Chapter 2

Ben opened his door. "Molly -- come in. I didn't hear you knocking at first. Are you ready for Lawrence?"

"I need your opinion on something."

"What's that?"

She handed him a yellow Post-It note. He read, "Hi. I've seen you in here and think you're pretty hot. Give me a call. -- Brittney. And, her phone number. Where did you get this?"

"There's a sandwich shop where I have lunch. She's waited on me a few times. This was stuck on my check today."

"What's she like?"

"She's a brown-eyed blond, slim ... waifish almost ... kinda shy and retiring-looking ... wire- frame glasses ... short hair..."

"Buzz-cut? Flat-top?"

"No, silly..." Molly made a gesture to indicate a short, round style.

"Do you think she's hot?" Ben asked.

Molly bit her lip and made a shy nod. "I do like her. Do you think I should call?"

"Certainly. The other day we were discussing stumbling across the right person. She could turn out to be your life partner. It's funny -- I've never had a sticky note on my bill asking me for a date."

"I've never done anything like this before."

"Do you expect your life partner simply to drop into your lap? Molly -- if you want to spend the rest of your life celibate, then you should get thee to a nunnery. Otherwise, you must take some initiative."

"What do you think I should suggest we do for a date?"

"Hmm ... Is there a place near your office that has a nice, well-lit bar and a half-way decent restaurant?"

She gazed at the ceiling. "There is O'Keefe's Cafe nearby."

He nodded. "I know the place. It'll serve for the purpose. Suggest to Brittney that she meet you at O'Keefe's for drinks. Sit and nurse a couple. If things aren't working, you can bail. If you connect, then you can suggest having dinner -- it wouldn't hurt to make reservations ahead, just in case. Then, if things are really working out, you can go back to the bar for a nightcap."

"Should I invite her to my place?"

"You're getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?" Molly closed her eyes and nodded. "That's your call. I don't know how the girl-on-girl dating protocol reads, but I wouldn't on a first date -- even if fireworks are going off. Hell, you've waited six years. You can wait another week. You need a cooling-off period so you can assess the situation in broad daylight."

"Of course -- you're right. What if she invites me to her place?"

"Again, that call is up to you. I would demur -- tell her thanks, but not tonight."

"What if she presses me for a reason?" Molly asked.

"It's rude for someone to press another as to why an invitation was declined. If I were to invite you to, say, jump off this cliff with me and you say, no thanks -- it would be rude for me to ask, why not."

"So, how would you deal with it?"

"Simply say, I'm sorry but I can't ... or, I'm sorry but it's impossible. Not even the rudest individual would press you after that. That advice, by the way, is from Miss Manners herself."

Her eyes widened. "Don't tell me you ghost-write for Miss Manners."

"Judith Martin? Hell, no -- she writes better than I do."

"Okay, I'll call."

"There's the phone."

"Now?"

"No time better."

"Oh, gosh, Ben..."

"Molly -- relax. What's the worst that can happen?" He suppressed a chortle.

"What's funny?"

"When you get anxious, your heart starts to pound." He pointed to the base of his neck. "You have an artery here that starts to throb."

Molly blushed. "You can read me like a book!"

He gestured toward a door. "Use the phone in my study and close the door."

"Okay..."

Molly closed the door behind her and emerged several minutes later. Ben regarded her. "You look relaxed ... your neck's not throbbing. You connected."

"I did."

"Do you have a date?"

"I do. Friday after work at O'Keefe's."

"I was going to suggest, before you pre-empted me with this Brittney business, that this Saturday I treat you to some shrimp Vindaloo ... to reciprocate for your wonderful meatloaf dinner."

"Don't tell me that you cook Indian."

"No, but I can offer the finest Vindaloo that The Agra can deliver." He gestured toward his kitchen. "There's a menu on my fridge. Take it with you and look it over. Of course I wouldn't insist on you having the Vindaloo if you'd prefer something else."

"I think I'd like that, Ben."

"Of course I want a complete run- down on your date -- play-by-play with color commentary."

"When I was in high school, my best friend dated a lot of different guys. Afterward, we'd sit in the cafeteria at lunch and go over every detail, mining meaning out of every word, every glance and every lift of an eyebrow."

"Is something wrong?" Ben asked. "All of a sudden you're somewhere else."

"Katie was her name. I lost track of her. I just realized she was the last person I truly felt comfortable with." She looked into his eyes. "Until I met you, Ben. I hadn't realized how much I missed just having a friend."

"Then, Saturday at six for Vindaloo ... or whatever. Right here, my treat."

She smacked her forehead. "It dawned on me ... Friday -- should we split the check? Who should pay?"

"You're a career woman, Molly -- you probably make more than she does as a waitress."

"Why do you think that?"

"When you knocked on my door for the boost I saw you were wearing a suit with a skirt and hose under your overcoat, and you had a pair of heels sticking out of your bag. Your stockings were a semi-opaque black..." He looked toward the ceiling. " ... or, dark gray -- appropriate for winter and very professional. If you were waitressing, you'd have comfortable shoes in your bag -- not a pair of heels."

"Of course -- you're observant and you connect dots. You must be a bit like Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, don't get me started on Conan Doyle," he replied. "What is it that you do? That, by the way, is another rude question but I think by now we know each other well enough to look beyond it."

"I'm an administrative assistant in a law office."

"I figured it was something like that. If I were you, I'd play it like this: Each party is on her own for the initial drinks. If it progresses to dinner, then you should be prompt picking up the check. If she offers to split it, demur once. If she presses, then cave in and agree. Otherwise, if she offers to leave the tip -- let her."

"That sounds reasonable."

"Whatever you do, don't mention income as a reason. Simply say, my treat this time."

She nodded. "You're such a fountain of good advice."

"You must realize that I ghost- write for experts on many topics. Some of it sticks. Now, are you ready for Lawrence? I have a big bowl of popcorn already popped."

"Yes, I am ready for Lawrence."

He gestured her to his sofa and set the bowl of popcorn on a large sofa table. "Would you like something to drink? Beer, wine, soda?"

"Oh, a Coke if you have it."

He brought her the soda and a beer for himself. "Ben -- I thought you said you have a wide screen. I don't see any screen at all."

"Patience..." He pulled a cord to retract draperies that lined the wall opposite the sofa, revealing a large rectangle of white paint. Then he dimmed the lights and pressed buttons on a remote control. In no time an image ten feet wide and four feet tall filled the wall.

"Oh, what a wonderful way to watch a movie," Molly exclaimed. "How?"

"There's a video projector in the sofa table," he replied.

"It really is like being in a theatre."

"The sound system is capable of a theatre experience, too -- though I keep it down out of consideration of my neighbors."

"I don't think I'll ever be satisfied watching a movie on my TV after this. You must watch a lot of movies."

"Not really. I was intrigued by the challenge of assembling such a system. I don't like watching them alone. I think films are like most things -- best shared with a friend."

"I think you're right about that."

"Would you like to make Tuesdays our movie night? We could trade off picking titles. One week, you get to pick a chick flick and the next I can pick a shoot- em-up."

"Something like that might be fun. What if we both picked the same title?"

"Then, we'd need to arm-wrestle for who gets the rights to the next pick -- best two out of three."

"Oh, Ben -- I'd let you have my pick."

"And I'd let you win at arm- wrestling. At least I'd let you win two out of three."

Ben sat on the sofa beside Molly. She kicked off her flip-flops and swung her legs up so she was half-sitting on her left heel. He glanced at her, regarding her thighs and knees.

Molly's sightline swung up to his eyes and she smiled; then she popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

"Here comes the part with that line about the lion-tamer," Ben remarked. He watched the screen as Peter O'Toole threw a cue ball to upset a fellow officer's snooker rack. You're a clown, Lawrence. Then came O'Toole's response. Well, we can't all be lion-tamers.

Ben applauded. "That is such a great line -- such a great riposte. I wish I had thought of it."

"Have you used that line in your writing?"

"Oh, I wish. It's a bit too well known, and not amenable to tweaking. I have to be real careful about that sort of thing. But, some of the dialogue in the older movies is so pithy -- just like that Janet Leigh line about brown soap and beer. It's inspiring ... to me, at least. Modern movies just don't have dialogue like that."

Ben continued to watch the film. He felt Molly lean against him, so he glanced in her direction. Her head was starting to droop.

He lifted his arm and rested it along the back of the sofa. Molly's body sagged against his and he saw her legs give involuntary twitches.

He sat immobilized, with her against him, until the film reached intermission. Ben stopped the movie and nudged her. "Molly ... Molly..."

"Hmmmpf ... Oh, Ben -- I'm sorry I must've dozed off. It was a rough day for me at work and I just felt too comfortable."

"It's okay, Molly."

"Is the movie over? Did I miss the whole thing?"

"I turned it off at intermission. I don't like the second half so much -- especially the scene in which Lawrence is tortured and sodomized by Jose Ferrar."

"I had forgotten about that part of it. You're right -- I wouldn't have wanted to see that, either." She stood, yawned, stretched and slipped her flip-flops onto her feet. "Ben -- I'm sorry for conking out on you."

"It's okay -- if you needed sleep, I'm happy you found some."

"It was sweet of you to invite me."

"Shall we try it again next week? Your pick?"

"All right. I'll think of some titles."

"And, I'll see you Saturday at six. You'll come with a full report, yes?"

"Yes, Ben I will. Thanks for all the advice. Good night."

At six sharp Saturday night Ben heard a knock on his door. He opened it and regarded Molly in her tank and shorts. "Come in," he said.

"Here..." She handed him a six- pack.

"What have we here? Kingfisher beer -- from India."

"I also know better than to arrive empty-handed," she remarked.

"Where did you find this?"

"There's a package store I drive past on my way to my office. They had a sign claiming the largest selection of imported beer. I stopped and asked what they had from India."