I pull over to the side of the road and check my cell to see if Trudy’s called.
She hasn’t.
I call her, but get no answer.
While I’ve got the phone out, I pull up a photo of Zander Evans, and fire up the GPS to see how long it might take to drive to Paducah.
Then I view another photo of Zander Evans, and think, Why not?
30
Zander Evans is the youngest and prettiest of the three dating site women, and the most determined to have me visit. She promised me “a hell of a good time” if I ever came to town, and punctuated it with a big “Woohoo!” I think women who write “Woohoo!” are more likely to give oral, don’t you? I mean, you can’t even say the word without making a circle with your mouth.
Zander said we’d hit the riverbank, listen to music, drink wine, make out, “and see what develops.” Normally I’d be all over that, but I wanted to visit Faith first, since she lived the furthest away. Then hit Paducah, and finish up in Logan with Renee Williams, whom I consider to be a sure thing.
Fifteen minutes of driving gets me to a place where I have to make a decision. Straight ahead takes me to Starbucks.
Left leads to Paducah.
Do I literally stay on the straight and narrow and hope for a future with Trudy? Or veer left for a river romp with Zander?
I turn left.
Then feel guilty enough to pull over and call her again. But again, there’s no answer. Now I wonder if she’s okay, so I call the hospital and use my best doctor voice to confer with one of the nurses, who tells me Trudy’s fine, she’s just groggy from the pain meds. So I’m thinking I could drive two hours and sit in Trudy’s room all afternoon and she might not even know it, or I can hop over to Paducah to see if Zander Evans still wants to take me to the riverbank.
Faith looked nothing like her photos. But I know for a fact that Zander does, because we Skyped.
She even did a little dance for me.
Thinking about that dance makes me want to speed up. But I fight the urge. It’s only forty miles to Paducah, and I’d rather not have to deal with any more small-town cops, or hear about their sisters.
All three dating-site women are on my speed dial, so I press Zander’s name, and she answers on the first ring.
“Two-one-two area code!” she says. “It’s really you! Hi, Dr. Box!”
“Call me Gideon.”
“Okay, Gideon! What’s up?”
“If you still want to see me, I’m not far from Paducah.”
“No shit? How close are you?”
“Forty minutes.”
“Wow! Okay, I won’t complain about the short notice, but gosh, this is cutting it close! Okay, look, I’m going to hang up and get myself in order. You should’ve called sooner! Hey, Doc? I mean, Gideon?”
“Yes?”
“Do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“When you get to my exit, turn left. After a mile you’ll see a junk yard on the left side of the road. Pull into the entrance and give me a call. I’ll give you directions from there.”
“You want me to park in a junk yard? Is it safe?”
She laughs. “This isn’t New York, Gideon! The junk yard’s run by a sweet little old couple in their eighties. But you don’t have to turn in, just pull in the entrance and call me.”
“Okay.”
“I better hang up now. But Gideon?”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t wait to see you!”
I don’t get that reaction very often. As you might imagine.
“Really?” I say.
“Really. I’m going to show you a great time today!”
“I’m looking forward to it!”
“You won’t be sorry. I’m in a great mood!”
“Thanks, Zander.”
“A great mood, Gideon! See you soon!”
“You got it,” I say, quite pleased to have finally made a good decision when it comes to a female.
I know what you’re thinking.
Something bad’s going to happen at the junk yard.
How did you get to be so jaded?
“I’m not cleanin’ this mess up by myself,” she says.
31
Nothing bad happens at the junk yard. In fact, something great happens.
Zander’s standing there, waiting for me!
Looking…amazing!
Not in Trudy’s league, mind you, but damn cute.
Nice, tight body, decent face, great hair.
She climbs in the front seat.
“Nice watch,” she says.
“Thanks. It’s a Piaget Altiplano.”
“And it cost more than my house, didn’t it!”
She’s carrying an enormous handbag that appears to be filled with clothes.
“Are we spending the night somewhere?” I ask.
“You never know!” she says, giving me a wink. Then says, “Can I kiss you real quick?”
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“Because I want to!”
“Seriously? That’s great! I just meant, what made you ask that?”
“You know how first dates are. As a guy, you probably spend half the time wondering, ‘Should I kiss her? If so, when? After a couple drinks? After dinner? At the end of the date? In the car? At her doorstep?’ It’s a pain. You might not even get around to kissing me at all because you’re not sure if the moment or the mood’s right.”
She’s right. I never know when to try to kiss someone on the first date. From the slaps alone it’s obvious I guess incorrectly most of the time.
Zander says, “I want to get that part over with, so we can concentrate on the fun.”
“Works for me,” I say.
We kiss right there on the gravel entrance to the local junk yard.
It’s an okay kiss. The kind I ’m used to.
The fake kind.
Again, Zander’s not in Trudy’s league. But how many women are?
And how much can I really expect from a first kiss before the first date?
I’m quite pleased to be kissed at all at this point, and the fact she wanted to start in with a kiss gives me high hopes for the date.
“Where’s your car?” I say, looking around.
“I caught a ride,” she says.
“Why?”
She looks down.
Says nothing.
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“You’re a rich doctor from New York City. You live in a penthouse. You have a doorman!”
“So?”
“There aren’t any penthouses in Paducah.”
“Of course not.”
“No doormen.”
“So?”
“The truth is, I was ashamed to let you see where I live.”
“Don’t be silly!”
“I’m sorry, Gideon. I just didn’t want you to judge me based on that.”
“I would never do that.”
“Well, maybe later, then.”
“I look forward to it.”
She removes two jugs of wine from her handbag.
“This isn’t what you’re used to, but it’ll loosen me up.”
“Sounds perfect!”
She says, “You’re probably wondering why I covered the wine with clothes.”
“I hadn’t thought about it, actually. But since you brought it up, tell me.”
“McCracken County’s dry.”
“What’s that mean?”
“No alcohol. Paducah’s a wet city in a dry county.”
“So alcohol is allowed?”
“In the city. But if we venture past the city limits we’ll need to keep it hid.”
“That’s crazy.”
“That’s Kentucky,” she says. “New York’s different, I bet.”
“Very. In lots of ways. But there’s something charming about being in small town Kentucky.”
“You are so full of shit!” she says, laughing.
I smile.
She says, “So, you still want to go to the riverbank, get to know each other better?”
“I’d love to.”
“Me too. Can we make a quick stop along the way?”
“Of course.”
I know what you’re thinking.
Something bad’s going to happen when we stop. That is what you’re thinking, right?