600 Hours of Edward

things from her perspective.
    By the time I finish reading the article, however, I wonder why any woman would ever want to go on an Internet date. The person who wrote this article does not seem to like dating or to expect much from it. She says that men don’t want to date older women and that the only way a man will show genuine interest in someone is by stalking her, which alarms me, because I don’t want to stalk anybody.
    Finally, the writer suggests buying the book
He’s Just Not That Into You
, by Greg Behrendt. She says that it will reveal everything about men and what they think.
    Regardless of what happens tonight, I must read this book. I would be very interested to know my feelings about dating women.
    I immediately go to Amazon.com and order it.
    I think I now know more about Internet dating than I want to know. I hope Joy hasn’t seen this article. Why would she come?
    – • –
    It is very easy to get from the house on Clark Avenue to the wine bar downtown. After backing out of the driveway, I head east on Clark down to Sixth Avenue W., make a right turn, then an immediate right on Yellowstone Avenue, then a right on Seventh Street W., pass by Clark Avenue, and then make a right on Lewis Avenue.
    I have driven in a circle, but I also have taken all right turns.
    Lewis rides down through the tree-lined neighborhoods of central Billings, crosses Division Street and becomes Fourth Avenue N. downtown. At the corner of Fourth and Broadway,I can see the big
Billings Herald-Gleaner
building, where people are inside compiling the things I’ll need tomorrow, including my weather data and Dear Abby.
    I turn right on Broadway, cross over Third and Second Avenues, and pull into a diagonal parking spot across from the wine bar.
    As I shut off the ignition, the digital clock in my Toyota Camry flips over to 7:00 p.m.
    – • –
    Bin 119 is impressive, and busy.
    Joy does not seem to be here yet.
    I find an open table at the far end of the place, and I sit down facing the door, so I can see her when she comes in.
    It’s a very nice table—very modern, with leather-bound seats. I like it. The soft lighting and dark-wood decor remind me of Dr. Buckley’s office, and I like that, too.
    I look at my watch. It’s 7:03.
    I may have to prepare myself for the possibility that Joy is not as punctual as I am. If I work hard at it, I’m sure I can do this. Dr. Buckley says that all people have things they are good at and not so good at and that if I like someone, I should appreciate his or her good points and forgive the bad. This makes sense to me. Dr. Buckley is a very logical woman.
    At 7:05, a server comes by and asks if I would like a menu or to order a drink. I tell her that I’m expecting someone and will wait, thank you.
    Five minutes isn’t too late, right? That can be the difference between a well-set clock and a haphazardly set one. While I don’t understand why anyone would want a clock that doesn’t tell exactly the correct time, I know that some peopledon’t give such things a lot of thought. Maybe Joy is one of those people.
    I read somewhere that giving someone fifteen minutes of leeway on an appointment is the polite thing to do, and so I resolve that I will give Joy until 7:15 before I start to become annoyed at her.
    On the other hand, I remember that when Jimmy Johnson was the coach of the Dallas Cowboys, he considered a player late to a team meeting if that player wasn’t in the room five minutes early, and he would dock the player’s pay. Jimmy Johnson would not tolerate someone’s being fifteen minutes late, and he won two Super Bowls. Clearly, there is politeness, and then there is what works.
    At 7:11, the server asks again if I want something to drink. I decline. Also, I am annoyed. I can’t help it.
    At 7:13, I see Joy at the door. She looks just like her picture—striking. She’s tall, too, maybe close to six feet tall. I like that. She is wearing a white dress with big brown-and-blue swirlies—paisleys, I think they are called—that comes down to about the middle of her calves. She looks very nice.
    I start to raise my hand to flag her down, but she sees me first and smiles.
    She’s walking back here toward the table.
    Holy shit!
    “Edward, I’m so happy to meet you,” she says, offering a handshake as she sits down.
    I accept and try to remember to shake firmly.
    “Have you been waiting long?”
    I look down at my watch: 7:13:57…7:13:58…7:13:59…
    “Fourteen