Chapter 6
Zoe
I stand in front of the food check, and glance at my watch, 6:05. Perfect timing. That’s given him enough time to get in and to get settled. Now, it’s up to me to figure out where he is and meet him.
I have to admit, I’ve been looking forward to this. I can hear him through the wall in my apartment sometimes, but I’ve never actually seen him.
And I’m curious. Very much so.
Verity is right beside me. “Do you see him?” she asks, holding onto my arm, as though she is concerned for my safety.
She insisted that she needed to come, and I appreciate it. After I told her what was going on, she said that we couldn’t know for sure whether he was a serial killer or not, and we didn’t want to take any chances.
I suppose she could be right, but seriously, what is the percentage of serial killers in the entire world? And, with that low percentage, what are the odds that it’s going to be the one person that I finally get a date with?
Not that I’ve never had a date before, because I have, they just...never seem to go well. I’m...weird, I suppose. After all, my job isn’t exactly mainstream, and people seem a little bit put off by it.
I mention famous actors who have also stared in Hollywood animations, and that seems to bring a little bit of balance to the conversation sometimes, but the fact of the matter is, I’ve never been able to get a part like that. I do have an agent, and I actually have gone to auditions, but nothing has ever come of it. And, I live in Virginia. I don’t exactly have money to jet off to California for every audition I hear about.
“I think I see a rose,” I say, but I’m unable to see the man sitting at the table.
Just then, Verity’s phone buzzes.
“Oh goodness, this is my mother. Do you mind?”
“No. You go on, I’ll text you if it turns out that I don’t feel safe.”
“All right,” she says, giving me a worried glance, before looking even more worriedly at her phone. Her mother can be draconian.
But, at least her mother cares. There’s that. Which is really nice. There are so many people who have parents who don’t really seem to give a flip, who are relieved to get them out of the house, and out on their own.
My parents fall somewhere in the middle, I suppose. We still have regular Sunday dinners, but I think that’s more because mom likes to catch up on the gossip of our lives, than because she truly cares about us. But I could be wrong. I’ve never been a parent, and I’m not entirely convinced that I would make a good one. So, there’s that.
I see the rose lying on the table, but there’s someone standing looking up at the specials board, and I can’t quite see the man.
I’m going to have to walk in.
It’s crowded, and it’s the kind of restaurant where you have the menu on boards above the counter, some specials written on whiteboards alongside, and you go up to a counter to order. They give you a number, you sit at your table and they bring the food to you. You take care of your own garbage, and someone goes around and occasionally wipes the tables.
I’ve never felt like it’s very sanitary, but the food here is so worth it.
Still, there are so many people milling around that I can’t get a good look at the guy. If it’s an old man, I’ll probably go eat with him anyway, but...it depends on how he looks and what kind of feeling he gives me.
I know we can’t live by our feelings, but there is a difference between happiness and sadness and your gut intuition. Usually my gut is spot on, and I’m going to give my gut the benefit of the doubt, since I’m not exactly desperate to be dating. I’m not a catch right now anyway. I am barely scraping by, and I’m one month away from having to move back in with my mother. If I were dating a man like me, I would not be the slightest bit interested in continuing our relationship.
I’m totally okay with kids living with their parents. I know that’s not something that is acceptable in today’s society, but I kind of think it might be biblical. Regardless, there’s a big difference between wanting to and needing to and not having a choice.
I won’t have a choice, soon. I didn’t even bring my wallet with me today. He asked me out, so he better be thinking that he is going to pay. I have my phone, and that’s it. Even if I did have my wallet, it’s not like I have any money in any of my accounts. Once I get this book finished, I should get a payment for that, but that is going to have to go toward paying the rent. If I have anything left over, I’ll buy food. Those are my priorities.
I’ve moved to within fifteen feet of the table and slid around to the side, all the while trying to get a good bead on the dude.
I’m thinking about moving even closer, when the crowd shifts, and I’m able to get a good look at him. I’m able to do this, because he turns and stares straight at me.
It’s the police officer from the animal-rights rally. The one who grabs my...well, you know, then let go of it like it was a hot poker.
It wasn’t exactly complementary, not that I care, and not that I’m upset about that, because I’m not. It’s just...the whole thing is embarrassing. I thought I saw him at the library on Monday and figured I wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him again for a very long time. Considering that we live in the same small town, I’ve gotten very good at avoiding him. Something tells me that he does the same with me.
But that’s not the most interesting thing about this.
Animal-rights police dude is... My neighbor.
And my date.
Except... He doesn’t know that I’m his his date. I know that, because his eyes get big, and then he narrows them, like he’s wondering what in the world I’m doing there. He doesn’t have any more love for me than I have for him. Obviously.
Immediately my eyes go to the board. I start looking at it, like I’m there to order food.
Except I have no way to pay for the food, and I’m definitely not going to order any.
This has gotten extremely awkward. I stumble a bit as someone bumps me from behind and says, “Aren’t you moving up lady?”
“Sorry,” I murmur, not wanting to bring any more attention to me, but unintentionally doing exactly what I didn’t want to do.
A quick glance at police officer animal-rights dude shows that he is watching.
My eyes drop to the rose on his table, before they skitter away, back to the board.
I need to get out of here, but the crowd behind me pushes me forward, and suddenly, I’m standing in front of the counter.
I have no money.
“Can I help you?” the teenager behind the counter says, with a bored look.
I stare at her. What am I going to say? My mouth opens and closes.
“Do you want one of the specials?” she asks, like this is what everybody else has been saying and she’s going to help me, and make her life a little bit easier by not having to deal with someone who obviously can’t talk.
“I start to shake my head no, and such a look comes over her face, consternation, annoyance, the whole effect shouting as loud as if she had said, “Why are you standing there bothering me if you’re not going to place an order?”
This couldn’t have gotten more embarrassing.
“Lady, we’re waiting. And I’m hungry. Hurry up!” A very loud, very obnoxious voice shouts from behind me.
I swallow. I’ve never done this in my life before, but I nod and say, “Sure. I’ll take the special.” I have no intention of paying for it. Because I can’t. I’m going to take my number, and walk out the door with it, or set it on a table and then go to the bathroom and disappear. I don’t know. I’ve never done this before, like I said, and I don’t know how people who order things and then don’t pay for them actually do that.
But I’m going to find out. I have to do something.
“All right, one special,” she shouts, without even looking behind her. “Next!” she says, when I don’t move out of the way fast enough.
Everybody else gets drinks and napkins, and I figure that I probably should do that too, except I’m not eating.
Finally, I turn from the counter, but I stopped in my tracks when the teenager says, “Lady, here’s your number.” She doesn’t sound happy or kind.
I turn back around, putting a smile on my face, and feeling like a lesson kindness is probably best taught by leading by example, except I’m the one who is trying to cut out without paying for anything, and I probably am not the best person to be giving anyone any kind of moral lesson right now.
I just want to go home and curl up on the floor and cover myself with a blanket, but I’ve got to get out of this confounded restaurant first.
“Officer Pete!” a kid says, and runs up to the table where my nemesis/date, is waiting for...me.
He’s distracted, and this seems like the perfect time for me to escape. I turned to the right, knowing that the restrooms are that way, and start walking, unsure of what I’m going to do.
“Lady, aren’t you going to pay?”
Oh my goodness. That’s right. I have to pay before I get my food. I have to pay before I sit down. I have to pay... Now .
I feel my face heating so much it’s a wonder someone isn’t pointing at me and saying: fire, fire! I would actually welcome that right now. Because hopefully that would make everyone panic and run out of the restaurant, and I could go with them.
This is when I get for being so ridiculously stupid. I shouldn’t have agreed to a date. I shouldn’t have ordered the food. I shouldn’t have left my apartment. Ever.
“Have you seen my child?” a woman says to me, and I recognize her as one of the regulars at library story hour.
I put two and two together, and point toward Officer Pete’s table, i.e., animal rights police dude. “I think she’s talking to officer Pete,” I say, trying not to spit out the words Officer Pete, but say them kindly, the way everyone else in town says them.
“Oh, goodness. It’s so crowded in here today.”
“Lady,” the teenager says.
I move toward the counter, and I say, with lowered eyes, and an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I guess I forgot my wallet.”
“Are you serious?” The teenager rolls her eyes and punches a few buttons into her cash register.
“Give me that number back,” she says, putting her hand out, and not being the slightest bit nice about it.
I don’t say anything about her lack of manners, and I don’t have a reaction. I just put the number stand back in her hand, and turn around, wanting to slink out the door as fast as I can.
“I can pay for it,” a deep voice says, and I look up, embarrassed, but hopeful. Maybe it’s someone I know, someone who is stable, someone who is...not Officer Pete.
But, no such luck. You know how it is whenever one bad thing after another happens, and it’s like you just can’t stop the string of bad luck?
I guess it’s that old adage, it never rains but it pours. Yeah. It was deftly pouring on me. All kinds of bad things, but...what you do?
I have no idea what to do, other than to turn and look up at Officer Pete.
There he is being really nice to me, when I was going to stand him up. I totally didn’t think a thing about it either. Like, I had zero intent to be kind or compassionate when he was sitting there, and zero intention of actually telling him that I was his date. I was just going to let him sit there indefinitely, until he decided that there was no point in waiting any longer. Talk about rude.
“Are you sure, because I just canceled the order,” the teenager said, sounding really annoyed. Not that she has sounded anything other than that the entire time she’s been taking care of me.
“Yeah. I’m sure,” Pete says, and...he sounds nice. Not overly friendly, but not mean, like he has to do what he’s doing and he resents it. He sounds like he’s doing it because he wants to, because he’s...nice.
I don’t want to believe that. I want to believe the stereotype that I built up in my head that he’s actually a jerk, and a big one at that, and irredeemable.
But I know that’s not true, and I know that this is the Lord teaching me a lesson. I like to see people as being all bad, or all good. Whereas I can look at myself and I can see that most of the time I feel like I’m pretty good, but I know that there is sin in my life, things I could do better, things I don’t do nearly well enough, and I want other people to notice that, and give me more credit for my good than my bad.
And yet, I wasn’t doing for Pete.
“All right, it’s $19.27,” the teenager says, and Pete reaches into his billfold, pulls out his wallet and pulls out a checking card. He hands it over to the teenager, and says to me, “I’ve done that before. So, I do a little check when I leave my apartment: keys, phone, wallet. And I touch each pocket they’re in.”
He laughs a little, and then he says, “And when I leave the police building, I say key, cuffs, phone, wallet.” His voice cuts off abruptly, as though he notices that cuffs are what he used on me.
But he’s been nice to me, and I am not going to be nice to him. Because no matter how much we talk, I’m not going to admit that I was the person who was supposed to sit down beside him.
“I appreciate you paying for my meal. I’m sorry about what happened last year. I... Don’t usually do that. Thank you.”
When I started to talk, his brows flew way out, and then they came back down, and then he kind of tilted his head as though really listening to me. Like he was trying to catch a note in my voice that he didn’t quite hear, but he thought he might if he got closer and really listened.
It was weird. I’ve never had anyone listen to me like that before. Even though I’ve had people tell me how nice my voice is. Sultry, perfect for romance novels, soothing, all the things. That’s just some of the things they say about it. Which is probably why I got into voice acting in the first place. That, and I seem to be able to be consistent with my voices, and I have a lot of them.
I didn’t really mean to use my sultry voice on him. It’s just the one that came out.
“Were you here with someone?” he asks, and he sounds very hesitant.
I shake my head so fast I think my brain rattles. “Not at all. Actually, my girlfriend was outside, but she got a call from her mom. And you know how that can be. Her mom’s pretty fierce, and if she didn’t answer, she was going to be in trouble.”
“I see. So you’re with a girlfriend?”
He looks at me again as I was talking. That look like he’s analyzing my voice. If only he were a Hollywood producer, I’d talk all day long if he wanted me to go to Hollywood and would give me a job that would actually put food on the table and pay bills.
“Yes. She’s outside. I’m gonna head out as soon as I get my food,” I say, giving a short smile, and letting him know that this conversation is O.V.E.R.
He jerks his head, and I say, “Thanks again for spotting me. I owe you.” I don’t owe him so much that I would actually sit and be with him, but I do owe him. And I can admit that.
We stand there, staring at each other awkwardly, and I wonder where the kid went, and the mom, but with all the people in here, I guess it doesn’t matter.
He lifts a shoulder and says, “I better get back to my table before someone takes it. I’m waiting for someone.” He seems almost as though he expects me to say something in return, like yeah, I’m the person that you’re waiting for, but I don’t. Of course, there’s no way I’m going to say anything like that, and he turns away, and I walk to the opposite side, where customers pick up the orders. I stand there, trying to put the whole thing out of my head, but still having it go over and over in my mind, until they call my number, and I pick up my food. I’m on the way out the door before I realize what really bothered me and what I was missing from our exchange.
He heard my voice through the wall. He recognized me. And he knows I stood him up. After he paid for my food.
Now, if he didn’t already think I was a total which because of the animal-rights thing, he definitely thinks that about me now. And there’s not a single thing I can do about it, unless I want to go back and sit down at his table, which, call me a coward, I don’t do. Instead, I see Verity still talking on the phone with her mother and throw up a hand and a wave. She hurries over, we get in my car, and we drive away.