Caren Lissner - Starting From Square Two

“I know you can’t look happy all the time,” Gert said. “Maybe what I’m getting at is that when you and Erika are together, you both come off as less approachable.”

Hallie looked beyond Gert, at the wall. “That’s not the real problem,” she said. “The real problem is that the ratio of women to men around here is too high. I should move to Silicon Valley or Alaska, where the male-to-female ratio makes sense. Or, I could get silicone implants.”

Gert cringed. “Guys hate silicone implants,” she said.

“You know so much about guys,” Hallie said to her, “but you’ve only really been with one.”

It struck Gert as odd that Hallie and Erika always claimed to know so much more than she did about men, yet they were still single. They were always trumpeting their dating rules and they were still alone.

There’s a law Hallie should cite, Gert thought. Gert’s Law of Dating: The more rules you cite about it, the less you really know about it.

“Anyway,” Hallie said, toying with a cigarette she didn’t intend to light, “I want you to have a good time with Todd tonight.”

Gert smiled. “Thanks,” she said.

“But,” Hallie continued, looking serious, “don’t let your guard down. If a guy seems too good to be true, he usually is.”

“Oh, I know it could end up a total disaster,” Gert said, waving someone else’s smoke away. “But we’ll be in a public place. What could happen?”

“You have my cell phone number, right?” Hallie said. “Call me if there’s any trouble. Even if I’m talking to Jeremy Shockey, I’ll be there for you.”

Gert laughed. “I will.”

The houses across the street from Gert’s were white and connected to each other. From window to window dripped a string of unlit Christmas lights, which normally hung there until just before Easter. On a dark, overcast day like that one, they looked like buds. Flurries coated the barren branches outside and made little hammocks in the corners of the windows. Not much of an accumulation was expected—it was too warm.

Gert stood in the room with Marc’s trophies, staring across the street. She saw a little blond-haired girl peeking out a round third-story window. She remembered when the girl had been a tiny baby in a carriage. Seeing the infants in her neighborhood go from carriages to walking on their own two feet made Gert conscious of her age. Lots of things were making her conscious of that lately. She wasn’t fond of the reminders.

The girl was part of an extended Greek family who lived in attached houses on the block. Gert’s section of Queens, only a few subway stops east of Manhattan, was very Greek.

She returned to her bedroom, to her mirror.

The anticipatory feeling of a date was one of the nicest parts, she had always thought. You knew you were going to see someone you liked. You could scrub extra hard in the shower. You could get a haircut. You could stare at yourself in the mirror. Well, not for too long.

Even though Gert was just going to be friends with Todd, she still felt compelled to at least look half-decent for him.

She stared at her reflection and tried to figure out what she could say to him.

I rode on a train once.

Nah, that wouldn’t do.

My uncle used to work for Conrail.

Trains are cool. I’ve got a full complement of HO models.

Somehow he’d see through the lie. And just because he worked on a train, didn’t mean he collected them.

She could hum the song about “getting the train through” from Sesame Street. They could talk about kids’ TV shows from the 1970s. Marc’s oldest brother had been on Zoom, which was taped in Boston. That always impressed people of a certain age.

There she was, thinking about Marc again.

She had to stop.

How would she tell Todd about him?

She probably shouldn’t mention Marc to Todd right away, she decided. The only way to talk about Marc was to give him his proper due, to tell everything that had happened. He wasn’t something you could chat about like the news or weather. If it wasn’t the right time to tell everything about him, you shouldn’t broach it.

Okay. She needed a conversation topic.

The male canon. Oops—she’d left something off the list when she’d told Hallie and Erika about it: Fletch. Guys loved Fletch.

What were some lines from Fletch?

“Excuse me, miss? Can I borrow your towel? My car just hit a water buffalo.”

Didn’t really work too well in conversation.

It wasn’t a good quote for tonight, anyway. It was too base. Guys didn’t necessarily like girls to get too base. Except guys you’d been married to for five years and dated for three, whom you could say just about anything to. Who you could wrestle with at 10:00 a.m. during a blizzard when the city was locked down and the mayor had ordered everyone to stay home. They should have worked on having a baby that day, just like everyone else. They were both waiting for promotions at work. Just one year each at their new salaries, and then they were going to try. There was always more you could have. More, more, more. And all of a sudden, you’d lose the most important thing of all.

“Hi,” Todd said, coming into the entrance of Sal’s, an Italian restaurant in Chelsea near the movie theater. He was wearing sneakers, but he looked like he’d just gotten a haircut, and he was smiling.

“Hi,” Gert said, standing inside the door. The restaurant was moderate-sized, with a family of six chattering near the back. The tablecloths and walls were a rich red. A waitress appeared and led them back.

“I was just on the subway,” Todd told Gert, “and some woman insisted I’d gone to school with her brother. She kept saying my name was Cody. The whole ride, she stared at me, going, ‘You’re sure you’re not Cody?’”

“You should have showed her your driver’s license.”

“Imagine if I pulled it out, and it said ‘Cody,’” Todd said. “That would be freaky. Like The Twilight Zone.”

“I loved The Twilight Zone!”

“Me, too. The old episodes.”

As they sat down, Gert was glad the conversation had started easily. She was also grateful for the dinner-and-movie date. It was simple, it was inexpensive, and it guaranteed that after dinner you wouldn’t be asked back to the guy’s apartment to watch a video—a common male strategy in college that had meant something else.

“I like this place,” Todd said. “The food’s good, and the prices are right.”

So he was practical. Gert was glad. She didn’t like when people tried to impress her with fancy restaurants that provided mouse-sized meals. Marc’s co-workers at the brokerage firm had taken them to places like that all the time. She had always left starving.

“So,” Todd said, “thanks for coming out on such short notice.”

He seemed a little nervous. Gert smiled. “I wasn’t doing anything special,” she said. Ooh! Her friends would smack her for admitting she was alone on a Saturday. She added, “I could have gone out with my friends tonight, but I can see them anytime.”

“How long have you known them?”

“Since college,” she said. “Well, Hallie since college. Erika is her high school friend.”

“Who was the one with big hair?” Todd asked.

Gert laughed. Everyone had such varying perceptions of looks. Erika had been dressed to kill that night, and Hallie had been practically naked, but what Todd had noticed was big hair.

“I didn’t think either of them had big hair,” Gert said.

“I didn’t mean any offense,” Todd said. “Brian was the one who thought so. I didn’t notice anyone having big hair.”

“That’s okay,” Gert said. “I think Erika was sort of interested in Brian.”

“Girls always like Brian. He’s engaged to a woman he works with.”