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Columbia Heights, but still, suddenly seeing him in this middling-trendy French bistro on Columbia Road threw me off.
He still looked good, though. Still straight and lean and not too tall, my favorite body type. And he still had dark, silver-streaked hair, a big, intelligent head, and light brown eyes that warmedwhen he saw me. "It's that guy I told you about," I had time to whisper to Rudy, before he loomed over us with his hands in his pea jacket pockets, smiling and glad, a little nervous, a little self-conscious. And then I thought, Shit- he'll take one look at Rudy and /~rget my name. That's what men do- I've gotten used to it, I'm philosophical about it. Tonight, though, I wanted to stuff a bag over her head.
Lee said, "Mick, hello, it's nice to see you. I've been meaning to call Sally. Do you and Emma know each other? I had no idea." Sally, who's Sally, I thought while Lee introduced him to Rudy and Isabel. But then I knew. The little wife.
Oh, perfect, the story of my life. And it wasn't even going to make for a good joke, no funny routine about the date from hell or the newest hilarious bedroom blunder by one of my famously inept sex partners. No, this just hurt. I was blindsided, totally unprepared for how bad it felt. Do you think this was peculiar of me? Immature or unstable? I mean, to react this strongly to the married status of a man I barely knew? Well, so do I. I can't explain it. It's never happened before.
"Mick's son Jay goes to the Center," Lee was saying, sparkling her black eyes at him, obviously pleased to see him. "That's how I met Sally." Another jolt: a wife and a kid. In Lee's day care center, no less. I put on a big smile and told everybody how I knew Mick. "We just met a few days ago. Mick's going to be the star of an article I'm writing about midlife career changes." Rudy and Isabel made interested noises. He didn't pick up on it, so I said, "He used to be a patent attorney, and now he's an artist." He moved his hands around in his pockets and muttered, "Struggling, would-be artist," with a crooked smile.
Shy-he was shy. Oh, God. That's my other weakness. I have two: men who are shy, and men who are smarter than I am. He hadn't been shy before, though, not when it was just him and me in the coffee shop. And now he wasn't blinded by Rudy, either; in fact, he kept glancing at me while he and Lee made small talk. Isabel sat quietly and watched, not saying anything. Absorbing it all.
Technically we were having a meeting, so nobody asked him to sit down with us. I was glad-why torture myself until I had to? When the conversation got sparse, he told Rudy and Isabel it was nice meeting them, told Lee he'd tell Sally to call her. Sally. I've never known one, but I had no trouble picturing her. Sally would be a natural blonde with a wholesome, perky outlook. She'd wear an apron when she baked special, complicated but healthful cookies for her men. That's what she'd call them-"my men." Mick backed up a step, looking directly at me for the first time. "So, Monday," he said.
"Right. Monday." "Would you like to get some lunch first?" "No, can't, let's start in the studio like we said." My voice sounded snippy-how stupid. He hadn't done anything wrong. He didn't wear a wedding band, but he hadn't lied, hadn't even done that shuffle-dance men do to imply that they're single without saying it. If this was anybody's fault, it was mine, for making an assumption based on nothing but wishful thinking. Rookie mistake. I could've sworn foolishness like that had been bled out of me years ago.
We all said good-bye, and Mick went off to join a stoop-shouldered man with a white ponytail at a window table. I watched them out of the corner of my eye while Lee chattered about Sally; how nice she was, how they were thinking of taking ballet lessons together. The moment came and went when I could have blurted out that my heart was broken-in a humorous way, of course. I still have a few secrets I keep from the group, but this