Chapter 3

Okay, I'm not finished doing good deeds. "What have you decided about dinner?"

"Look, Chuck," she said, "What would make YOU happy?"

"I dunno," I said. "I've had a pretty successful week. I may reward myself with a steak. You want one?"

"That'l work," Jen said. "But..."

"But I told you, 'My treat!' Stop worrying. Consider it a couple of friends going out to eat. I got it, okay?"

"Okay. If you insist." She had a wry vestige of a smile.

"It's still early, though."

"I know," she said.

"Washer's stopped. Let me go move stuff to the dryer. By the time they're dry, it'll be time to go eat."

She smiled. "I'm not going to argue with YOU. You like winning."

"I'm not that bad, am I?"

"Well..."

"Well, what? I'm supposed to rescue you then leave you to your own devices in a strange town?"

"No, it's just that I feel like a big mooch."

"Jen, don't sweat it. Some time in the future, you can call me up and feed me dinner and assuage your guilt."

"So you do admit that I owe you?!?"

I snorted. "Where'd THAT come from? I admit no such thing." She was watching through the utility room door as I moved laundry from washer to dryer, then started another load in the washer. Terribly domestic, I am, having gotten used to doing my chores so they don't pile up to unbearable levels.

I straightened up. "We have forty-five minutes. I don't like leaving the dryer running while I'm not home."

'Cautious man," she cooed.

"Just rather not turn the corner into the neighborhood and see my house burning," I said.

"And you think about such things," she retorted. "Like you're Mister Stability or something." She caught my facial expression. "No, Chuck, I'm not being snotty. That's a GOOD thing."

"Well, thank you," I said, putting a bit of an edge on the words.

"Don't get all sensitive. I'm just not used to a guy who thinks further ahead than ... Never mind."

"Sorry, Jen," I said. "I shouldn't be harsh like that."

She regarded me with a cool gaze. "You know, this is another one. We've both been burnt."

"You said that before."

"Yeah. But I notice it when I pay attention to you. Look, Chuck, I really am thankful for the help. I don't mean to come off sounding like some smartass."

"I'm sorry. The last woman I spent any time with, well, I found out she was laughing about me behind my back with people I know, people I respect."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, with the lady who set me up with her. One of the ladies I work with thought that since I was single and she had a single friend, she was going to do everyone a big favor."

"And..."

"The woman was dumb as a stump. Supervisor at a convenience store, not that anything's wrong with that, but I couldn't find a thing to talk with her about. I think she held the tabloid rack at the grocery store checkout as the modern equivalent of the Library of Congress. Music? Both kinds, country AND western. Designer nails. The cutest little tattoo on her ankle, and one that she promised show me later. The couple of times we went out on a date, she had crap nailing her hair down so it wouldn't move, and I guarantee that the application of makeup was one of her most treasured skill sets."

"My, you're just picky."

"Yes I am."

"Are you that picky about TV? That's a nice one."

I have a big-screen, high-def, home theater setup. Not state of the art any more, but it was close when I installed it. "Sometimes. But I will defer to your tastes in the matter,"I replied. "It's all centered around an Apple TV box. Have you ever used one?"

"No. Show me."

I ran through the controls on the remote. "iTunes. Netflix. You can watch old TV shows. Movies. Whatever."

Netflix has a 'recently watched' category. She clicked it. "Just don't want to choose something you just watched, Chuck," she said. Of course, what she saw was the last few movies and shows I chose on Netflix.

"Documentary. Documentary. History. Animated. Animated. Britcom."

"You know about British comedy?"

"Saturday nights on the public TV channel. Dad got me hooked on 'em."

"My dad did, too."

"Mom used to laugh at us. She had trouble understanding the accents and the rapid-fire dialog."

"Yeah. A lot of people think that's strange of me. Oh, those cabinets have DVDs and Blu-Rays of some of my favorites, too. My Saturday afternoon pleasures in the winter when it's too nasty to do anything, or when I just feel like watching a movie."

She got up immediately and popped a door open. I guess that if I was in her shoes, I'd be curious to find the stash of snuff porn or whatever. Fooled her. I don't do that stuff. No porn.

"Marx Brothers? Really?"

"A weakness," I said.

"Warner Brothers cartoons?"

"Another weakness."

"Dad told me they used to watch them on Saturday mornings," she said. "I watch them when I find them. I see why."

"Your dad..."

"Died twelve years ago. Mom blew through the savings pretty fast, not that there was that much, but now she's out of money and living on the dole. She sort of picked back up on her drinking after Dad died."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to open old wounds."

"It IS a wound, Chuck. Just so you understand. That's why I hardly ever drink, myself."

"Just so you won't be shocked, then, if you open the fridge there's a few bottles of beer that I bought three weeks ago. One six-pack lasts me weeks. There's wine, too, in the pantry. Mostly for cooking."

"You're not a drinker?" She looked almost hopeful when she asked.

"I will have a beer or two at a social event. May have wine with a special meal. But I don't stop at the store on the way home and get a twelve-pack for the evening."

"Oh. That's good, if that's the way you are. " She was standing there with a DVD case. "Can we watch a few of these until the dryer's done?" She held up a Warner Brothers DVD.

"Just put it into the player," I said.

She inserted the disk and then retired to the opposite end of the sofa from me. Talk about de-fusing the tension: there's nothing like laughing at classic animation like a couple of eleven year olds.

I looked. The girl is cute when she's laughing.

I left her watching when the dryer buzzed the end of its cycle. I walked back through the living room with a handful of clothes on hangers. "If you're still hungry, you can shut that thing off and we'll go after I hang these."

"'Kay," she said.

"Pickup," I stated. "Don't feel like moving cars to get the Honda out of the garage."

"Okay," replied Jen. "Let's go."

Driving out to the steakhouse, she was studiously positioned against the passenger-side door. We stopped at a light. I glanced over. She'd taken time to run a brush through her hair and to wash her face before we'd left. Not bad. A man could certainly do a lot worse in the looks department. Brains? I kept track of the flashes in her use of language, the wit that forced its way through some obvious hurt and disillusionment.

She caught me looking. I denied it. She smirked.

Mid-range steakhouse. Neither of us was dressed in evening wear, but in this establishment we fit in quite well.

We managed a decent conversation, too, about what she did for a living versus what I did, as Topic One, then onward towards food, which morphed into childhood, adolescence, then adult life.

She watched. Noticed, observed life. "You hold your fork in your left hand when you're eating your steak."

"I know. You're not the first one to call me on it. I don't like swapping my knife and fork back and forth."

"Very European," she commented.

"So I'm told," I countered.

"Not a criticism," she tossed back. "Just an observation. Feel free to criticize something about me."

"Your bangs are too long," I said.

"Used to have bangs. Thought I'd let 'em grow out. They're at that awkward stage. I can't loop the hair behind my ears yet." She paused. "You have issues with bangs?"

"Absolutely not."

"Fringe. One of my co-workers was English. She called 'em a 'fringe'. Issues?"

I laughed, "No, they're a morally ambiguous feature. Evil? The Russian chick in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Good? Zooey Deschanel in Hitchiker's Guide."

She smiled. "Gotcha! Zooey played an indecisive, manipulating, opportunistic little bitch. I'm surprised you didn't catch that."

"You got me. I was blinded by the bangs."

"Oh-ho! A weakness. A chink in the armor. You're easily blinded."

"So I've been told. I do have a stopping point, though."

"Obviously," she chirped. "Otherwise I'd've found a Mrs. Chuck at home, or another set of clothing and some makeup and an extra toothbrush and all sorts of hair care products and lotions and stuff in the bathroom."

"You used the spare bathroom."

"Overflow, Chuck. There's always overflow. So I'm, like, what? The first female who's stayed overnight in a while?"

"Guilty."

She put on just the hint of a smile, like she was thinking. "So, Friday! What do you do on Saturday?"

"Did you notice the kayak hanging from the ceiling in the garage?"

"Yeah."

"I usually put it in at the river and paddle up and down. Exercise. Outdoors. All that good stuff."

"Sounds fun. Wish you had two." She checked herself. "Not that I'm inviting myself. Some people like the solitude."

"Some people know how to make solitude undesirable," I tossed back. "And it's a two-seater."

"So do I get the front seat or the back?"

"The front. And your own paddle."

"Front?"

"Of course. That way I make sure you paddle."

"Hon," she said, "I am USED to pulling more than my fair share."

"Nothing 'fair' about it, Jen. 'Fair' is where you go to buy funnel cakes. Two-holer kayak is just a partnership."

"Never been in a kayak before. How's it go?"

"You paddle. It goes. We wear life vests, just in case."

"Brings up a point. I don't have a swimsuit."

"I wear shorts and a T-shirt."

"I can do that."

Now I'm running a file in my head of Jen in a shorts and T-shirt. Not good, Chuck.

"Uh, Chuck, Am I being pushy?"

"You're not if I'm not, lady."

"One thing, though," I said.

"What's that?"

"Your car will be at Pete's in the morning. Might be the best time to go get the rest of your stuff."