Tom Perrotta - The Wishbones

They were halfway to the exit when someone called his name. He turned toward the line of Trekkies—it had nearly doubled in size during their time in the jewelry store—unsuccessfully scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

“Over here.” A hand waved through the air. “Dave.”

Once he spotted Ian, Dave wondered how he'd missed him. Surrounded by people not particularly distinguished by their good looks or the care they'd devoted to choosing their clothes that morning, he stood out like a swan among the pigeons. Tall and always well dressed, Ian had the kind of physical presence that often led strangers to mistake him for some kind of minor celebrity—a bit player on soap operas, or maybe a second-string professional athlete.

“Hey,” he said. “Talk about coincidences. What are you guys doing here?”

“Engagement ring,” said Dave.

Ian looked at Julie's hand. Julie shook her head.

“We just picked out the stone. The actual ring won't be ready for a week or so.”

“Well, congratulations,” he told her. “You're marrying one of the finest rock trivia minds in the Tri-State area.”

“I know,” Julie said. “All the other girls are jealous.”

“What about you?” asked Dave. “Since when are you such a big Star Trek fan?”

“I'm not. I was just shopping for some summer clothes. But then I saw the line and thought, what the hell? Might as well meet Scotty.”

“He's not showing up for another couple of hours,” Julie warned him. “That's a long time to wait.”

Ian shrugged. “I didn't really have anything planned for this afternoon anyway. It's either this or help my dad clean out the gutters.”

“It's a beautiful day,” she told him. “We're thinking of having a picnic up at Watchung.”

She said this as though extending a tacit, no-pressure invitation for Ian to tag along, but he didn't seem to notice the offer.

“I've got to get out of that house,” he said, more to himself than to Dave or Julie. “My parents are driving me nuts.”

“Join the club,” said Dave.

“Tell me about it,” said Julie.

“Yeah,” said Ian, “but you guys can at least see the light at the end of the tunnel. I don't even think I'm inside the tunnel yet.”

Dave patted him on the arm and said he'd see him at the wedding that night.

“Five o'clock at the Westview, right?”

Dave nodded.

“See you then,” said Ian. “Have a good picnic.”

“Say hi to Scotty,” Julie told him.

On the way out of the mall, Dave saw that Mr. Spock had been knocked over and trampled, probably by some unruly teenagers. He lay flat on his back, still smiling gamely despite the waffles of dirt that covered his face and body with a thoroughness that could only have been intentional. Dave thought about propping him up, but decided it was none of his business.

“Do you think he's gay?” Julie asked, as they exited the parking lot, merging with the traffic on Route 1.

For a split second, he thought she was referring to Leonard Nimoy, who seemed more asexual than anything else, at least on Star Trek. But then the fog cleared.

“Who?” he said. “Ian?”

“No.” She rolled her eyes. “Leonard Nimoy.”

Dave ignored her sarcasm and pondered the question. He wanted to say, “Of course not,” but realized the moment he thought about it that he didn't know very much about Ian's personal life. In the two years they'd been Wishbones together, Ian had mentioned a couple of ex-girlfriends. He didn't seem to be actively searching for a new one, though, nor was he more than mildly flattered by the number of women who came on to him at weddings (including the legendary mother-of-the-bride). Dave had always assumed that this was because he was used to the attention and accepted it as his due, the way a beautiful woman got used to being stared at every time she walked down the street. But now he wondered.

“I don't know,” he said. “Do you think he might be?”

She shrugged. “He's just so different from the rest of you.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one thing, he's really handsome. And he's got such good taste in clothes.”

“Thanks a lot.”

She patted his knee. “You know what I mean.”

Dave didn't argue. He knew exactly what she meant. Ian was better-looking than the rest of the Wishbones. That was why he was the front man. Generally speaking, people didn't go for ugly singers. The rest of the band could look like a bunch of space aliens and burn victims for all anyone cared, but the singer had to meet certain minimum standards of attractiveness.

“It doesn't matter to me one way or the other,” she assured him, “but if he's not gay and he's not going out with anyone, I'm wondering if he might hit it off with Tammi.”

“Ian and Tammi?”

“It's just an idea. She hasn't gone out with anyone for a long time now. I think she's ready for someone new.”

Dave liked Tammi a lot, but he couldn't quite see her with Ian. Tammi was funny and cute in a tomboyish sort of way, the kind of person who knew how to make a joke at her own expense. The longer Dave knew her the more attractive she had come to seem to him, but her appeal was subtle, often lost on people meeting her for the first time. Dave figured Ian to go for someone a little more eye-catchingly glamorous, more like Zelack's new girlfriend, Monica.

“It's never a good idea to fix up your friends,” he pointed out. “Somebody always ends up with hurt feelings.”

“We just have to find some natural way to introduce them,” she mused. “That's the trick with these things. It can't feel like a blind date or it's doomed from the start.”

He pulled up to a tollbooth on the Parkway entrance ramp and tossed in thirty-five cents. The exact-change basket was plastered with decals for local bands he had never heard of—the Eggheads, Screaming Willie, Storm Drain. They just kept popping up, these bands, mushrooms of suburbia. Everyone and his brother chasing after the same old dream.

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