Late for nothing, Danae drove down a wide-open 3rd street, cruising faster than she should have. The sun beamed through her window, warm on her forearm, the wind whipping her hair into her eyes. She rolled up the window and grabbed her cell to make a call, but just as she hit the unlock button, it chirped the ringtone of an incoming call.
“Hi, Danae?”
It was Paul. She’d met him at the Bed Bath and Beyond where they talked about his job as a teacher. The clerk bagged scented candles as Danae asked, “What grade?” and he said, “College,” in a snooty tone. She liked it though. It turned her on. Snobs had always turned her on in the worst possible way, so she asked the snooty man for his number, and they had now dated, up until this point, for about a month.
Paul had called her a while ago “just to say hi,” but Danae hadn’t called him back yet. And there lay the rub.
“Hi, what’s. . .”
“So… what,” he interrupted, “you’re ignoring me now?” His voice, usually smooth and easy, like he was lecturing on Kennedy’s White House, was now curt, sharp.
“Yeah, uhm, glad to hear from you too…” she stilted.
“Really? I called you like a week ago.”
“Yup, I got the message. I was…”
“Busy?” he said, not asked. Even though it sounded like a question. Danae paused.
“Yeah, we just took on this new client and I’ve been so…”
“You know, it’s not that hard to pick up a telephone, D.” The limit was being set. With a stern statement and cute nickname added to the end, Paul was drawing his line in the sand. The only problem was that Danae wasn’t even at the beach anymore. She quickly considered:
- if she had really done anything wrong
- how to get out of it
- if Paul was worth the drama
“Look, Paul, I didn’t mean… you… anything by it. I mean, it wasn’t malicious, you know. I just hadn’t thought about…”
“Oh, nice,” he said. “You hadn’t thought about me. That’s cool. I was worried there for a minute.”
“No, look…” She paused. “You know what, I’m really not prepared for this right now. I’m driving and I’d rather be focused on the road. There are laws, you know, that I’m breaking.”
“Yeah, I know. I know how hard it is for you to make phone calls.”
“No, Paul, it’s actually not hard at all.” Danae got out her own stick and started to draw her own line, since they were both at the beach again. “But it is what it is. Look, let’s not talk about this now. I’ll…” As the words rolled off her tongue, she realized the irony. This man who was pissed for not being called back, was now again being told that he would be called. The humor wasn’t lost on her, and it manifested into a tiny little laugh as she said, in what sounded to her like slow motion, I’ll call you.
There was silence on the other end. She knew she’d sabotaged the conversation.
“Look,” Paul said, maybe I got all worked up. I just like you. I’m sorry. Can we talk about this? I’m at the Spotted Café, by the window. I just got a paper, so I’ll be here a while. Why don’t you meet me? What do you think?”
Guilt or stupidity prompted her response: “Well, Ok. But I can’t stay long.”
When she arrived, she stood outside the café and looked in, seeing Paul’s new line in the sand manifested as an empty chair, his Washington Post, the only newspaper he read, because he was snooty, still lying open on the small red table by the window with three dollars next to it and an empty coffee cup upside down on its saucer. Probably only to Danae, it looked like it was glowing under the hanging spot light over the table. A server walked by, picked up the paper, pocketed the money, and wiped down the counter. And despite herself, indifferent to Paul only minutes before, she wanted him now more than ever.
anthonystarros 