R Is for Ricochet

be considering what I'd said. "You've been married once?"
    I held up two fingers. "Both ended in divorce."
    "What's the story on those guys?"
    "The first was a cop."
    "Mickey Magruder. I heard about him. You leave him or did he leave you?"
    "I was the one who pulled out. I misjudged him. I left because I thought he was guilty of something. Turns out, he wasn't. I still feel badly about that."
    "Because why?"
    "I didn't have a chance to tell him I was sorry before he died. I'd have liked to clear that. Husband number two was a musician, a pianist, very talented. Also, chronically unfaithful and a pathological liar with the face of an angel. It was a blow when he left. I was twenty-four years old and probably should have seen it coming. Later I found out he'd always been more interested in other men than he was in me."
    "So how come I don't see you around town with other guys? Have you given up on men?"
    I nearly made a smart remark, but I caught myself in time. Instead, I opened my mouth and said, "I've been waiting for you, Cheney. I thought you knew that."
    He looked at me, waiting to see if I was making light of him. I returned his gaze, waiting to see what he'd do with the information. I couldn't imagine what would happen next. There were so many wrong moves, so many dumb things that might come out of his mouth. I was thinking,
Don't mess this up… please, please don't ruin it… whatever it is…
    Here are two things I hate to have men do:
    (1) Tell me I'm beautiful, which is bullshit manipulation and has nothing to do with me.
    (2) Look into my eyes and talk about my "trust" issues because they know I've been "hurt."
    Here's what Cheney did: He put his arm up on the seat back and picked up a strand of hair from the top of my head. He studied it with care, his expression serious. In the split second before he spoke, I heard a muffled sound, like gas jets igniting when a match is struck. Warmth fanned up along my spine and softened all the tension in my neck. He said, "I'll give you a proper haircut. Did you know I cut hair?"
    I found myself staring at his mouth. "No. I didn't know that. What else do you do?"
    He smiled. "Dance. Do you dance?"
    "Not very well."
    "That's all right. I can teach you. You'll improve."
    "I'd like that. What else?"
    "I work out. I box some and lift weights."
    "Do you cook?"
    "No, do you?"
    "Peanut butter and pickle sandwiches."
    "Sandwiches don't count, except for grilled cheese."
    I said, "Any other talents I should know about?"
    He ran the back of his hand down along my cheek. "I'm an especially good speller. Fifth grade, I came in second in the school spelling bee."
    I could feel a hum forming in my throat, the same strange mechanism that causes cats to purr. "What'd you screw up on?"
    "'Eleemosynary.' It means 'of or for charity or alms.' Should be e-1-e-e-m-o-s-y-n-a-r-y. I left out the third e."
    "But you haven't screwed up since. So you learned."
    "Yes, I did. What about you? Any skills you want to talk about up-front?"
    "I know how to read upside down. I interview some guy and he has a document on his desk? I can read every word while I'm chatting away with him."
    "Excellent. What else?"
    "You know that party game we played in elementary school? The mom brings out a tray, twenty-five objects covered with a towel? She lifts the towel and the kids study the items for thirty seconds before she covers them again. I can recite 'em back without missing one, except sometimes the Q-tips. I tend to mess up on those."
    "I'm not good at party games."
    "Neither am I, except for that. I've won all kinds of prizes. Bubbles in a jar and paddles with the ball attached that goes bang-bang-bang."
    The waiter brought our drinks. The connection between us faded, but the moment the waiter left, I could feel it start up again. He put his hand on my neck. I leaned toward him, tilting my head until my lips were close to his ear. "We're going to get in a lot of trouble, aren't we?"
    "More than you know," he murmured in response. "Know why I brought you here?"
    "Not a clue," I said.
    "The macaroni and cheese."
    "You're going to mother me?"
    "Seduce."
    "You're doing well so far."
    "You ain't seen nuttin' yet," he said, and smiled. He kissed me then, but only once and not for long.
    When I could speak again, I said, "You're a man of great restraint."
    "And self-control. I probably should have mentioned that much earlier."
    "I like surprises. Good ones," I said.
    "That's all you get with me."
    The waiter