Falling for Your Madness (12 page)

“That’s the rules.”

“Right. But that’s not what drove me over the edge. My family spends two weeks every summer at the Cape, and I wanted David to join us.”

“Oh no. An occasion that would require casual clothes.”

“Exactly. He agreed to khakis and a linen shirt, but he refused to leave the house to go to the beach because apparently it was ungentlemanly to be so close to so many scantily clad women. He said he would rather stay at the house and read. For
two solid weeks.
Plus he threw a fit over the swim trunks and flip-flops I bought him.”

“Wow.”

“It was either the rules or me. And he will not break them.”

“No.” Then I realized.
I
was the one who’d insisted he come into my apartment.
He
didn’t break the rules.
I did.
Then, all I wanted to do was get back to that table for tea. I only had an hour and a half today. I didn’t want to waste it.

“I have to say this for him. Since knowing David, I’ve changed how I go out with men. I expect them to treat me better. I hold my head a little higher. I dress more modestly. I don’t tolerate any bad behavior. The truth is, I go out a lot less often, but the men I do consent to be seen with are gentlemen. Not quite as much as David, but they’re getting there.”

“I’ve felt the same way.”

“I don’t know if you’re the one. You’re just a friend. But I do know this, releasing him was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

I swallowed. “That gives me a lot to think about.”

“I need to go. But I need to tell you one more thing. If you do decide to become a sweetheart, you’ll need to find out all you can about Excalibur and Arthur.”

“I already know about the code of chivalry.”

“There’s more. A lot more. It’s only for sweethearts to know. But it’s really important to David, and you need to find out sooner, not later.”

She leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek, which was a tender and ladylike thing to do. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

Monday, October 1, 2012

332 Babcock Street

Brookline, Massachusetts

5:03 p.m.

David and I were in the habit of walking in step from the tea shop to my apartment building. It was such a silly thing to do, especially since I had to take two steps to make one of his.

“I’m too short. I can’t ever catch up.”

“No. Of course not. You’re perfect. I’m too tall.”

We stopped in front of my building, and it was time to go. I had already promised him I would see him for lunch on Wednesday.

This was the exact spot of the mugging. I mean the
not
mugging. It was daylight, and we were safe, but even if it weren’t daylight, I felt like I would be safe with David anywhere. But then again, what kind of safety do you have with a mad man?

He turned to face me. “You said you would see me on Wednesday, so I am assuming you are not releasing me today. Is that right?”

“That’s right. Not quite ready to drop the class.”

He looked worried. “Yet you did not tell me if I am forgiven for my bad behavior.”

I had been thinking about this. “I need to apologize too, David. You told me no. Repeatedly. And I didn’t listen to you. I insisted. I didn’t respect the rules. I didn’t respect your boundary. Please forgive
me.”

He sighed, clearly relieved. “Of course I forgive you. The rules are there to protect both of us, so that neither of us feels like we’re out of control. And there’s no confusion!” He took my hands. “I will do whatever it takes
not
to see that look of fear in your eyes again. I will always act like a gentleman in the future, but I will need your help to do it.”

Then I remembered there was something else I wanted to say.

David was glowing. A warmth started at his smile and spread across his face. Those adorable black curls were hanging in his eyes. For someone who was so fastidious and vain, I couldn’t understand why he didn’t get his hair cut.
“You see something. Will you draw it for me?” He took the notepad and pencil out of his jacket pocket.

I had been thinking for days how I was going to say this. Then I knew, with the pencil in my hand, that there really was only one way. Why now? Was it because I really liked him and wanted to go on to the next level? It’s not like I wasn’t attracted to him. How could I not be? He was like no other man I had ever met. Was it because he was making me crazy? Was it because I was dying to find out what Melissa meant by
a lot more?
Was it because the kisses from Friday night were amazing, at least in the beginning? Was it because I didn’t want to settle for guys like Trey, and as long as I could stand it, as long as it didn’t get too intense, I wanted to be with David?

I drew what I wanted to say. That’s the fun part of being an illustrator. I get to take abstract ideas, like freedom and love, and even, perhaps, chivalry, and attach them to objects and symbols and metaphors. That way the message is communicated. That way everything is clear.

I drew a horizontal line across the middle of the page. Then a line that intersected it perpendicularly. It made a cross. In the top left quadrant, I wrote a D. In the top right, a B. In the bottom left an L and in the bottom right, an A. Around the whole thing, I drew a heart. It was schmaltzy and cheesy and archaic, just like the word
sweetheart.
I didn’t care.

“What do you think?” I handed it back to him.

He took a step back. He put his hand over his mouth. Then he looked back at me and swallowed. His Adams apple was always the clearest when he was nervous.

“This is quite a departure for you,” he whispered. “Simple.” He nodded his head. “I’ve loved all your drawings. This is by far my favorite. I think I know what it means, but will you tell me anyway? You know, for clarification?”

“Do you think I could be your sweetheart?”

He dropped the notepad. He held my face with both of his hands and kissed me, tenderly.

Perfectly.

“Well, that changes everything.” He wrapped his arms around my waist. “This means that as my sweetheart, you can join me for walks on Saturday mornings and for social-stroke-cultural events on Sunday afternoons. We’ll be spending a lot more time together.” I giggled, and I felt like the biggest fool, but I didn’t care. I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on my tiptoes and reached up and kissed him again.

He pulled away. “Laura. I want you to do something for me.”

“Yes?”

“We may have grandchildren someday, and they’re going to ask you when was the first time I kissed you. I know that this is not exactly truthful, which means it’s not really virtuous, which means it’s certainly not up to the standard of chivalric code, but would you please say, for the sake of honor, yours especially, that our first kiss was today and not last Friday?”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“It is, my love, a matter of revising history for the sake of personal convenience, and I am deeply conflicted.”

“Just shut up and kiss me again.”

“Of course.” He rubbed his nose against mine. “I always defer to the lady.”

SWEETHEARTS

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

The Rising Agent Bakery and Cafe

1111 Beacon Street

Brookline, Massachusetts

11:55 a.m.

On Monday evening, Ruby had updated our Facebook page with
David and Laura, sittin’ in a tree -- K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
We had fifty-seven likes and all kinds of embarrassing comments.

The bouquet of roses I got on Saturday and the bouquet of lilies I got on Monday were still beautiful, but I noticed that neither Ruby nor my other girlfriends were excited to see them. I moved them to my bedroom.

This Wednesday was the first time to meet David since my upgrade.

“There you are, my darling sweetheart.” He held a calla lily. He kissed me hello. David opened the cafe door for me. “How has your week been so far?”

“Oh, last night we had a party.”

“On a Tuesday?”

“Listen to this. Yesterday was my friend, Katie’s birthday. She works for a financial firm downtown. She knew her boyfriend, Ryan, was taking her to lunch. What she didn’t know was that he had organized all his friends, in the middle of the day, to create this flash mob scene in the square outside the building. They did this little song and dance for her and sang “Happy Birthday” and then arranged cardboard letters to spell out
Katie, will you marry me
?”

“How perfectly romantic! She accepted, didn’t she?”

“Of course she did. Her boss gave her the afternoon off, which I thought was very generous. Katie would have been completely worthless at work anyway. By the end of the day, we all knew about it and decided that a celebration was in order. It was at our place. It was after midnight before everybody left.”

“It’s a good thing you work from home.”

“I’ve only been up about two hours.” I was fidgeting. I tucked my paper napkin under my plate so I wouldn’t shred it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everybody was asking about you. They all want to know when they can meet you, especially now that we’re sweethearts. My girlfriends expected you to come last night. It was all very impromptu and casual, and all their boyfriends were happy to come over.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I said you had Bartitsu. You did, right?”

“Right. You wished you could have called and asked anyway.”

“Yes. This is going to take some getting used to.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I wanted to call you too.”

“You did?”

“You were all I could think about.” He held my hand. “Now, as for Saturday. Would you like to walk the Freedom Trail with me?”

“I’ve lived here seven years, and I’ve never done that.”

“Very good. And Sunday. We could go to the MFA, or do you have any social invitations?”

“There’s only one event on Sundays. That’s football. We play Denver at 4:25. Not 4:30. Ruby wants to make a Mexican feast and have everyone over. You’ll come to that, won’t you?”

“Sounds delightful.”

“Really?”

“Really. I want to meet your friends.”

Friday, October 5, 2012

Bombay’s Finest Indian Cuisine

176 Harvard Street

Brookline, Massachusetts

7:01 p.m.

“I’m ready for my lesson.” David sat in the booth across from me. He didn’t pick up his menu. “I have to tell you. I have a crush on the teacher.”

I laughed at him. “Okay, David, I’ve been thinking about how to teach you about football. To fully appreciate the game on Sunday, you’re going to have to know a little. I thought the best way to explain would be to compare it something you told me that you love. We’re going to compare football to chess.”

“A metaphor! Well done, Laura. I’m listening.” David put his arms on the table. He was taking this seriously. I couldn’t figure out how a 30-year-old man had never paid attention to the general aspects football, but he hadn’t. Now he wanted to know. He wanted to please me.

“Now, this isn’t perfect. If you repeat what I say, someone will surely argue and say I have it all wrong.”

“There is no such thing as a perfect metaphor. Every poet knows this.”

“Exactly. Now, think of each one of the members of the Patriots on the field as a chess piece. The quarterback, in our case, Tom Brady, can be compared to the queen. He has all the power.” With the pad and paper, I drew a picture of a field with stick figure players.

“Oh!”

“The running backs and tight ends, the ones who catch the ball from the QB and take it into the end zone, are like the rooks and bishops and knights. Less power, but critical for victory.”