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First Date

Lynn Katz

    I studied him from a safe distance. He stood on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, glanced down at his cellphone and then gazed through the glass window of Northeast Sushi. I watched him squinting and searching for a woman with long, blond hair, wearing a red dress, size 6. He looked like a lost boy scout, studying his compass; searching for his true north or maybe his true love.
    His bony shoulders were hunched over, and suddenly he propelled his thumbs into a texting frenzy. Did he have the right sushi restaurant? The right time? The right date? I ignored his texts. I watched him pace, then walk in circles. I stayed hidden in the gray shadow of a tall office building. The cacophony of pedestrians and 5:45 city traffic tried to compete with the rhythmic pulsing of the blood rushing in my ears. I clutched my large canvass purse into the side of my body and reminded myself to breathe. Silently, I dared him to turn around and look right through me. I waited. I watched.
    He swiped his baseball cap from his head revealing a receding hairline. I wondered if that bothered him; did he worry about being too young to lose his hair? He mopped his sweaty brow with a large, white, cloth, something a magician would use for a disappearing handkerchief trick. He shrugged, ready to give up, but he seemed more angry than disappointed. Even from a distance, I could see the crescent moon stains under his arms. My own perspiration glued the skin on my back to the synthetic fabric of my black tunic, a flowing tent that had become my summer uniform. It was too hot to stay hidden in the shadows. I convinced myself to take a step towards the restaurant, and then another step. I shuffled up behind him, just close enough to detect the musky scent of his aftershave.
    “Excuse me,” I said. He swirled around, frowning. “Are you Jared?” I asked.
    “Umm, yeah.” He stretched out the words like the syllables of a mourner’s Kaddish. He squinted at me, annoyed. I wasn’t the blond, svelte woman in red he’d been promised. Not even close.
    “Glad I got here in time. I’m Lisa’s friend. She asked me to meet you and let you know,” I said, panting in a way that would make him think I’d been running to catch up. I didn’t want him thinking I was some crazed woman stalking him from the sidelines.
    “Let me know? Let me know what?”
    “She can’t make it tonight. Lisa’s having some issues and she doesn’t have access to her phone. . . well, it’s complicated.” I looked around and settled my gaze on the bar across the street. “I think it might be easier to explain this over a cold drink. It’s so hot out here.” I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and waved my hand in front of my face, like a fan.
    He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, why not?” He looked at his wrist even though he wasn’t wearing a watch. “What’s a few more minutes of wasted time?” I tried to smile in appreciation. He was willing to have a drink with me. That was a start.
    “I hope Lisa’s okay,” he said as we made our way across the street. My flip-flops slapped the pavement as I struggled to keep up with him. The inside of my thighs rubbed raw. He held the door open for me and waited as I waddled into the bar. A blast of cold air dried the slick roll of skin that hugged my neck like a pearl choker. We sat at a small table in the back and I ordered a Diet Coke with lemon. He ordered a beer. He liked beer.
    “I’ll be right back,” he said, leaving his baseball cap on the table, like a gift. He turned his back on me and headed for the Mens Room. He didn’t take long. Just long enough for me to catch my breath and steady my nerves.
    “So, what’s up with Lisa?” he asked, sliding into the chair across from me. I looked around for our drinks, wondering what was taking so long. My parched tongue stuck to the inside of my mouth making even small-talk a challenge, and I thought he would need his beer for this conversation. I leaned across the table and whispered.
    “She was assaulted. Sexually assaulted.”
    “What? When?” I had his full attention. I sat back in my chair, tilted my head to the side the way I used to back when I was thin and beautiful. Back when I was innocent and reckless.
    “It happened in college, freshmen year, but she’s still struggling. It’s been so hard for her.” Our drinks arrived. I squeezed the wedge of lemon into my Diet Coke and noticed my fingers trembling. I grabbed onto the edges of the table with both hands and sipped the cold liquid through a straw so he wouldn’t notice the tremors. I watched him chug his beer; those disgusting, slurping sounds made my skin crawl. I waited.
    “So that was, what four years ago?” he asked. He thought he knew Lisa’s age from her J-Date persona, and anyone could do the math.
    “No, it was three years ago. Let’s see, you must have been a junior that night, right? It was Lisa’s first date with the guy who raped her. He seemed so nice. I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.” He drained his beer and placed the mug back on the table. I watched the ruddiness fade from his skin. He studied me, as if watching the layers of fat melt from my face, revealing familiar cheekbones. Could he see the large, brown, eyes, the long lashes he’d admired that night, the night I became invisible?
    “You don’t remember me?” I asked. I knew he did. I could read his face like a flashing, neon billboard. He pulled the wet cocktail napkin from under his beer mug and wiped his forehead.
    “What did you say your name was?” he asked.
    “My name? It never mattered, did it?” I edged my chair away from the table. “Thanks for the drink,” I said, remembering my manners.
    I turned towards the exit and floated back into the sweltering city. I had him. And I had his sweat-drenched, baseball cap in my purse. A perfect match for the DNA sample he left behind on our first date.

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