Chapter 16Janie

Chapter 16 Janie

I closed the front door behind me, my nerves buzzing like the coffee maker I’d cranked up to its highest setting to perk up for the evening. My own house had become a mood, one that was hard to shake. It had taken ninety minutes of preparation, including a bubble bath singing along to Abba, to get me into a state where I was ready to meet anyone else at all.

As I’d prepared for the date, I’d looked up Len online, trying to find out more about him. I was hoping to find something to pique my curiosity, or even an interesting conversation topic, but Len didn’t have much of an online presence outside of his job. His name only popped up boringly and appropriately in context of weddings and funerals. Even in the rare photos, he stood in the background, out of focus, his black shirt and white collar the picture of service.

Before leaving, I’d once again walked from one end of the house to the other, hoping to bump into Emir in my pre-date glory. His door was ajar, his bed made with military style precision, but Emir must have been outside, possibly avoiding me.

It was easier this way. I didn’t need to see his conflicted face or hear his opinions on Len. The guy who’d just kissed me and pushed me away could hardly be impartial. Still, I’d changed into a shimmering teal dress and heels, blow-dried my hair in soft waves and spent an hour on my makeup and was hoping to walk past him. He’d seen me at my worst. It didn’t seem fair that when I finally pulled myself together, he’d disappear. All the effort I’d put into getting ready, wasted.

I unlocked my car, my inside contracting with shame. How could I think like that? I’d prettied myself up for Len, obviously. He was the one who needed to witness and appreciate my efforts, not Emir. Why couldn’t I get this message through to my thick skull?

As I passed the stables, I noticed him, a fraction of a second that registered as a flash in the corner of my eye. It took me a moment to realize what I’d seen, and by the time I’d rounded the bend, turning onto the main road, it was too late to check in the rearview mirror. Maybe I’d imagined the whole thing. If I turned back, I’d be late for my date. So, I kept driving, wondering if I’d seen Emir or imagined him.

The sandwich board outside the restaurant advertised a quarter pound steak with various types of potatoes. As I stepped inside, I was greeted by the general hubbub of middle-aged men enjoying happy hour, a rugby game blasting on the TV above the bar. Not a quiet, intimate place then. Maybe that was for the best.

I scanned the wooden tables and sturdy chairs set under windows overlooking the busy downtown street. It looked like one of those middle-of-the-road places with nothing exciting about it. Traditional, yet without any Art Deco influences Napier was known for. I’d walked past many times and had never even noticed the restaurant. But maybe Len knew better.

Where was he anyway?

I edged closer to the dining side, turning away from the bar in case any of the patrons recognized me. It didn’t happen so regularly anymore, now that I wasn’t on TV every morning, but seeing the TV screen above the bar still gave me an uneasy feeling.

“Janie?”

I whipped around and found Len standing behind me, dressed in jeans and a beige jacket with no tie, his brown hair combed to perfection.

“Hi, Len.” I smiled, accepting his friendly handshake.

He led me to the farthest table, obscured by a row of artificial plants, and I sighed with relief. Sitting here, nobody could see me from the bar.

“Nice place,” I said, sliding into the padded seat.

Len smiled. “I’m aware it’s probably not your speed, but their steak is great and there’re never any tourists.”

“You don’t like tourists?” My mind jumped to Emir, and I focused my eyes on the dimple on his clean-shaven cheek.

Dimples were cute. Emir didn’t have one. Or maybe he did. I hadn’t actually seen him smile. Okay. I officially couldn’t get the Turkish man out of my head.

Len shrugged, giving me a sheepish smile. “I find those tourist traps a bit disingenuous, and overpriced.”

“For sure.”

He leaned in. “I must confess I’m not well versed in fine dining. Or dating in general. I was afraid that if I took you somewhere fancy, I might commit a terrible faux pas and embarrass you. Or you’d get the wrong idea of what I can afford.”

He had that self-deprecating, easy manner that made him instantly relatable, yet somehow teflon. It made me think of my colleagues on the morning show. There was a similar energy. On air, you had to be endlessly affable and witty, so most of us learned to smile and joke our way through life, always keeping the tone upbeat. I believed in smiling. It energized me even when my soul felt heavy, but now I wanted to lose the chitchat. I wanted to be real, even uncomfortable. The way I could be with Emir. Maybe it was possible with Len, too, if I was brave enough to try.

“It’s all good,” I told him. “I’m on a tight budget myself. The divorce left me out of pocket and I’m skimping on anything non-essential. So, I’m not much of a catch in that sense.”

“Well, that worked out perfectly, then!” He let out an uncomfortable laugh, handing me one of the menus waiting in a stand. “The steaks are great. Order anything you like, it’s on me! Wait…” He opened his own menu and pretended to pore over it in panicked frenzy. “Just checking they don’t have any hundred-dollar lobster or something. I’d have to eat my words.”

I laughed politely, browsing the list of hearty meals. No lobsters. “I think you’re safe.”

The waiter appeared with a jug of water and two glasses.

“Did you want a glass of wine?” Len asked. “I’m happy to order you a drink, but I like to keep a clear head. Especially on a first… date.”

Oh, great. How could I drink if he wasn’t drinking? I shook my head. “A clear head sounds good.”

It was a good call. Neither of us evidently needed social lubricants. Although, one glass of wine might have made his jokes funnier.

He ordered the rump steak, and I chose the chicken salad, my second one today. Oh, dear. I could compare it to the one I’d made for lunch at home.

Len picked up the conversational ball, asking polite questions about my career, carefully avoiding the topic of marriage. After a moment, a swell of cheers carried from the bar, drowning our voices. The home team must have scored.

“Sorry about the racket,” he said, glancing at the bar. “I forgot about the game.”

“It’s good,” I assured him. “Like a smoke screen, right? Nobody will pay any attention to us.” I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. “I bet these are all locals. Someone might know you.”

His shoulders tightened. “You’re right. But it’s even more likely they’ll recognize you. Sorry, I should have considered that.”

“Well, we agreed to meet in public. There’s always a risk. How are you finding it? Being known by people, I mean.”

He smiled. “I’m not that well known, honestly. Most people don’t go to church anymore. Even people I’ve married don’t always recognize me. I prefer it that way. Fame is a double-edged sword, which I’m sure you know.”

He peered at me, as if gauging my attitudes towards the subject.

“I know.” I took a sip of water. “I’m hoping people eventually forget my face and I can live my life under the radar again.”

“I saw your face in the paper on Thursday.” He winced.

I nodded, remembering the article about Shaun. They’d put my face in the side column, in a little ex-wife explainer box. I hated this side of publicity, but did I truly want to get out? In the last year, I’d organized several interviews for myself, desperately trying to project a positive image out there. You could only do that by giving them another story, one where I was the main character. If I was completely honest with myself, I didn’t want out as much as I wanted control. But it seemed I wasn’t willing to be honest with Len.

The waiter returned with a tall candle and clicked his lighter over it several times until the flame finally appeared. So, he’d figured out this was a first date, and since alcohol was not consumed, soft candlelight would work as beer goggles.

When he left, I took a deep breath, reaching for my brave. “We’re both old enough to say what we mean, right?”

Len cleared his throat and cocked his head, assuming an expression he probably used at work. The compassionate listening face. “And what is you want to say, Janie?”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to see through the act. On the surface, he seemed genuine, but somehow impenetrable. Unshakable.

“What was your marriage like? If your wife hadn’t died, would you still be together?”

Len jerked back, gripping the side of the table. “Um… yes, probably. It wasn’t perfect, but divorce wasn’t an option.”

“So, you’d never divorce?”

He shook his head very slowly, holding my gaze. “I don’t see that as an option. But I’m not judging you. Or anyone else.”

“It wasn’t my choice,” I said, my voice small.

He reached across the table and took my hand, stroking it gently. “I know, Janie. I know.”

My eyes threatened to tear up. Trying not to blink, I turned to look out the window. And that’s when I saw Emir.