be counted on to bring home a new man from a random location.
Finally, I wound up home alone with a stack of paperwork I’d been putting off these last two weeks. As I yawned and dived into patent applications for a new chlorine substitute, a new pain reliever in powder form, and a new artificial sweetener, I felt suspiciously like I had two weeks ago, before The Blonde Theory had started. But that was ridiculous; two weeks ago, I’d had no luck with dating and no prospects in sight. Now I had Matt.
Even if he didn’t
technically
appear to be calling me at the moment.