Chapter Eight
So Breen asks if there was someone special in my life; a woman I was seeing on a regular basis, or something more serious than that. I needed to give some thought to my answer. I could tell her the short answer was no. Alright, I guess I should tell her the long answer, which also equals no, but provides the details I am sure Breen would find some humor in. The day following our coming to terms with ‘item’ in the park, I became preoccupied thinking about how I would eventually tell Breen the pertinent facts, meaning the tale less the more explicit activity, while glossing over the inactivity.
After I got divorced I had decided to skip dating and go right to relationships; which seemed at the time to be a good plan. I reckoned that I was too old to ‘date’ and too young to worry about needing to rush into a long-term commitment. Also, I was too broke to afford to do much of anything, and dating is expensive. My goal was to enjoy life and hopefully find a woman that enjoyed the same things I enjoyed, and we would enjoy these activities together, thus enjoying being with each other.
Notice I used 'enjoy' more than once; enjoy was the operative word. Nevertheless, for some reason my coworkers and friends were so intent on ensuring my love life was on a steady course, they overlooked the word enjoy. Dating is not bliss enjoyment; it’s looking, testing, impressing, and re-looking. Not that you cannot have fun on a date, it’s just that dates are intended to be predictable events that normally fit a routine acceptable by both parties.
Donna summed it up, “You’re scared to go out with a woman for the first time!” Maybe that was the problem. Never was good at dating before, why would I be any better now? The prospect of dating again was scary.
Thankfully, there was a Donna in my life who took pity on me and sort of ran interference as my coworkers and friends tried to introduce me to their female friends, family members, and even complete strangers who they met in their van pools and even on public transportation. I think the most interesting was the policewoman who, while writing a speeding ticket for a coworker, commented that her ex-husband drove the same type of car, just as fast. “Call her Dave, I’m sure this is her work number,” pointing to the number printed on the ticket, “she’s a doll, a real doll.” “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
Donna and I discussed dating over coffee and cheesecake one afternoon. We, or more correctly, Donna worked out the ground rules, “No blind dates; period. No dates with sisters.”
“Do you mean Nuns? I didn’t think they can date.”
“Dave, this is why I ruled out sisters. I would not want you dating my sister.”
“She available?”
“NO. Okay, back to the rules. No dates with any women who like NASCAR.”
“Uh? Why is it you constantly find fault with my liking NASCAR; it’s an American recreation!”
“I’m only looking out for your own good. You’re prone to elope with the first woman who likes NASCAR…if you can find one.”
“A lot of women like NASCAR!”
“Trust me on this one, if she likes NASCAR, Chevy Silverados, or eating mint chocolate chip ice cream straight out of a half-gallon container it’s a nonstarter. And by the way, watching cars drive around in circles is not recreation. Maybe it is for the driver, but not you. The only physical exercise involved is lifting the TV remote and possibly carrying a beer into the den; unless you go to a race, and I went, remember. Recreation, using the term very loosely, was limited to jumping up every other lap to see who ran into whom.”
By the time Donna had written down all the rules, I was not sure if any woman would be going out with me. “Oh, one last thing for the list, I get to pre-rate the prospects.”
“Why, so you can date her first?”
“Don’t be a dumb-ass this is for your own good.”
“Obviously no woman is going to be good enough to make the cut.”
Seriously, I did not want to become another ‘eligible’ divorcee. I had visions of just being who I was and everything would work itself out. Which meant maneuvering within a ‘couples’ world as a single person, and not feeling self-conscious being a ‘party of one.’ For the most part it worked because I had spent a good deal of time on the road, so ‘party of one’ was old hat. I started enjoying hobbies again and travel, and before I knew it I was meeting people who had the same interests; and people translated into women with the same interests.
Donna kept me focused on ‘enjoyment.’ Her words of wisdom came back to haunt her when she found herself available in the dating pool, and in no hurry to launch another commitment. Both of us learned there is apparently a lot of pressure on your friends when you are divorced. They have a guilt ridden psyche, “you’re not getting any younger,” “good soul mates are hard to find,” “the competition is not in your favor,” etc., etc., etc. Well-meaning comments from well-meaning friends. I, and now Donna, were out to prove them wrong.
This was not an instant success story. No, ‘Party of one’ was more often than not. The complete date list was a short one and that was fine with me. When someone at work would ask about my love life I would say, “I am in the fun stage of life right now and I’ll let you know if I fall in love.” For some, if you’re not ‘in love’ you’re not being successful at dating. I was rewarded for my ideals and steadfastness by meeting Karen.
I met Karen by chance. Donna said it was sheer luck to find a woman attracted to me and who had the courage to admit it in public without being bribed by a free dinner. It’s 8:30 PM on a Friday and I am shopping for a gift that I need for the next afternoon. The shopping center keeps shrinking in size as the minutes left in the shopping day speed past. You are forcing yourself to pick out something because you NEED a gift. The closer the clock is to the magic closing time, the fewer the choices.
“Damn, blue or green?”
“Green,” I look up and this woman is standing on the other side of the display watching me and apparently within ear shot of my talking to myself, “I’m not quite sure what shade ‘damn blue’ is,” she laughs, “sorry.”
“No, I should be the one who’s sorry for the inappropriate comment.”
“I still like the green one,” she shakes her head yes for emphasis.
I am holding a vase; not one I really like, but a nice one, “it’s not for me.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Easy guess. You have zipped through the department like it closes in a few minutes.”
“Well it closes in a half hour, right?”
“No, the store closes at ten,” she’s amused.
“Guess I can slow down. You like the green one?”
“It’s OK for Holly, but I would like the blue one,” she really caught me off guard knowing who I was buying it for. “Of course I’m not partial to damn blue, maybe darn blue.” If she had not started laughing I would have felt really stupid.
“How...the gift part I can see, but not the who?”
“I noticed you talking to Holly and saw the ‘oh’ on your face when you remembered her birthday party is tomorrow. Holly and I work together. Look, I’m Karen.”
“Dave. You should know she would like the green, so I’ll take your advice.”
“Dave, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Not sure...we just met and I will probably answer it truthfully, and then probably regret it in the morning,” I’m smiling.
“I have a feeling you and I were supposed to meet tomorrow afternoon at Holly’s. Are you single by any chance?” reading my reaction, “Uppps, let me rephrase that. Although I’m not sure how to rephrase that...OK, I’m single and Holly has been after me to meet you. That thought did not occur to me until you told me your name. This is why I’m asking, to be blunt, are you Holly and Steve’s neighbor?”
“Yes, it’s me, single Dave,” shaking my head in mock shame.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Since you answered mine I gu
ess I’ll let you.”
“This vase idea does not pass your gift test, does it?”
“Not a very personal question, but, no.”
“Any suggestions?”
“The wrought iron plant stool over there, she would love it.”
“Thanks. Can I ask you another question?”
“Wait, one personal question per night. OK, since the first one was really shopping assistance, ask.”
“Buying the gift is the only thing I need to do at this store, do you have time to stop for coffee next door before you go home?”
“Oh, a real personal question, which deserves a personal answer. Yes.”
Karen is an industrial safety expert, works for the Federal Government, and has an office across the city from mine. She had been divorced for two years and had a daughter in college. If you are wondering why I have not provided a physical description of Karen, it’s because she intrigued me beyond mere physical attraction. The fact she had beautiful, soft, straight, cinnamon brown, shoulder length hair that slid sensually through her fingers, a wonderful, radiant smile, bright eyes that rendered you helpless, and she knew how to dress her slender body in perfect style, not extravagance, made Karen a woman who was not easily overlooked. To say she intrigued me, was to say I was overwhelmed.
We sat at a corner table and never stopped to worry about the impromptu nature of our enjoying coffee together. Note I said enjoy. Karen, short for Katrina Elizabeth, never ceased to amaze me. She had style, and yet was so relaxed. The best way to describe her was the softness of an endlessly fresh watercolor, the paper still wet and vibrant with the brightness of freshly applied paint. “The reason I chose safety engineering was for self-preservation. I grew up with four brothers and spent too many years in school with boys like them, all dangerous when handling anything other than soft rounded objects that were too heavy to throw or carry up heights so as to drop them from.”
“So...you’re saying being a safety engineer is your gift to humanity?”
“You said that, not me.”
Changing the subject in mid-stream, “Can I call you Katrina?”
She considers this and I was not sure if she was serious or gauging my reason, “Why?”
“It’s a beautiful name and I like the sound when I say it.”
“Interesting, you didn’t reply to my question with a question as to why I wanted to know your motivation. I like that.”
Silence...I wait a moment, then realizing she is waiting for me to reply to her comment, “I’ll call you Katrina in private, Karen in public.”
“You’re taking a big leap of faith that I’ll talk to you again...but, since you seem harmless...”
“You’re the safety engineer.”
“I deal with physical things Dave...why are you smiling...workplace physical...darn you have a way about you that makes me careful of what I am saying!”
“Good or bad?”
“Flirting, that’s it, you flirt with your words and if it were not for your eyes you would get away with it!”
“I also smile, that counts too.”
“It counts for a lot. I would not be sitting here with you if it weren’t for your smile.”
“So, was my leap of faith a safe one, pun intended?”
She makes believe that her coffee cup deserves more attention than I do as she asks, “Was that the real reason you want to call me Katrina, or was it a pick-up ice breaker?”
“You don’t let just anyone call you Katrina, do you?”
“No.”
“Then I withdraw my decision and defer to the lady seated across from me.”
“Are you always this polite?”
“No, I falter like everyone else. And you?”
“I’m...why are you laughing?”
“Because you were probably going to tell me that you’re perfect and I would have to point out that you just dropped a piece of cake on your lap.” She looks at her lap, picks up the piece of cake, pops it in her mouth, and tries to gently brush away the remaining crumbs. Looking at me looking at her, “did you want that piece of cake?”
“I thought about it, but you munched it down too quickly.”
“You need to be quick when you come from a large family.”
“I’ll keep that in mind Karen if I ever drop money. Well...taking another leap of faith...” she slides her chair back enough so she could comfortably cross her legs, nice legs, and with folded her arms across her chest and head slightly bent to one side, she gave me an ‘OK, I waiting’ look...“the average guy would think you’re now contemplating running out the door, I don’t. I have a lot of faith to support this leap. Will you show up at Holly’s with me, as a date? And if you’re thinking why, two reasons. One, this will let Holly off the hook of trying to find a way to allow us to be alone so I can ask you out.”
“You mean the always awkward minute of ‘let the two of them talk while we ease drop in the other room and congratulate ourselves for being successful matchmakers’ minute. What’s number two?” letting me know her defensive posture in the chair was not serious.
“I don’t want to take the chance someone else will catch your attention at Holly’s. Who knows how many eligible men she has invited.”
“What if she has invited a zillion eligible women...stop smiling...for you!”
“That would be their problem. I will buy Holly a box of outstanding chocolate truffles for introducing you to me.”
“You’re implying, in so many words, that you want to monopolize my time tomorrow and send a signal to these other eligible men that I’m with you?”
“Yes. I’m asking you to go with me, even though you would still be going if I had not met you tonight, and, I hope, you would still go if you say no, jump up and leave this fine establishment before you get more cake on your dress.”
“You are very sure of yourself, aren’t you.”
“No, quite the opposite, but...”
Cutting me off, “Okay, but on one condition.”
“What?”
“You pick me up at eleven because I promised Holly I would be there early to help set up. Yes, I know you live across the street. I figure you’ll have to be on your best behavior knowing you have to take me home, to my house, and the other women won’t have a chance!”
Two things I knew right away that night: I liked Karen and like could easily turn into seriousness. Had I met Karen soon after becoming single again I doubt if I would have had the strength to resist desire. Karen did not want a relationship. She wanted to be desired as a woman, not the target of a suitor. I always enjoyed her company, so it was not just her looks that captivated me. That was the problem. Simply put, Karen was as if I wrote the role of leading lady for her; but for some reason I did not feel ‘love.’ Like I said, had I met Karen earlier she would have seen ‘suitor’ in my eyes and walked away without a second glance. I never brought the subject up, but she learned of its presence and so did I
We went through an accordion dating relationship; we saw each other frequently, then less frequently, then frequently again. On our second date Karen took me to an art gallery. It was an opening of a show, and they were having a reception for the artists. When we walked in everyone knew her and I quickly realized she was one of the artists whose work was being displayed. We were early and Karen took me over to the wall that her work was displayed on. She worked in acrylic on wood, and the layer of color was so thin it seemed to be more a photograph than a painting. From the front it appeared that the depth of the painting was by shading; even the crevasses seemed to be composed of contrasting light and dark colors and not the true etched valleys they were. You had to look from a right angle to see the texture of wood and paint.
We stood facing the wall, Karen soundlessly allowing me time to see the breadth of her work. When I had viewed the six pieces, “you seem to veer towards contrasts of blues, blacks, and silvers.”
“This time. Other times I get lost in
fall colors...amber, oranges, burnt orange if you remember your crayon colors. Why are you so quiet?”
“I was thinking about color association, your eyes...they’re steel gray.”
“And?”
“And these works reflect them. On the surface the works are non-threatening, but I know better. They reflect the mood you were in when you painted them. The same mood change when I asked if I could call you Katrina. Your eyes flashed with such intensity they left no room for negotiation.”
She turned towards me “Do you still want to call me Katrina?”
Facing her, “Yes.”
“Good, just don’t make my eyes, what did you say, flash with intensity.”
“I’ll do my best, but I’m only human.”
“That’s why I’ll let you call me Katrina.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the art, the show?”
“To see your honest reaction.”
“Kar...Katrina, you don’t trust men do you?”
“No.”
One day, even with the ground rules known, it had become too difficult for me not to think about her as a wife and it was those recurring thoughts, silent, but obviously apparent, that finally came between us. We stopped seeing each other on as friendly of terms as the day we met; that was two months before Breen became part of my life again.
Then there was Mandy. What can I say about Mandy? Wasn’t there a song about Mandy? Well, this Mandy was everything I was not looking for; the perfect opposites attract scenario. Mandy was a completely different story from Karin, best described as a slide back down the dating curve. I wish I could blame the situation on someone, but I should have listened to Donna and let her screen my prospects. I was teaching an introduction to photography course at the local community center and Mandy was one of my students. She was too young for me, too material, and too expensive; muy caro! Billy said I should have met Mandy before I got divorced, or soon afterwards, so I would have at least acted like a normal divorced man is supposed to act. Billy described Mandy as the sports car of mid-life crises. Donna just rolled her eyes and asked me, “HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND!” I started dating Mandy during one of those valleys in my relationship with Karen. Thankfully, Karen and I resumed a closer relationship and I was able to refocus my life.
I have no idea why we went out that first time. Maybe I was sub-consciously compensating for not being with Karen, or maybe the ‘scared single male syndrome’ reared its ugly head. What I do know is that one day I just realized I was dating Mandy.
Donna cornered me one afternoon at the grocery store, “You have gone out with her now, for what, almost nightly three weeks! What the hell is wrong with you?” as she felt my head for a fever. “I think you told once me to slap you if you ever lost you mind, so be grateful we are in a public place!”
“I do have fun with her.”
“Dave, fun is relevant. Spending money disproportionately to any return on equity is not fun.”
“Do you have to put it in such dehumanizing terms?”
“You...or is it she being dehumanized here?”
Donna was right. What happened was very simply Mandy taking charge of the situation and I was going along for the ride. She relentlessly set the time, place and ‘what for’ of our dates. I’m not complaining about being with Mandy, it was just a situation that got out of control. Every time I approached the subject of ending the relationship, Mandy already had plans for another excursion through Dave’s wallet. I was at a loss. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Mandy’s feelings, but she was not receptive to a ‘no’ from me. But ‘no’ was what I needed to tell her.
So five weeks into this relationship we are having dinner at a neighborhood restaurant, and Mandy tells me the waitress keeps looking at me. “Which one?”
“Our waitress Dave. What are you blind?”
“No, just wanted to make sure,” and I purposely said it in a way to leave doubt as to what I meant; not ‘shoving it in your face,’ but ‘read between the lines.’ Mandy looks at me to read my face and I just continue to eat as if the comment was just a comment; but she knows it was not just a comment.
“Are you interested in the waitress?”
Very polite, nice, “If I was I would keep it to myself. As long as I am with you, you have my full attention.”
Again she reads between the lines and I could tell she was weighing ‘as long as I am with you.’ “Dave, are you saying that you would consider going out with her?” Definitely a ‘with her’ comment that bespoke of ‘are you really comparing me to her.’
“Consider...I have to say no. However, I would consider going out with any women that I was attracted to.”
“Are you seeing someone beside me?” a not so subtle accusation.
“Mandy, I never said you were the only woman I was dating.”
The chill began to rapidly frost the air, the room became too small for her, and her eyes flashed goodbye. Mandy saved me from facing the hard task of being up front and saying ‘stop, it's over.’ The next day she called and said that she forgot about whatever and, well our shopping trip to a small community of antique dealers was a no go. And so was our relationship.
If I learned anything from the Mandy Affair, as Donna and Billy called it, I recognized both the vulnerability of single people, and that I had changed. The old me would have just walked away and never given Mandy a second thought. Even though I was lost for a way to end the relationship, I was not going to run away from it. I also recognized the final conversation between Mandy and me was not a very brave, up-front one on my part.
I also learned people can try to hide their true personalities, but the oddest things give them away. So it was with the Oreo Cookie Pretentiousness Test. I had once made a comment to Donna concerning the pretentiousness of Mandy; one of many such comments. Anyway, one day while Mandy and I were on our way to eat lunch at a trendy café she liked in the older section of the city, Mandy raved about the desserts the place offered. I asked if they had cheesecake, and Mandy replied “Cheesecake has become so...so passé Dave, no one who is anyone orders cheesecake.” She might as well tell me the moon is no longer in the sky just for lovers.
“Mandy, how do you eat an Oreo cookie?”
“An Oreo cookie? You mean the ones with the white stuff?”
“That’s the ones, how do you eat them? Do you pull the two sides apart and eat the cream filling first. Or do you just bite into the cookie. Or maybe pop the entire cookie in your mouth all at once?”
“That’s sick!”
“What’s sick?”
“Stuffing the whole cookie in your mouth.”
“OK, so what technique do you use?”
“I don’t eat Oreo cookies.”
“Why not?”
“They’re...so...so childish. Adults do not eat them.”
“So you’re telling me you never sit on your sofa in front of the TV and eat Oreo cookies?”
“No.”
“Would you even consider sitting at your breakfast nook table with me and dunking a few Oreos in milk?”
“Dave, this conversation is pointless. I stopped eating those things when I was a kid and even then, I would never dunk a cookie in milk!”
This is the basis for the Oreo Cookie Pretentiousness Test. If he, or she, thinks dunking Oreo cookies is childish, or does not have the desire to twist the two sides apart and saver the cream filling like it was gold, be forewarned! As for Mandy, I understood her problem, dunking cookies might endanger her jewelry, and definitely her nails.
To set your mind at ease, Mandy started seeing a recently divorced doctor who needed an expensive woman to be seen with in his new Z4 BMW.
In answer to Breen’s question about telling her about the women in my life, I doubt I would mention Mandy in more than a passing comment, ‘embarrassment.’ Karen was a different situation, I had been dangerously attracted to her. And even if she did not admit it, she was stro
ngly attracted to me. Otherwise she would not have voluntarily reestablished closeness in the relationship, or even the relationship itself. No, I would tell Breen about Karen, but I would not purposely introduce them to each other should we all happen to meet somewhere. Donna asked if this was because I doubted the strength of my relationship with Breen and I said no, it was too early, I did not want to give Breen the impression I was comparing them or trying to add a little jealousy to our relationship. “Dave, you analyze things way too much.”
Now I was seeing Breen and we were an ‘item.’ She was monopolizing my time because I wanted it that way; it was a consensual monopoly. As an ‘item’ I now felt comfortable buying her gifts just to buy them for her. I had no problem letting Breen plan a day, nor did she have a problem with me doing the same. We had still not joined each other’s respective circle of friends, but this did not bother us because we had a lot of history to overcome as we first rejoined each other’s lives. Of course we each spoke about the other to our friends; yet we both knew talking about someone is not the same as seeing them, and not seeing them can lead to questions in our friend’s minds as to the strength of the relationship. The fact we maintained contact with our friends was good. The last thing we wanted to do was get so wrapped up in being with each other that we would forget the other people in our lives.
Donna thankfully was getting wrapped up in Fred and, unthankfully, with problems associated with a case against a local land developer; which was also attracting a lot of newspaper and TV interest. So the effect of our not seeing each other as often as we did before Breen appeared was not as pronounced. Nevertheless, Donna and I would still hold telephone and bookstore/coffee shop self-analysis therapy sessions.
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