Carole Buck - Annie Says I Do

“I was exaggerating to make a point.”

“Mmm.”

There was a pause.

“I think you mentioned the word ‘date’ a few minutes ago?” Annie eventually prompted.

“Yeah, I did.” Matt shifted, experiencing a sudden prickle of nervousness. “We, uh, left things undecided when I brought you home from Rio Bravo on Saturday. I was wondering how tomorrow night was for you.”

“Tomorrow night,” Annie repeated. Matt heard a rustling sound, as though she were paging through a calendar. “Hmm. That’s Friday...”

She’s already got a date, he thought, his body tightening. And not a “practice” one with a pal, either. A real one.

Well, why the heck shouldn’t she? he demanded of himself a moment later. Annie had devoted the past fifteen months to taking care of him. She’d gone above and beyond the call of duty, even for a best buddy. She had every right to decide that enough was enough—that it was time to start tending to her own long-deferred needs.

If only he’d thought the situation through before he’d blithely picked up the phone and punched in her office number. If he’d done so, he would have realized that it was very likely she’d have plans for tomorrow evening. As ignorant of the ins and outs of the singles’ scene as he might be, even he knew that Friday nights were prime dating time.

Matt spent a surprisingly unpleasant few seconds speculating about the identity of the man Annie might be seeing the following evening. Could she have gotten back together with that architect she’d been dating around the time Lisa had gotten sick? he wondered. Or maybe she’d take up with the gallery owner he recalled her discussing in connection with her fundraising work for the Atlanta Symphony. And what about that hotshot local newsman, Trent Barnes? Hadn’t she made several admiring references to him in recent weeks?

Matt frowned at the idea of the broadcaster. Although he’d refrained from mentioning it to Annie, there was something about Barnes that bugged him. Maybe it was his hair. It always looked so preternaturally perfect on TV. Matt figured the guy probably could report from the middle of a hurricane—wearing one of his trademark tan trenchcoats, of course—without mussing a strand. His hairspray bill had to be higher than the gross national product of—

“Matt?” It was Annie.

He blinked, wondering what he’d missed. “Uh, yeah?”

“I just told you that tomorrow night is fine with me.”

“Oh.” He raked a hand back through his hair. “That’s great.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Is something wrong?” Annie finally asked.

“No.” The denial was quick. “Everything’s fine.”

“You sound...odd.”

“Sorry.” Although Matt wasn’t certain an apology was necessary, he felt impelled to offer one. “I, uh, guess I’m surprised you’re not busy tomorrow night. What with it being Friday. Plus, I’m calling at the last minute—”

“Calling at the last minute is phoning from your car on the way over to a woman’s house.”

Matt straightened in his chair. “Guys actually do that?”

“Not to me, they don’t.” Annie’s voice was crisp and confident. “At least, not more than once.”

“You let them know who’s boss, huh?”

“Let’s just say I make it clear that I’m not so desperate for a date I’ll let myself be treated like a takeout pizza. I require a lot more than fifteen minutes advance notice before I’m ready for pick up. I respect myself. I expect other people to do the same.”

It occurred to Matt that he’d just heard a good summary of Hannah Elaine Martin’s philosophy of life. He wondered fleetingly how many of the women with whom people kept trying to fix him up shaxttitude. He also wondered whether there was a quick way of culling those who did from those who didn’t.

“Never let it be said that Matt Powell can’t take a hint,” he declared, easing back in his chair. “So. Respectfully, would you like to go to a movie with me tomorrow night?”

“A movie? On a first date?”

“Don’t men and women do that anymore?”

“Of course they do. It’s just that, uh...”

“Yes?”

“Look, Matt...were you serious when you said you wanted me to critique your, er, single guy technique?”

“Absolutely,” he confirmed without missing a beat. “Let me have it, Annie. What’s wrong with my idea?”

“Think about it. What happens when a man and a woman go to the movies?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“No, you idiot. It’s not a trick question.”

Matt chuckled. “Okay. Just checking. Mmm. Let me see. What happens when a man and a woman go to the movies? Well, first they drive to one of those multiscreen theaters, line up, and buy a pair of overpriced tickets. Then they go inside and buy overpriced refreshments at the concession stand. Then they head into the theater, search out a pair of decent seats, and crawl over a bunch of people in order to get to them. As soon as they settle in, a couple with a crying baby plunks down in front of them. Then a trio of talkative little old ladies takes up residence in the seats directly behind them. Shortly after that, a gang of teenagers files in. Eventually the lights go down, the movie comes on, and the man and woman watch it. If it’s funny, they both laugh. If it’s sad, they both get choked up—although the man pretends he isn’t. If it’s scary and the woman grabs the man, he probably uses that as an opportunity to cop a—”

“Matthew.”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Don’t contemporary single guys cop feels?”

“Not unless they want to be accused of sexual harassment.”

“Oh.”

“Modern men are expected to ask permission before they start groping.”

“You mean, ‘May I please put my hand on your—’”

“Let’s get back to the movies,” Annie cut in decisively. “Is talking on your list of things a man and woman do when they go to one?”

“Talking? No. Of course—” Matt stopped, grasping the point she was trying to make. “Oh. I get it.”

“A first date is supposed to be an opportunity for two people to get to know each other,” Annie stressed. “It’s difficult for them to take advantage of that opportunity when they’re sitting in the dark, staring at a big screen, scarfing down empty calories from the refreshment counter.”

Unbidden, Matt’s mind flashed back to his first date with Lisa. He’d taken her to a movie. The evening had pretty much conformed to the pattern Annie had just described. Given the shakiness of his adolescent social skills, this had been perfectly fine with him. It had been hard enough to muster the words he’d needed to ask Lisa if she’d like to go out with him. There was no way he could have carried on an extended conversation with her during the date itself.

As for the business of copping a feel...well, the closest he’d come to that had been the heady half second when his hand had brushed Lisa’s as he’d passed her a paper napkin. He’d damned near swooned at the contact.

Matt glanced toward the right corner of his desk, his gaze settling on a silver-framed photograph of his late wife. The romantic-looking portrait had been taken a week before their wedding. He kept a copy of the same picture tucked away in his wallet.

Rubbing the base of his left ring finger with the ball of his thumb, Matt registered the absence of the wide gold band he’d worn for nearly five years. He’d buried the band along with the woman who’d given it to him.

Lisa, he thought painfully. Oh, sweetheart...

“I’m not saying going to a movie is a bad idea,” Annie went on, sounding as though she felt the need to backpedal. “I mean—”