Mountain View,
California
September 25th
When faced with problems of existential scope, and especially when confronted with the possibility that one is insane, there is no better thing than to have dinner with a beautiful woman, especially if that woman is the one that you've decided you want to be with for the rest of your life.
Gwen had called me at about 5:30pm as she was getting onto the freeway, and we agreed to meet at 7:00pm and pick someplace nice to eat. I finally got to her apartment in Mountain View at around seven (or, a close enough approximation thereof), parked in the guest parking, and walked up the stairs to her second floor apartment.
She opened the door while trying to put on one of her shoes, dressed in a long black skirt and a white blouse that was buttoned just enough to suggest but not show. She smiled at me, quickly, and then said, "I'm in a bad mood."
"Why?" I asked.
"Traffic coming back was horrible, and my car is making an odd noise whenever I hit the brakes. You don't mind driving, do you?"
"No, not a problem," I said. "Where do you want to go?"
"Doesn't matter to me. Let's go to Palo Alto and pick someplace there."
With that she grabbed her handbag and we went down to my car, and it wasn't until we were on our way to Palo Alto that I noticed that we hadn't kissed, hadn't touched at all, which was strange for me but not strange for Gwen. She sometimes had these moods where she demanded her space and didn't want to be physically close, and over the months I had learned to respect those times. These phases of hers would soon pass if I ignored them but would only escalate if I tried to confront them.
We made the drive to Palo Alto while Gwen talked about the marketing conference that she had attended that day. For whatever reason, Gwen tended to be impressed by people that you read about in the news, and giving a speech at the conference had been the person who had created the whole American Express advertising campaign that had generated so much interest a few months ago - you know, the "not just a credit card, it's a _____ card" campaign with people getting out of harrowing real-life situations by using their Amex.
We drove around, found parking, and finally by random chance picked Spago's in which to eat, and sat down in the bar to wait for our table.
"I need a drink," Gwen said to me. "What do you want?"
"I'll have a Perrier, or whatever mineral water they have," I replied.
"Sure you don't want to try something to drink? Maybe a glass of wine, or something? It would relax you, you look a little tense."
I smiled briefly. "No, that's okay, I'll stick with my mineral water."
She looked at me for a second. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
Gwen knew that I never drank, although I had never explained to her why (I didn't like talking about my childhood at all, and she had learned not to probe into it). My father had been an alcoholic, and many of my childhood memories of him had something to do with him being drunk - there were many times when I had hidden in the closet, face pressed up against some towels while I cowered in fear as I listened to my dad yell at my mother. The yelling I could take, even though I didn't like it, but I was most afraid that after yelling I would start to hear the sickening sound of my father hitting my mother. My mom was always silent when she was being hit so that she didn't scare my brother or myself, but we knew what was going on regardless.
Both Gwen and I looked around and people watched while we waited for them to call my name. I started to watch the couple at the table next to us. They had that kind of intimate awkwardness that screams "third-to-fifth date" to anyone that is watching. She had a short blonde page-boy cut and was leaning towards him, talking earnestly about some aspect of her life that made my eyes glaze over with boredom after only thirty seconds. Amusing to me, however, was the fact that whenever the woman looked down at the table, the man's eyes would flick over to the TV so that he could watch the game that was playing.
Relationships are always this odd tension between what you should do and what you pretend to do.
After a couple of minutes a blandly pretty twenty-something hostess came and led us to our table. She told us the specials and gave us our menus, and we spent some time silently choosing from the menu. We didn't go through the "What are you having?" routine that so many couples seem to have, as Gwen seemed to regard it as a sign of weakness if the man couldn't choose his own food. The waitress, a slightly overweight and friendly woman with raven black hair, came by and exchanged pleasantries with us. We chose our meals, the waitress left, and Gwen and I looked across the table at each other.
A dinner at a nice restaurant often becomes islands of conversation surrounded by periods of silence while the food is enjoyed.
"How are you?" I asked. "It feels like I haven't seen you for weeks."
"Well, that's not my fault," she replied. "You've been working non-stop on that project."
"Oh, I realize it's my fault," I said. "And I apologize. Sometimes when I get to working during crunch, I forget the important things in life."
"Like getting a big raise?" she said, laughing.
"No, the important things are at this table," I said.
"You mean your raise is under the table?" she joked.
I rolled my eyes, and smiled at her, and she smiled back.
The busboy came with bread in your typical generic basket covered with a burgundy napkin, and I took it, uncovered the bread, and gave a piece to Gwen. As I buttered my bread, I said, "What should we do this weekend?"
She paused, and said, "I don't have any plans."
"Do you want to go away? Someplace nice."
She briefly watched a man who appeared to be in some dispute with the waiter over the wine, and then her eyes returned to me. She said, "That sounds like fun, but this weekend isn't good. I might want to go furniture shopping. I think I'd prefer to stay in the area."
"Spend the night, then."
She smiled. "Oh, I would, but I have to get up early tomorrow, and you know how much I hate not getting ready at my place. All my stuff is there."
"Okay, not a problem. Well, pencil me in for the weekend, and let's figure out tomorrow what we're going to do, okay?"
"Sure, that's fine," she said.
While waiting for our food, we talked for a while about my work, her work, where to take her car to get it looked at, the repair records of BMWs vs. Audis, tricks and tactics of California driving, and how car dealers are very potentially the sleaziest people on earth next to stereo salesman. Dinner came, then; the waitress brought me a piece of salmon covered in a pale yellow cream sauce with some pungent herbs and other ingredients that I could not identify (nothing that you get at Spago's is simple, they regard an ungarnished base as not worthy of the Spago name), while Gwen had a thick slice of beef liberally covered by a dark thick gravy and blanketed with garlic mashed potatoes. We tasted our dishes, tasted each other's dishes, and ate in leisurely, unhurried fashion.
After a while we discussed the possibility of dessert with the waitress, but we were both too full to take advantage of the opportunities. Gwen had about half of her entree left, so she asked the waitress to package it up to take home, so the waitress eventually came back proudly bearing a pristine white bag that she presented to Gwen. We dodged prospective diners, walked out into the cold night air, and navigated back to my car.
I drove Gwen back to her place, parked the car illegally, grabbed her food from the back seat, and walked her back to her apartment. She reached her door and turned around.
She looked at me. "Thanks very much, I had a nice time," she said.
"So did I," I replied. "It's been a while." I leaned over to kiss her, but she was distracted by something down the hallway at the last moment, so I kissed her on the cheek, and she pulled back after that. It was a little strange, but she had been a little standoffish all night.
"I'd ask you in," she said, "but I have to get up early tomorrow."
"Okay," I said. "I understand. I'll call you tomorrow, then?"
"You do that," she said.
"Are
you sure you're okay?" I suddenly asked.
"You've been quiet all night." For that matter, now that I thought about dinner, I realized that
she had been very reserved, even for her.
"I'm okay," she said. "I'm just tired, and need a little rest, I think. I'll talk with you tomorrow."
"Count on it." I turned around and walked back to my car.
I got all the way to the car when I realized that I still had her food in my hands. Sighing, I turned around, went back to her apartment, and knocked quietly on the door.
"One sec," she said, and she opened the door, a huge grin on her face. She held up one finger for silence while she spoke into the phone, "hold on a second, okay?" She looked at the phone, pressed a button, and then turned back to me.
"What's up?" she asked me.
I held up the bag.
"Oh, thanks," she said, as she took the bag from me. "That's nice of you. I'm going to hit the sack pretty soon. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Absolutely," I answered. I half-waved to her as I turned around and went back to my car.
I was
in the car, driving along the dark roads as I went back to my house, and I
started thinking about the night, and sometimes it's the little things that
cause me to wonder: why did she have to
hit mute on the phone?
Cupertino,
California
September 26th
"Hey, babe."
"Hey yourself."
"Listen, what's your schedule like tonight? When do you want to try to get together?"
"Oh, yeah." Brief pause. "You know, I think I'll have to take a rain check. I just learned that there's a friend in town that I haven't seen in a long time."
"Oh."
"I hope you're okay with that. They're only going to be in town for the day, and I'd hate to miss this chance."
"No, that's fine. You're going to see them tomorrow?"
Pause. "Sorry, I was distracted. Say that again?"
"I said, are you going to see your friend tomorrow?"
"Yes. It's a little uncertain, but some time tomorrow."
"Okay, I understand. There are errands that I have to take care of anyways. Why don't you give me a call tomorrow night, or something, and we'll hook up on Sunday?"
"Sounds good. I'll talk with you later."
"Bye."
"Bye."
Cupertino,
California
September 27th
10:00am
"Hi, Gwen. Good morning, hopefully you're up and about by now. Give me a call and let me know what your schedule is for the day, I'd love to see you tonight."
2:30pm
"Hi, Peter, this is Gwen. I am so tired, my friend and I were out until two in the morning. What's up with your cell? It doesn't seem to work. I'm going to hit the gym, I'll give you a call in a while."
9:00pm
"Hey, Gwen again. My friend's flight was canceled, so I'm going to go sit with them at the airport and see if they can catch another flight. My cell battery doesn't charge, I don't know what's up with that, so if I don't get back until late I'll just talk to you tomorrow, okay?"