Читать книгу Something Wicked - Susan Johnson-Kropp - Страница 5

Chapter 3

I tried to concentrate on my work during the days that followed, but I could not. I was horribly distracted by the thought of Jeff—and for what? I’d spoken to him for maybe ten minutes, and yet I was letting the thought of him creep into my mind like a vine taking root, blocking my ability to think of anything else. Pathetic!

I ordered one of Jeff’s books from Amazon. It was called The History of Tennis. I also found a few articles he’d written. They’d been syndicated in several newspapers across the country. The first one I chose to read was about the history of women’s golf. I found his writing to be spare and precise but at the same time almost graceful; not what I’d expected. I wondered where he’d studied. Probably somewhere in California. He looked like California, handsome and athletic but not overly so.

I tried to find him on Instagram and Facebook, but he wasn’t active on either. I went for walks, dressed cute in case he should appear, which he never did. I did this for days and days, until finally there he was, in the lobby of our building. He was sitting on the oversized leather sofa, arms stretched out to either side, watching me walk toward the door, and smiling like the Cheshire cat.

“Good evening,” he said casually.

“Good evening.” Stay cool, I thought to myself. I could feel the blood rushing to my face once again. It was like a tidal wave, almost making my knees buckle, but I pressed on toward the main door. He’d gotten up and started walking beside me. My heart was in my throat.

“So, how are you?” he asked very casually.

“Fine,” I said pensively.

“Where are you off to, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Going for a walk.”

“May I join you?”

Hell, yes! “If you’d like,” I said.

We walked a bit without talking. It was a cool, crisp day with no clouds to speak of. We headed in the direction I always went, toward a nearby park. I would usually walk around the park two or three times and then head back. I liked this park because there were many deciduous trees, which lost their leaves in winter only to regain them in spring, offering shade on hot days and then turning orange and red for their finale.

“I used to bring my dog on this walk, but he passed away a few years ago,” I said, seeking no sympathy but expecting some.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. He was pretty old.”

“You miss him a lot, I can tell.”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of dog?”

“German shepherd.”

“Best dogs.”

“Yep.”

“Have you thought about getting another?” he asked.

“Of course, but I haven’t felt ready. Maybe someday.”

“So, where did you grow up? Here?”

“No. Stamford, Connecticut.”

“Really? What brought you out here? Work?” he asked, intrigued.

“School,” I said quickly. “I went to the university. How about you? From where do you hail?”

“San Diego.”

“Really? I love it there. What brought you all the way here?”

“Work,” he said. “I came to Seattle several months ago to interview some ex-Sonics players who still live here, and they showed me around a bit and told me how much they love Seattle. So, I decided to come up for a while. Try something different. Experience changing seasons again.”

“I see. So, where did you go to school?” I asked, expecting him to say San Diego State or something.

“University of Iowa.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he replied with a nod. “One of the best, if not the best school in the country for creative writing.”

“Yeah, I think I read that once.”

“So, how about you? Why UW?”

“I wanted to live on the West Coast,” I said matter-of-factly. “Well, and they accepted me.”

We’d walked around the park once and had to decide whether to go around again or go back.

“I usually go around at least twice, but if you need to go …”

“No, I’m good,” he said, smiling broadly.

We went around again, talking about politics, climate change, trips we’d taken or would like to take someday. We seemed to agree on most everything. I had this odd feeling that I’d known him for some time.

“So, have you met the couple that just moved into the building?” I asked. I was referring to a couple who’d moved into a unit on the second floor. I was intrigued by them. He was seventy or so, balding and rumpled but kind and always smiling, while she was a beautiful Scandinavian model who looked to be in her forties. She had a haughty demeanor. I didn’t believe I’d ever seen even a hint of a smile from her.

“Yes, briefly. He seems nice enough.”

“And she’s so not. They seem an odd match,” I said.

“Yeah, exactly. It’s baffling. Maybe he has money.”

“He must,” I said, smiling at him. “I mean, why else?”

“I tried to initiate a conversation in the elevator with them one time,” Jeff added. “I asked what had brought them to Seattle from Virginia, and before he could even get two words out, she blurted out that there were some health issues. That shut him right up. And me, too.”

“Something strange there,” I said, shaking my head.

We left the park and headed back. When we entered the building, Jeff’s phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it.

“Oh, I really need to take this. Excuse me,” he said while tapping his phone. He began a conversation so, feeling like a third wheel, I began to back away toward the elevator.

“Bye, Jeff,” I said quietly. He glanced at me briefly and half smiled, raised his hand toward me, and then went back to his conversation.

Crestfallen, I entered the elevator and returned to my flat. What the hell just happened there? I thought he was into me, and then to end so abruptly? I couldn’t figure it out. Hadn’t we gotten on well? Had I said something to annoy or insult him? Did he not like that I wasn’t into Agatha Christie? Or was it my overall tendency to repel men kicking in again? I assumed the latter. I let myself in, slipped into something more slovenly, plopped on the couch, and ran the events through my mind over and over again. I concluded again that I was simply and irrevocably cursed when it came to men.

I began to think about various men I’d dated. They’d all had one thing in common, which was that they ultimately had not been interested. One nice young man had taken me rollerblading (back when that was a thing). I’d exaggerated my abilities in that area, telling him that I knew how, when, in reality, I’d only ever been on the four-wheel kind and that had been as a kid. I had also ice skated, but rollerblading had proven to be rather different. On a nice fall day, we had been skating past a daycare with several little kids outside playing on the jungle gyms, when I’d lost my balance, my feet coming out from beneath me, and I’d fallen hard right on my ass. I’d yelled, “Motherfucker!” really loudly. He’d never called me after that.

A year or so later I’d met another guy at the park while we were walking our respective dogs. He had asked me to dinner after we’d had several conversations over the course of a week or so. We’d talked about his work—he’d been a partner in a large law firm in town—and about my writing. He’d been amiable, smart, and very handsome, and I’d looked forward to having dinner with him. However, during the course of the meal, I had somehow managed to ingest something with crab in it, something I theretofore had only been moderately allergic to. This time my arms and hands broke out in a red and itchy rash, and my lips and tongue began to swell until I looked like a Looney Toons character. “I’m not worried,” I’d said, trying to be nonchalant while inwardly screaming.

“I’d be a little worried,” he’d responded, clearly horrified.

Ultimately, they’d called an ambulance, and I’d been carried out on a stretcher and whisked to the hospital. The guy did call me once but merely to see that I was okay so he could feel noble. He never called me after that, nor did I ever see him at the park with his dog again.

I’d had some dates that had not gone so awry, of course, and I’d had boyfriends, but they’d never seemed to be the guy for me. Andrew, a fellow writer for the comedy show, had been my longest relationship. He’d been cute and funny and charming but also a little reckless and slothful. Our relationship had lasted two years, and when it ended I’d cried, not because of the loss of relationship but because I didn’t really feel much of anything. I didn’t want him back, and I didn’t miss him. Based on the fact that he immediately began dating his future wife, I thought that he evidently hadn’t felt much either.

Yes, it was hopeless. I was hopeless.