Chapter 36 – Dating Angst
“I’ve got nothing to wear” Lynn wailed. “I haven’t been on a date since my first husband courted me in college.” Whoa. Hold on there. This is not a date! It’s me getting together with a person I think I’ll enjoy being with, that’s all. No date –it’s just dinner.
“But I still want to look nice. The M is really upscale. I can’t go in looking like a slob.”
But if I dress up too much he might get interested in me – as a woman – and I don’t want that. I’ll never be untrue to Jack.
“But jack is gone. He would want me to go after some fun in my life.”
No one can replace Jack – not even close. I don’t care how terrific Detective Murdock is, he won’t be anything like Jack. He’ll just be a disappointment – a letdown after what Jack and I had.
Lynn’s thoughts were arguing with her inner self.
“You’re right. He will never meet my expectations . . . But what if I lower my expectations? Maybe he’s a close second to Jack.”
Yeah, right. Don’t bet on it.
“There’s got to be a dress in here somewhere. I don’t have time to go out and get a little black dress. . . . How about this one. I used to look good in that.”
Yep. That’s why it was Jack’s favorite.
“Leave me alone. Get out of my head.”
Sorry, I’m permanently installed in here.
“A good psychiatrist could make you leave!”
No, I would just burrow in deeper. But I’d still pull your strings.
“Well, if you’re going to hang around, help me pick out something to wear.”
There’s that nice powder blue pants suit down at the end.
“Ugh. It’s in the back of the closet for a reason. How about this grey knit two-piece?”
It’s cashmere. If he touches it he will like the feel. And who knows where his mind will go from there.
“Damn it! Stop it. You’re no help at all.”
Lynn continued rummaging through her closet, pulling several outfits out to hold up to her neck in front of the mirror.
“Maybe I should just call and cancel.”
Now you’re talking.
“No, I don’t really want to. I’m looking forward to this. . . . There it is! My navy blue Chico Veronica knit dress. It’s perfect. Knee length, a neck that I can unzip as far as I want to. It really shows off my figure – at least whatever figure I have left.”
Lynn took it off the hanger and tossed it in the dryer to freshen it up. Then she went to her lingerie drawer to chose her underclothes. “What’s next? Half slip, full slip, no slip? . . . No slip. The dress will stick to me because of the static. Now here’s a nice bra and panty set. Black, a little lacy. Yes, I’ll wear these.”
How about you go for the plain-jane, no-frills approach. It’s not like he will see them.
“But the lacy ones make me feel more confident, more feminine.”
Whatever.
After choosing a sensible pair of black half-heels Lynn stripped and stepped into the shower. After washing her hair and luxuriating under the hot shower for several minutes, she stepped out and dried herself. As she walked into the bedroom she glanced at the clock and realized she only had twenty minutes to dress, put on makeup, and get out the door.
As she put the final touches on her eye liner she looked at the small bottle of orange blossom perfume Jack gave her for her last birthday. She decided against it, slipped her shoes on, and called a taxi. As she headed for the living room she paused, turned, and went back to her dressing table to dab some perfume on.
On the way home that day Matt Murdock stopped at a flower shop to get a bouquet of flowers for his date tonight. As he looked around the shop, his nose filled with an overpowering mixture of dozens of flower fragrances. He wondered what kind of flowers he should get her. He didn’t know what she liked, or what she might be allergic to, or what her favorite color was. He was about to give up and leave when the florist approached. “What can I help you with today?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. I have a dinner date with this woman tonight – well, it’s not really a date, just dinner – and I thought I should bring some flowers. But I haven’t dated in years so I don’t have a clue what I should get her.”
“Is this your first date with this woman?”
“Like I said, it’s just dinner.”
“So it’s the first time you two have been out together then. Is the dinner at her place?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. It’s at a restaurant.”
“Then I would suggest something simple. Do you know what her favorite flower is?”
“No, I don’t really know her that well at all.”
“Well, I hate to lose a sale, but it may be too early in your relationship for flowers.”
A look of relief washed over his face. “Thank you for straightening me out on that. I was so afraid I would give her the wrong thing – send the wrong message.”
“I glad I could help. When you get to your third or fourth date, maybe dinner at her place, come back and I’ll help you out.”
As Matt walked out he thought, I have no idea how to act – or what to say – around Lynn. I’m not looking for something long term, I just want to get to know more about her. I don’t want to give her the idea that I’m serious. So how can I keep from giving her the wrong impression, from leading her to think this is anything special for me.
Matt continued this line of thinking as he drove to his apartment. I probably shouldn’t wear anything special – maybe just the coat and tie I work in. Should I shave? My dark whiskers already have a heavy five-o’clock shadow. That would look like I didn’t do anything special for our dinner. . . . But younger men are sporting that look, and apparently women think it’s sexy . . . and that is definitely not how I want to come across. She’ll think I’m planning on some intimacy at the end of our evening. The humorous side of his mind chipped in with the thought Maybe I’ll only shave one side of my face. That caused him to smile, but didn’t help him out of the dilemma. I’ll figure it out as I go.
When he got to his place – a low-rent apartment that was modern forty years ago but now looked like someone’s idea of futuristic architecture back then – he followed his usual evening routine of opening a beer and easing into the creaking recliner in front of the television. That first drink of beer always tastes so good . . . but I don’t want to show up with beer on my breath. She’ll think I’m a drunk . . . We’ll, she would be partly right. I was an alcoholic for a few years after my wife left. Thank God for A.A. Matt got up and poured the beer down the drain, then headed for the shower.
It didn’t take him long to dress. He chose a blue oxford shirt, no tie, a sport coat, khaki’s, and a pair of tan suede loafers. He didn’t usually wear men’s cologne, but he had a bottle of Old Spice in the medicine cabinet. His sister gave it to him ten years ago and he only put it on when she came to visit, which wasn’t very often – every second or third Christmas. As he reached for it he thought, Will this give her the wrong idea about my intentions? If my clothes have any lingering odors this would cover them up, but maybe she’s allergic to Old Spice. Maybe I’ll skip it tonight. Maybe another time. If there is another time.
Matt looked at his watch and decided to leave. It was still early, but he wanted to arrive before Lynn so he wouldn’t keep her waiting. But maybe I should be a little late, so I don’t seem too eager.
As Lynn stepped out of the cab in front of the hotel entrance she paused, taking a last minute inventory – no wrinkles in my dress, or my panty hose; zippered neckline not too far down, don’t want any bra lace to show; hair in place; antiperspirant working. Everything’s good to go. That’s when she first felt the butterflies in her stomach.
Where are those coming from? This is just dinner with a would-be friend. I have no intentions of getting serious with Matt Murdock – or anyone else for that matter. . . . So why do I feel like a teenager on
my first date?
The doorman was holding the door open for her, so she knew it was time to move forward, but her feet were reluctant. She shifted her mind back into control, stepped briskly into the hotel lobby, and moved off to the side to look for Matt. Where was he? He must be late . . . or maybe he changed his mind. She felt her heart sink a little, but then she heard his voice behind her.
“Hi Lynn. I was waiting outside the door for you, but you walked right by me. Maybe if I wore my rumpled work suit you would have recognized me.”
“Oh, no Matt. My mind was somewhere else. You look great. That color suits you.”
“You look . . . really good yourself.” Come on, really good? How lame was that.
“I have a table reserved for 7:30. I thought we could have a drink at the bar until then . . . unless you don’t drink.” Getting lamer by the minute. Think of something clever to say.
“A glass of wine would be great, Detective Mur . . . Matt. Sorry, it takes some getting used to.”
Matt led her into the bar and found a vacant booth. “What kind of wine did you have in mind?”
Lynn thought, I shouldn’t have asked for wine. In a fancy place like this it will be $25 a glass. Beer must be cheaper, maybe I’ll order a Bud Light.
But Matt had the wine list already. “Red or white, Lynn.”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“I don’t really drink much wine. I don’t have a clue what these wines are. I’ll call the wine steward.”
“No, don’t. I’ll have a vodka martini with a twist.”
Matt smiled. “In that case I’ll have a scotch on the rocks.”
After the waitress brought their drinks there was an awkward silence as they both struggled to think of a conversation opener. Lynn spoke first.
“So, are you any closer to finding Zarah Savvin?”
“You just broke my cardinal rule – no shop talk on a date.” Damn. I just called it a date!
“So that’s your number one date rule?” Damn. He just called it a date!
“Not really. I just made that up. I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”
“Why not. An attractive man like you should find plenty of women to date?” Did I just call him attractive? Well, he is, but I shouldn’t have said it. Now he’ll think I’m interested in him.
Matt blushed and looked down at his drink. Is she making a move on me?
“I’ve embarrassed you. I’m sorry. . . I just meant that . . .”
Another pregnant pause. Lynn decided to get off this subject. “Look, I think we’re both uncomfortable worrying about what the other is thinking. I’m looking forward to having an enjoyable evening of conversation with someone I may want to be friends with. That’s all. It’s just dinner.”
Matt leaned back and laughed. “You have a terrific way of cutting to the core of a situation, Lynn. My expectations are the same as yours. So lets get on with the enjoyable conversation. Tell me about your childhood. Where did you grow up?”
“Well, I’m a West Virginia hillbilly with one leg shorter than the other from walking around the mountain. I grew up in Coal Creek, down in the southwestern coal mining district. That’s where I first met Jack Preston. For me it was love at first sight, but he had things to do and places to go – college, marriage, the Air Force, then the FRA. He retired after his wife died and built a cabin in the eastern mountains of West Virginia.”
“How did you two meet up again and get married?”
I have to tread carefully here, she thought. “I found him on the Internet a couple of years ago. We started emailing each other, and he showed up in Telluride later. The rest is, as they say, history.”
“Is that when you two got involved with Alexei?”
“You just broke your cardinal rule. . . . Let’s talk about you now.”
Matt paused. “Okay. I can do that. I joined the marines out of high school – Perry High School in Pittsburgh – and, after boot camp, I was stationed at the American Embassy in Tehran in 1979 – one of the Marine’s missions is to guard American embassies around the world. Anyway, I was there in November when the mob of Iranian revolutionaries attacked. I was wounded in the firefight before they overwhelmed the defenses and flown out in a medical evacuation helicopter with three other wounded Marines.”
“So you weren’t one of the sixty American hostages held at the embassy for fifteen months?”
“No, but I should have been. It took some time in therapy to work out my survivor’s guilt from that.”
“How bad were your injuries?”
“I took two rounds in the chest, one nicked an artery. It was touch and go for awhile but the medics kept me alive until I got to a military hospital. I was in the hospital for three months recovering.”
“Did you return to active duty?”
“No, they decided to give me a medical retirement. I protested it – I really wanted to get back to embassy duty . . . No, that’s not completely true. I wanted a chance to prove I wasn’t a failure as a Marine. But they wouldn’t let me do that. So I did the next best thing. I became a cop. First I went to college and got a degree in criminology, then went through a course at the FBI Academy in Quantico to study crime scene investigation. That’s where Dave and I met. After that I applied for a detective opening with the police department here and started out as a greenhorn detective.”
“You must have been good at it. They made you Chief of Detectives.”
“That took a few years, but I guess I was still trying to prove myself. . . . The Maitre de is signaling. Our table is ready.”
The two of them spent the rest of the evening exchanging humorous stories from their past and laughing together. Lynn asked him about his marriage, but all he had to say was that he was married to his work. After a few years his wife divorced him and found someone who could be there for her. Fortunately they didn’t have kids, so the divorce was over before he could think of a reason to try to keep her.