Face Time (3 page)

At 6:30,
 
the downstairs lobby is busy with people coming and going, checking in and heading into the restaurant for dinner or the bar for drinks. Laura is still not in the bar so I wait in the lobby with full view of the doors.

With time stretching in front of me, I stand and weigh all my reservations about this date. Maybe this is a bad idea. What if Laura is crazy? And Sandra finds out I
did
go out on a date, and she was just testing me. She’s been dating other people, but I have not. I tried to set up dates, but they all fell through, and then I left town to travel for work. I’ve wanted to break up with Sandra for months now. Actually, we’ve broken up several times over the past few years. Every time I get up the nerve to cut her off completely, though, I hear my mother telling me what a failure I am. It doesn’t matter to my mother that I’m successful with a high-paying job, a swanky apartment in Seoul, and so much money in my savings account, I don’t know what to do with it. The only thing that matters to her is me marrying a Korean girl from a respectable family.

I’m thirty-five years old. I haven’t seen my “girlfriend” in almost six months and that was the last time I got laid. Even Cori thinks that’s ridiculous.

Maybe a real date is what I need. It will either cement Sandra as my life long burden or convince me I can do better.

I do this too often, sit and weigh every possible outcome. It makes me a good lawyer but a bad decision maker.

Another gust of wind kicks up down Forty-fourth Street sending bits of paper soaring into the air, and I hear a tinkling laugh that sounds familiar. Leaning forward, I catch sight of Laura, her head bent down against the wind, her long brown hair whipping around her. She clutches her coat closed at the throat and smoothes her hair down with a smile before pulling open the door in front of me.

“It’s windy out all of a sudden,” she cries, stumbling in and almost right past me. I reach out and grab her arm lightly, and she turns to me, her eyes wide and tearing up from the wind.

“Lee, I didn’t see you.” She laughs again, blinking away dust.

“You were blinded by the wind and your hair.” Strands are caught across her face and eyes, and I dislodge a few from her neck that are threatening to strangle her before I notice her blushing. I forgot about the reason I asked her out. She is gorgeous. The attraction wasn’t just the bourbon and her tight sweater.

“Uh, thanks. Anything I do to my hair doesn’t stand a chance on a day like this.” She takes a deep breath and smiles at me. No, I don’t think she’s crazy. “Sorry I’m late. Do you want to get a drink before dinner? Or…”

“You’re not late, Laura. On time.”

“Really?” She pulls out her iPhone and glances at the screen. “I’m usually never on time for anything. Well, that’s good. I didn’t want to keep you waiting. So…” She glances around for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip, rocking back on her tiny heels.

“I didn’t realize how tall you were when we were sitting next to each other last night.” I lean back and admire her long legs. She’s almost the same height as I am in her short heels. Being an Asian man has been a stumbling block with women unless they’re much shorter than I am.

“I’m five-seven.”

I’ve never dated a tall girl before. I’ve always gone out with Korean women, and the majority of them are tiny compared to Laura.

“Any thoughts on dinner? Pick your poison, Lee. You’re in New York City. You can have whatever you want,” Laura says, a hint of seduction, teasing out the last statement. I pull my gaze up from her legs, and she’s blinking her eyes at me, her head tilted to the right. She just caught me ogling her body. I suck on the corner of my mouth to keep from drooling, then clear my throat.

“I was thinking this morning it’s been a long time since I was in India, almost four months now.”

“No good curry places in Seoul?”
 

“All Asian curry. Not the same.”

“Okay.” She rubs her hands together. “You’ve been to the city before. What do you prefer? Murray Hill or East Village?”

Hmmm, a hard choice. Technically, I like the Indian restaurants in Murray Hill better, but there’s less to do in the neighborhood after having dinner. East Village has a good selection of Indian restaurants though they aren’t up to par with Murray Hill, but afterward we can get drinks or coffee easier. But the ambiance in a Murray Hill restaurant will be more romantic…

“It’s not a trick question, Lee.”

“East Village.”

“Great. Let’s go. We’ll cab it.” Laura turns to go, her energy driving her out the door, and I stumble to keep up. She winds up her hair this time and tucks the long strands back in her coat collar as we step out onto the sidewalk. I look left and right, but she grabs my arm and pulls me left.

“Let’s walk to Fifth and catch a cab going downtown.” She clutches on my arm for a moment before letting go and putting her hands in her coat pockets. I stuff mine into my pants pockets and follow at her side, careful to step out of the way of anyone coming at us.

“I often forget which avenues go up and downtown.”

“That’s because the city switches the avenues around. Third avenue is confusing around Fourteenth Street and Fourth Avenue comes and goes so quickly. Then the West Village messes everyone up.”

“How long have you lived here?” I ask. Laura sounds like she knows this city intimately.

“It feels like all of my life,” she says, sighing. “I grew up in Connecticut then went to NYU, left, and returned back here in 2007. So, all told, nine years.”

“I’ve lived in Seoul for five years, though the time feels like less.”

 
My strides and Laura’s match, her heels hammering down the sidewalk. She holds her black purse on her shoulder with one hand and the other stays tucked away. I love how confident she is. She owns the city.

“I bet it does especially if you travel as much as you hinted at last night.”
 

Fifth Avenue is swarming with people, cars, and cabs, but after a few minutes, I manage to hail an open taxi while Laura taps away on her iPhone. Opening the door for her, she thanks me and slides in, directing the driver to the corner of Fourth Street and Second Avenue. She turns off the TV yammering news at us in the back seat of the cab and takes another look at her phone as the screen blinks again with a text message.

“Sorry. I’m checking in with my friend, Theresa. She was wondering if I’m around tonight to hang out.” She types out another text and throws her phone back in her purse.

“Did you have plans?”

“Oh, no. No plans. She’s pregnant, and her husband tends bar a few nights per week to supplement their income. His family owns a restaurant on the Lower East Side so she was bored and hoped I’d come over. They only live two blocks from me.”

“In Chelsea?”

“Yeah. They’re both school teachers in the New York Public Schools.”

“The rent is so high in Chelsea.” People with my firm live here, and they’re always complaining about the rent. Not that Seoul is any cheaper.

“I’m sure it is, but I own my apartment. My father died three years ago and left it to me.”

“I’m sorry,” I respond, but she shakes her head with a frown.

“It’s fine. We didn’t have much of a relationship for the past ten years. Anyway, he used to be an investment banker, and the apartment was his place to stay in the city when he didn’t want to come back to Connecticut.” Laura plucks at the hem of her coat and rearranges her scarf, pulling the fabric away from her neck. The cab is warm. “He had the place renovated before I moved in.”

The cab driver is rapidly chatting away in French on his hands-free, and my ear catches him placing buys with his stock broker on the other end. No one can get away from business and money in this city.

“So, no rent.”

“Nope.” Her profile is what caught my eye first last night. From the side, her forehead slopes gently, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. Even her brown eyes are not ordinary, rimmed with flecks that catch the evening light. “All of my money goes into the bank… or my closet,” she says with a laugh, clutching the scarf briefly.

“Sounds advantageous.” Running my hand through my hair, I look over at her and she’s staring at me, her smile gone. “What’s up, Laura?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head and pulls her scarf off her neck. “So, I texted Theresa I’m having dinner out instead of going to the gym and getting takeout which is my usual Friday night routine.”

“Will Theresa be disappointed?” Laura said she was free tonight, and now I’m wondering if she stood up her friend to go out with me.

“No, no,” she says, waving her hand. “I’m sure she will be asleep early instead. Being pregnant knocks you out, I guess.”

The cab driver hurriedly changes lanes, and I’m thrown against Laura, but she deftly catches my shoulder and rights me. “I should wear a seatbelt.”

“Pshaw, Lee. No one here does. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Alive and well.” Still, I reach back and pull the seatbelt across, and she does too with a small smile. “How do you know Theresa?” I ask, making small talk back to our original conversation.

“We met as undergrads at NYU. Where did you go to school, Lee?”

“Berkeley. Undergrad and law school.”

“Oh. You’re a lawyer. I asked you last night and you didn’t answer.” She’s still smiling at me which is not the reaction I expected. I tried to pick up women in Seoul when Sandra and I were broken up (the many times we broke up), and I was rebuffed when they realized, (1) I’m American, and (2) I’m a lawyer. Cori keeps pushing me to try again because, in her words, I’m “easy on the eyes.” This always makes her husband, Chris, roll his eyes and punch me on the shoulder. Women.

“Sorry. I often don’t tell people I’m a lawyer. We have a bad reputation.”

“Indeed. I can think of a dozen lawyer jokes off the top of my head.”

“Please don’t.”

“Okay.” She heaves a deep, sarcastic sigh, and I shake my head in response and temper the barking laugh that I got from my father to more of a yap. So far, she’s funny, witty, and smart. All things I love in a woman. “I’ll spare you. We’re here. I’ll get the cab.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out her wallet, but this time I push it away.

“Everything’s on me tonight.” Pulling out my wallet, I pay cash and refuse the receipt. I could expense everything tonight, but I’m not going to. I want this to be a real, honest date. I want to treat her out to dinner and more. I’m suddenly inspired to make the most of this night.

“Lee, you don’t have to. Really. I can pay for myself.” She presses her wallet forward again, but I place my hand on hers and look her straight in the eyes.

“No. I insist.”

Her hand trembles under mine, warm, soft, and real — a physical connection I haven’t had with a woman in months now. And I can tell by the way the evening light is angling into the cab and hitting every strand of her hair, blinding her eyes, and softening her cheeks that I have never, and probably never will, see another woman this beautiful again. I’ll try to make the most of my time with her while I’m here.

This is definitely a date. My heart raced and my stomach clenched as Lee placed his hand over mine in the car and insisted on paying. Fuck, this seems like a bad idea. I am in a bad place in my life to be dating, and he lives so far away. I should let him take the lead though. Let him enjoy this. Let
me
enjoy this. It’s been a long time since I was out on a good date.

I’ll throw caution to the wind. I’ll take caution, throw it on the ground, and stomp on it. I’ll push caution into the next sidewalk grate and hope I never see it again. Caution has been my best friend for too long, and I used to be more impulsive. I’ll just pretend like nothing is waiting for me at home later.

I didn’t anticipate East Village curry, and, not wanting to do the same places every tourist does when they come here, I forgo the crazy, seizure-inducing, twinkling lights of Fourth Street, and direct Lee around to Sixth Street and Brick Lane Curry House. Miracle of miracles, there’s no wait for a table, but even 7:00pm is on the early side for Manhattan dinners. I usually don’t eat until eight.

“Tell me, Lee. What kind of food do you like to eat? Is there a food you just won’t touch?”

I was sitting all day at my desk thinking of things to ask him, to keep the conversation moving. I figure food, weather, and hobbies are pretty good neutral ground, and we can branch out to families if the date is going well, though I’d prefer to hear more from him on this. My family is always the first thing that turns a date off about me. I can see it in his eyes when I explain my family situation. The conversation goes from sadness to pity to incomprehension pretty quickly, and then I’ve lost him. Whole past relationships of mine have lived and died within the time it takes for me to hold back any and all information about my family.

Lee picks up the menu. “Not really. I’ll eat anything, which is a good thing I guess.”

“Yes. There are McDonald’s in Asia and India but I’m sure that’d get boring after a while.”

“There are Starbucks now in China. My family was in China a lot when I was younger and there was nothing even vaguely Western about it.”

Running my finger down the menu, I head straight for the vegetarian options. I had meat at lunch. “I feel old whenever I talk about how things were when I was a kid, and I’m not even that old.”

“How old are you, Laura?” Lee folds his menu and directs all his attention to me with the same intensity he must put into being a lawyer. I need a sip of water.

“Thirty-two. Last December. You?”

“Thirty-five. Last October. Laura, I don’t even know your last name,” he says with a smile, and I relax my tense shoulders. For a moment, I wondered what he was thinking. Was he judging me for being unattached in my early thirties? But no, he’s single too or else we wouldn’t be on this date.

“It’s Merchant. Laura Merchant.” Leaning over the crisp white linens and lit candle on the table, I whisper, “Is this weird to you, having dinner with a complete stranger?”