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“A simple ‘yes’ would be sufficient,” her best buddy declared.
Two
“No.”
“No?”
“Wha— Oh, no. Not you, Matt,” Annie said. Matt thought she sounded frazzled and more than a bit fed up. “Look, somebody just shoved the copy for a new TV spot under my nose. Can you hang on while I check it over?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. This shouldn’t take long.”
There was an abrupt click followed by the tinny strains of a familiar pop tune.
Matt wedged the phone receiver between his shoulder and chin. Swiveling his chair to face his desktop computer, he hit the function key that called up one of the many on-line databases to which he subscribed. His older brother and business partner, Rick, kidded him about harboring delusions of omniscience.
He typed a series of letters, frowning thoughtfully at the information that flashed up on the screen. He typed a bit more, his frown relaxing into a satisfied smile.
“I was speedin’ down the information superhighway,” he sang, improvising nonsense lyrics to go with the mind-numbing telephone music as his fingers danced across the computer keyboard. “When a cyberspace policeman—”
Click.
“Matt?” It was Annie again. Her tone was considerably mellower than it had been. Matt deduced that whomever had been unwise enough to shove ad copy under her nose had had it summarily shoved back for a rewrite.
“Still here,” he told her.
“Sorry I kept you waiting.”
“No problem. I figured you were giving me a taste of the nineties’ version of playing hard to get.”
There was a brief moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then, “I beg your pardon?”
Matt leaned back in his chair, smiling. “A guy calls a modern career woman up and asks her out on a date,” he elaborated. “But instead of responding with a quick yes or no, she leaves him hanging on hold while she cuts some poor underling off at the knees.”
There was another short silence. Then Annie started to laugh. The sound was tantalizingly husky. It insinuated itself into Matt’s ear like a warm breath.
“Not a bad scenario.” The acknowledgment was wry. “But if this particular modern career woman had been cutting this particular underling off anywhere, it wouldn’t have been at the knees.”
“Ouch. What was the copywriting crime? Dangling participles?”
“Worse. Much worse.”
“But nothing you can’t handle.” Matt made the assertion with unalloyed sincerity. Annie was one of the most competent people he knew. She also had a knack for kicking butt when butt-kicking was required.
“Well...”
“Hey, you got me through Miss Kolodzy’s sophomore composition class, didn’t you?”
“That was quid pro quo for your coaching me in math the year before. Besides, you weren’t the literary equivalent of tone deaf.”
“Really? I seem to remember you telling me that if abusing the English language were a federal offense, I’d be on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.”
A second laugh rippled down the line. Funny, Matt reflected, reaching up and jerking loose the knot of his tie. He must have heard Annie’s laughter a million times in the past thirty-one years. Yet he’d never noticed how...provocative...it sounded.
“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—”
“I understand exactly what you mean,” Matt interrupted, resolutely steering his thoughts away from the past. “And bad idea or not, I’ll bet I can come up with a better one between now and 7:30 p.m. tomorrow when I pick you up.”
* * *
In Annie’s considered opinion, Matt did.
Come up with a better idea than going to the movies, that is.
“How in heaven’s name did you get a reservation here?” she asked him after they’d been seated at an elegantly appointed table for two in one of Atlanta’s most popular restaurants. “This place has been booked solid since the day it opened.”
Matt shrugged, his expression bland. “Connections.”
“Connections?” Annie picked up the intricately folded linen napkin from the plate in front of her and spread it across her lap.
“You know the computer course I’m teaching at Georgia Tech?”
She nodded.
“The father of one of my students happens to own this place.”
“Ah.”
“I promised the kid a good grade if he got me a table tonight.”
For a split second Annie thought he was serious. Then she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Oh, honestly, Matt,” she chided, starting to laugh.
A moment later an immaculately attired waiter approached their table. He presented them with a pair of handwritten menus, then politely inquired whether they’d like anything from the bar while they considered the evening’s culinary offerings.
“So what do you think?” Matt asked after the man had taken their beverage orders and moved away. He leaned forward, his expression intent. “Would a woman like coming here on a first date?”
Deep down, Annie realized he hadn’t intended the question quite the way it came out. Unfortunately, this realization didn’t prevent his words from flicking her on an unexpectedly tender spot.
“Well, gee,” she returned, her tone like acid-laced honey. “How would I know what a woman would like?”
Matt looked at her, clearly startled. Then he grimaced. “Oh, Lord. Annie, I’m sorry. I wasn’t—”
She dismissed the apology with a gesture. “I know it’s difficult for you, Matt,” she told him. “But this practice date scheme of yours isn’t going to work unless you can start thinking of me—at least occasionally—as having a gender.”
Matt remained silent for a long time, staring into her face. Then the nature of his scrutiny changed. His gaze began to slide downward. Slowly. Very, very slowly.
