A cellophane wrapper scuds across the sidewalk as I check my watch for the fifth time. Sighing, I shove my hands into my pockets and look down the street. This is one of those times when I really shouldn’t have been early.

As I wait, a taxi pulls up, delivering two laughing women to the curb. They walk up to the entrance, arms around each other, and one of them glances at me. I meet her eyes and project an ease I don’t feel; it’s an automatic reaction, born of long habit. She turns to her partner, says something, and they both laugh just before vanishing inside the door.

I roll my eyes. God, what were they, fifteen? Was I ever that young? What the hell am I doing here?

It was Lori’s idea, of course. She’d just finished reading a book where the protagonists went to a lesbian bar and pretended they didn’t know each other, and she was completely smitten with the idea.

“Come on, Luce. It’ll be fun!”

“Oh sure, big fun. Going to a bar where we can’t hear each other shouting over the techno music, and every kid there will be half our age.”

“We were kids once too, you know.”

“I can’t remember that far back.”

“And not all the bars play techno. Barbara just told me about this new place that’s opened up—they play jazz and blues, and she says it’s a really nice, clean space.”

Damn, she hit me where it counts. She knows how much I love jazz.

“Live music?” I tried to maintain my air of disinterest, but if the music was live…

“No.” Lori looked regretful, then brightened. “But the whole idea is to have a place where women can meet and relax and just talk. It’s hard to talk over live music.”

Well, yeah, but…

“And you’ve been going on about how this town needed a good, quality, quiet bar.”

“Lori, why do you want to do this?”

There was a long pause. This is so typical of us; I cut to the chase and Lori has to be dragged there.

“Because,” she said at last, “I think we could use a little spice in our relationship.”

Spice? “I thought we were pretty well-seasoned,” I joked.

She didn’t smile, and that scared me. “We are. We’re rock solid, Luce. But sometimes I think we’re a little too solid. Sometimes I miss…” She trailed off, and I waited. I do that a lot with Lori.

Eventually she found the words. “Sometimes I miss you. The way you used to be, before work started following you home.”

“Work follows you home, too,” I pointed out. “That’s part of being a professional.”

“I know. And I know we’ve talked about this, and we’ve done our finances, and we know the reality of what we have to do to achieve our long-term goals.”

Was she mocking me? I’m the one who talks about long-term goals.

“But I still see you when my work is done,” she said. “I’m not sure you see me anymore.”

I was startled at the vulnerability in her eyes. This was serious. “Of course I see you,” I began, but her expression suddenly turned hard.

“What was I wearing last night?”

“What?” An obvious stall, but I needed a moment.

“You heard me. What was I wearing?”

“Uh…jeans and…” I was caught. Shit.

“And? Which top?”

I couldn’t answer.

She nodded. “I think you just lost that round, counselor.”

“Come on, Lori—I’ve had just a little bit on my mind lately! You know how important this case is; you told me just last month you were proud of me for getting it.”

“I am proud of you! Can you say the same for me?”

Jesus Christ, how did we get here? This all started over a book, for God’s sake! I took a deep breath and made sure my voice was calm.

“I’ve always been proud of you.”

That hard expression was still there. “Really? How can you be proud of something you don’t see?” She held up her hand, stopping me before I could go off. I closed my mouth and waited.

“I don’t want to argue,” she said. “Whenever we do, you talk me around in circles until everything seems to make sense, and it’s not until later that I think of six things I should have said to you. I’m tired of losing arguments.”

You’re not losing this one, I thought, but kept my mouth shut.

She gave me a small smile. “It’s hell arguing with someone who makes her living at it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes have a valid point.”

I couldn’t stay silent. “Please tell me I have never made you feel as if you don’t have a valid point.”

“I can’t tell you that.”

I stared, and she nodded. “Your work follows you home in more ways than you realize, Luce.”

We had a long talk that night, and said some things that had apparently needed saying for some time. I think most couples acquire baggage over time, no matter how healthy their relationship. It’s part of living together. And every now and then you just have to clean house.

So we cleaned house, and went through a bottle of wine in the process, and afterwards we made love, and it felt so different to me that I knew Lori was right. This was my failure. No, she didn’t say it quite that starkly, but it became pretty obvious that night.

Which is why I’m standing here on the sidewalk outside Hawthorne’s. Because something needs fixing, and if Lori thinks that a little role-playing will help, then I’m willing. She says I don’t see her, and maybe I’ve missed some details lately, but I love her and I can’t stand the thought of her feeling like she’s not the most important thing in my life. She is. I told her that, the night we cleaned house, but every good trial lawyer knows that talk only gets you so far. It’s the visuals that really grab the jury.

I check my watch one last time. Thank god, I can go in. The waiting was killing me.

I pull open the door and step inside. Warm jazz flows over me, just loud enough to be heard clearly over the general roar of conversation. Three couples are swaying on a small dance floor in the far corner; there’s room for more, but it’s still early. The place is spacious and well-lit, and exudes a kind of class that I’ve never seen in a lesbian bar before. Damn. This is nice. It’s like a lesbian bar for adults. I smile to myself; Lori was right. She knows me so well.

But where is she?

The rules of the game, as dictated by my partner, were that we arrive separately, half an hour apart, and in completely new outfits. I’d used the excuse to buy a leather coat that had been enticing me from the store window I walk past every day at lunch. It’s a gorgeous chocolate color, and had drawn my eye precisely because it wasn’t black. Everyone and their dog wears black leather, but I wear black business suits most of the week, and on my off hours I want something different. This coat is long, supple and very classy, and was apparently cut with my body in mind. I also picked out a pair of lightweight tan dress pants, and a salmon-colored shirt that’s practically molded to my torso. The low brown boots I’ve had for awhile, but I’m assuming Lori won’t ding me for not getting new shoes.

I spot an empty stool at the bar and head for it, not wanting to draw any more attention by standing in the doorway. I’d felt quite a few eyes on me as I was looking around, but I really don’t want any kind of pick-up scene. I’m only here to pick up one very specific woman.

“Vodka tonic, please,” I tell the bartender, and she smiles at me as she goes to fill the order. I turn around on my stool, secure in my less-obvious location, and scan the room again. I don’t see anyone I know, which is a good thing. We chose Wednesday night for just that reason; if any of our friends were here, it would be impossible to pull off this scenario without our real lives breaking in.

 This time my gaze stops on a woman with her back to me, her rich brown hair gleaming in the light over her table. She’s talking with another woman I don’t recognize, and I certainly didn’t expect to see Lori already with someone—but I’m pretty sure that’s her. A moment later she throws her head back and laughs, and it’s confirmed. Nobody laughs like Lori.

I’m a little taken aback, frankly. Lori is with someone. She got here half an hour before me and she’s been picked up. In my imaginings of this night, I never thought I’d have to compete!

“Here you go.”

I turn to take my drink from the bartender. “Thank you.”

“Can I get you anything else? We’ve got a killer menu.” She smiles at me, the sort of smile that says she’d be more than willing to linger and chat. My ego, which has been just a little bruised by seeing Lori with another woman, purrs at the attention.

“No thanks. Maybe later, though.” I sip my drink as she nods and starts to withdraw.

“Okay. If you need anything, just let me know.”

I wonder how much is included in ‘anything.’ Not that it matters.

“How long has this place been open?” I ask.

She settles in again. “Four months. We’re doing really well.”

The tone of voice tells me she’s not just tending bar. “Are you the owner?”

“Part owner. There are three of us, actually. Pam does the business end of things, Steph’s in charge of the kitchen, and the bar is my territory. I’m Rebecca, by the way.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rebecca. I’m Lucy, but most people call me Luce.” We shake hands. “You’ve all done a fabulous job. This is exactly the kind of place we’ve needed for…well, for as long as I’ve lived here. I’m not surprised you’re doing well.”

“Thank you. We nearly killed ourselves getting ready for opening, and I had a few sleepless nights worrying, but so far it’s worked out just great.” She eyes me. “So tell me, which people don’t call you Luce?”

“The ones I don’t like.” I wink and take a sip of my vodka tonic, and her expression tells me that I could pursue this if I wanted to. Which instantly makes me feel guilty.

“How good is your memory?” I ask her.

“Pretty good.”

I nod, then point discreetly toward Lori. “Do you remember what she ordered?”

There’s a faint hint of disappointment on her face, but Rebecca is a professional. “Yes, I do, mostly because it was the first lemon drop martini I’ve made so far tonight.”

Oh, Lori. The memory makes me smile. Lemon drop martinis—it’s what she was drinking the night we met. Except that wasn’t at a high class bar, it was at a Labor Day party given by my friend Barbara, who told me about this woman who was supposedly just perfect for me. And she was right, too.

“Will you make a second, please, and take it over with my compliments?”

“Sure thing.” Rebecca looks at Lori’s table, then me. “Just a quick heads up, though. She came in alone.”

I get the message. Rebecca knows the woman with Lori isn’t a friend, and is tactfully letting me know that I might be horning in.

“That’s all right,” I say. “She won’t be leaving alone.”

With an almost imperceptible head shake, Rebecca pushes off the bar and busies herself making the drink. I smile, knowing her opinion of me just took a nosedive. For a moment I’m tempted to tell her the truth.

I watch as Rebecca delivers the drink and points toward me. Lori turns, and I get my first clear look at her. Jesus Christ, I can see her cleavage from here! She never wears anything cut that low; no wonder she’s already been picked up.

Lori raises her drink and smiles at me, and I raise mine in acknowledgment. But that’s the end of it; she turns back to her companion, who has watched this exchange with a noticeable frown, and says something that wipes the frown off the woman’s face.

I’m a little nonplussed by this, and spend a few minutes trying to figure out my next move. Before I can come to any kind of conclusion, there’s a stir of the air around me and a woman slides between my stool and the one next to me. It’s a tight fit.

“Glenlivet, please,” she calls to Rebecca, then turns to me and smiles. “Hi, how are you?”

Crowded, I think, but I smile back and tell her I’m fine, thank you.

“I haven’t seen you here before.”

“I only just heard about it recently,” I say. “But I wish I’d known about it earlier. It’s a great place.”

“Isn’t it? I think they’re going to cash in; there’s an entire demographic of lesbians who gave up on the bar scene ten or twenty years ago. It’s an untapped resource.” She points toward a table in the far corner. “See that couple over there? Partners for over thirty years. Last time they were inside a bar, the jukebox was playing the latest Elvis.”

I can’t help myself; I laugh. “I never did like Elvis. But Peggy Lee sure made my heart beat faster.”

“Oh, Peggy Lee made everyone’s heart beat faster. Thank you, Rebecca,” she adds as she accepts her drink. Turning to me, she says,  “Would you like to come back to my table? I’m here with friends, and they all loved Peggy Lee too.”

I glance at Lori, who is to all appearances quite focused on the woman opposite her. Well, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, I suppose.

“Thank you, I’d like that,” I say. The woman nods and slides out, giving me room to get off my stool.

“I’m Noelle,” she says. “No Christmas jokes, please. It’s my only rule.”

“Pleased to meet you, Noelle.” We shake hands. “I’m Luce, and my only rule is no rhymes.”

“Like Spruce Luce?” I narrow my eyes, and she laughs. “Got it.”

She leads the way to her table, which turns out to be well within sight range of Lori, so I’m happy with the logistics.

“Hey, ladies, this is Luce,” she announces. A chorus of “Hi, Luce!” rises from the three seated women, all of whom seem to be in their forties. My vision of the crowd of youngsters has definitely not applied to this place; about two-thirds of the patrons seem to be my age or older.

I lift a hand in greeting, and take the empty chair while Noelle introduces her friends. I can already tell that Terri and Juana are a couple before Noelle mentions it; the physical ease they show with each other only comes from long association. Martha leers at me as she’s introduced, and Noelle smacks her on the arm.

“Knock it off, Martha.” Turning to me, Noelle apologizes for her friend. “Martha still hasn’t learned manners, but we’re working on it.”

“Hey!” Martha protests. “It’s not bad manners to show a little friendliness.”

“Don’t worry, Noelle,” I say. “I grew up in San Francisco. I know all about ‘friendliness.’ ”

This starts a conversation centering around San Francisco and how much things have changed over the last two decades, though I can’t speak to the more recent changes. I left seven years ago, in search of a slower pace of life and property values that Lori and I could actually afford.

The conversation flows easily as I keep an eye on Lori’s table. I still haven’t figured out what to do about my competition. All the old tricks I used to use involved bluster and intimidation and a swagger that came naturally, but that was a lifetime ago. That was before Lori. I’ve channeled that aggression into the courtroom now, and I’m far more aware of real world consequences of my actions.

So I talk, and I listen, and I watch, and eventually my patience pays off when Lori’s “date” gets up and heads for the restrooms.

“Excuse me, ladies,” I say as I stand. “There’s someone I need to talk to.”

“By any chance is it that woman you’ve been eyeballing since you got here?” asks Martha.

“No,” I say. “But you’re close.”

I walk across the room and right past Lori’s table without even giving her a glance. There’s a guilty pleasure in knowing I’ve almost certainly surprised her; I’m sure she expected me to sit down. But first I need to clear the field.

I lean against the bathroom counter, arms crossed over my chest, and when the woman comes out of her stall she gives me a look of great displeasure.

“Nice move, buying a drink for a woman who already has someone with her,” she says, soaping up her hands. “Where’d you learn that one?”

“I’m not here to discuss dating strategies,” I say. “I’m here to ask you not to go back to her table.”

She stands up straight. “You must be kidding me.”

I shake my head.

“Well, you’ve got nerve,” she says, bending over again to rinse. I watch as she stomps to the paper towel dispenser, yanks out two and dries off with a furious economy of motion. Tossing the towels in the trash, she fixes me with a glare. “I can’t decide if you’ve got the biggest balls I’ve ever seen on a woman, or if you’re just a bitch. Has that ever actually worked for you?”

“I’ve never tried it before,” I say.

“So why the fuck are you trying it now?”

“Because she’s my wife.”

She stares, all of her attitude deflating instantly. “Your wife?”

I nod. “Thirteen years this summer.”

“But…” She closes her mouth, then tries again. “What the hell are you two doing?”

“Role playing.” Suddenly I have an urge to laugh at just how ridiculous that sounds. “Lori wanted to try something different. She wanted me to see her as if we’d just met. So we came separately, and I’m supposed to go over there and pick her up, but I didn’t know how to get you out of the way without making things complicated.”

The woman shakes her head. “Okay, this is a bit weird. No, this is a lot weird.” A new expression comes over her face. “If she’s waiting for you, why did she let me come on to her?”

The first answer that comes to mind is, because she had half an hour to kill and you were handy, and she knew it would throw me for a loop to see her with someone else. And even though that’s the truth, I can’t say it because I can see the hurt in this woman’s eyes, and suddenly I have a real empathy for her. So I tell her a different part of the truth.

“Probably because whatever you said to her in the beginning made her think you were worth getting to know. She wouldn’t have let you get past ‘hello’ otherwise. Ergo, you must be worth getting to know.” I hold out my hand. “My name is Luce McKenzie. And I’d like to apologize if this has caused you any trouble.”

She hesitates, then takes my hand. “Elizabeth Johnston. And I can’t say I’m particularly happy to give up what was looking like a really good date. But I don’t do married women.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” I say. “Just for the record, you have excellent taste.”

“I know,” she says, and we smile at each other.

“So tell me, did you really come on to her?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

“Well…no. Actually, when I asked if I could buy her a drink, she said yes, but only if I understood that she wasn’t there to be picked up. I figured that was a negotiable condition, but I hadn’t gotten around to the negotiation yet.”

“Obviously you’re in sales,” I comment, and she laughs.

“Close. I’m in marketing.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Mostly in salary. Marketing pays more. I should know; I used to be in sales.”

“Sales can pay plenty if you own the company.”

“Do you?”

“Own my own company? Well…in a way. I guess you could say I share it.”

She looks me over. “You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?”

“I’m actually afraid to ask how you figured that out.”

“That’s why I get paid the big salary in marketing.” She winks, and I decide that I really like this woman. “Besides,” she continues, “My best friend is a lawyer, and you’re the only person besides her that I’ve ever heard use the word ‘ergo’ in a sentence.”

I have to replay the conversation in my head before I realize that she’s right, I did say that. “Well, we write it a lot,” I say by way of excuse. “I guess the legalese creeps into our vocabularies.”

She nods. “Sometimes it’s hard to separate yourself from work, isn’t it?”

The question startles me, and for a moment I wonder what Lori was telling her. Then I realize she’s simply speaking as a professional with the same problem, and I nod in agreement. “Yes, it is. But I’m working on it.”

I can see in her eyes that she’s putting it together, which means it’s time to end this conversation. “Well,” I say, “I think we’d better get out there before Lori starts worrying that one of us has killed the other.”

She looks hesitant. “Yeah, but I’m not keen on walking back out with you. What am I supposed to say to her?”

I grin broadly. “You don’t have to say anything at all.”

A few moments later I thoroughly enjoy the startled look on Lori’s face as Elizabeth and I emerge from the back hallway, arm in arm. I know Elizabeth is enjoying it too; after all, she’s getting a little of her own back. I drop Lori a smile as we stroll past her table without pausing, and soon I’m introducing Elizabeth to Noelle, Terri, Juana and Martha. They hear the story with obvious astonishment followed by howls of laughter, and Elizabeth is welcomed into their midst with great humor.

“Thanks, everyone,” I say as I turn to leave.

Elizabeth puts a hand on my arm. “Good luck on your date.”

I stop at the bar for two glasses of water, then walk back to Lori’s table. Setting the glasses down, I slip into a chair and smile at her. “Hi,” I say. “Elizabeth asked me to say thank you for the great conversation. She really enjoyed meeting you, but she had to go take care of some friends. So she’s sent me as a substitute. I hope you don’t mind.”

Lori eyes me, and I can read her thoughts as plainly as if they were scripted. She knows I’m lying through my teeth and she’s dying to know what went on in that bathroom, but she can’t think of a way to ask without going out of character.

“Well,” she says at last, “it was nice of her to send a substitute. But really, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m no babysitter. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I thought you needed company. I’m here because I wanted your company. If you don’t want mine, though, I’ll leave. No hard feelings.”

She gives me a knowing smile. Round one to me; there’s no way she can turn me away. Not without putting an abrupt end to our role-playing.

“And why exactly do you want my company?” she asks. “You don’t even know me.”

“No, I don’t. But I’d like to. I know it sounds like a total pick-up line, but the truth is that from the moment I saw you, I wanted to be the one sitting here.”

The nice thing about using a pick-up line on one’s wife is, she actually believes you.

“Well,” she says, reaching out for her water, “you’re sitting here now. And you’ve made a great start, because I was dying of thirst. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I sit back with my own water. “Do you live around here, or are you just visiting?”

“I live here. Moved up seven years ago from San Francisco.”

I decide it would be too easy to say I’m from there too. “San Francisco, really? I’ve only been there a few times, and it was always business. It seemed like a great place to live, though. Why did you leave?”

“Because it was a great place to live, but only for the people who could afford it.”

“Ah.” I nod. “That’s what happened to my home town, too.”

Lori smiles; she can’t wait to hear what I’m going to come up with. “Where are you from?”

“Aspen,” I say, and she has a hard time keeping the grin off her face. Aspen is where we went after our commitment ceremony. We thought we’d be skiing, but in reality we had a much closer acquaintance with our room and that fantastic fireplace in the lodge than we ever did with the slopes.

“Oh, Aspen is beautiful,” she says. “I was there once. It must have been hard to leave.”

“It was. I have some really wonderful memories of that place. But I couldn’t afford to stay, and there were much better opportunities here.”

I can see in her eyes that she appreciates the double meaning. “What sort of opportunities were you looking for?” she asks.

“I’m a trial lawyer. But Aspen’s a small town at heart, and if you’re not related to someone or have a real foot in the door, it’s hard to break into a partnership. I didn’t want to spend my life being an associate.”

“Something tells me you’re not an associate now.”

“No, I made junior partner a few years ago. And a funny thing happened.”

“What’s that?”

“I thought making partner would mean fewer hours at work and more time at home. But the only thing that changed was that I brought even more work home. I had the title and the salary and I was right on schedule for my life the way I’d had it planned out, but while I was moving straight ahead, someone got left behind.”

“Someone special?”

“Someone very special. We’d made our plans together, but now that we were achieving them, she began to feel that I wasn’t…” I fumble a bit, because this is going right to the bone. “That I wasn’t seeing her anymore,” I finish. “So one day she asked me to describe what she’d been wearing the night before. And I couldn’t.”

We stare at each other. “That must have been hard for her,” says Lori. “And for you, too.”

“It was.” I don’t know what makes me do it, but I jump off the storyline. “That was the day she left.”

Lori is riveted. “You mean you broke up?”

I nod. “She said that since I didn’t see her while she was there, it shouldn’t be too different for me if she wasn’t there. So she left. And let me tell you, I noticed the difference. I noticed it every damn minute I was in that empty house.”

“So what happened? Did she come back?”

“No, she never did. I don’t even know where she is anymore; it’s like she dropped off the face of the earth. I wish I could see her just one more time, because there are some things I never got to say.”

Lori rests her forearms on the table and leans forward. “If she were here right now, what would you tell her?”

I lean forward as well, and now I’m close enough to catch her fragrance. I recognize it instantly; she doesn’t wear it often, but when she does I’m a goner. I love that scent.

“I’d tell her that I got lost,” I say. “I got so caught up in pursuing our goals that I forgot the whole point of setting those goals. I forgot that when it all comes down to it, it’s about us, and if there’s no us, then the goals have no meaning. I’d tell her she has always been the most important thing in my life, and the fact that she could ever doubt that just tears me apart.”

There’s a long pause while we look at each other, and it takes me several seconds to realize that I slipped a bit out of character. If a first date said anything like that to me, I’d run a mile. I’m supposed to be picking Lori up, not talking about the great lost love of my life.

But Lori has slipped as well, because the look she’s giving me is far too tender and intimate to be coming from a stranger.

“That’s a big lesson,” she says softly. “I think a lot of people don’t figure that one out until it’s too late. I did the same thing to my partner.”

Okay, I’m interested. Where’s she going with this?

“The funny thing is,” she continues, “I laid all the blame at her feet. She was working her ass off for us, but she wasn’t available for me, and I felt invisible. So I withdrew and made myself less available to her, and it just set up a self-perpetuating downward spiral. I didn’t even realize it until I was complaining to my friend about how my partner never seemed to notice me anymore. I said I couldn’t even remember the last time she’d told me I was beautiful. And my friend asked me when it was that I had last told my partner that she was beautiful.”

I hold my breath, stunned. When was the last time Lori told me that? She often says she loves me, but…no, she hasn’t said I’m beautiful in a long time. Suddenly my eyes are stinging; I don’t think I knew how much that hurt until this very second. Or maybe I just never let myself realize it.

“And I couldn’t answer,” says Lori, her gaze intent on mine. “I felt so ashamed. It takes two to make a partnership, and it usually takes two to break it. I was too busy laying blame to notice that I was just as much at fault.”

“So what happened?” Getting the words out takes a bit of effort.

“The same thing that happened to you. She left before I had time to fix it.”

I reach out for her hand. “She was a fool.”

“No, she wasn’t.” Lori’s eyes are shining. “She was a brilliant, warm, caring and beautiful woman. And somewhere along the line, I stopped giving her what she needed and told her it was her fault.”

The tears in her eyes are making my throat tight. “Maybe this was all for the best,” I manage.

“How so?”

“Because now our eyes are open. Maybe sometimes you have to fail before you know how to succeed. We both made mistakes that cost us, but we both know exactly what we did wrong. So we’re a lot less likely to do it again, don’t you think?”

She sniffs and smiles at me. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

In the pause that follows, I realize what’s playing on the sound system. “Hey, they’re playing Gato Barbieri!”

Lori looks toward the ceiling. “Oh, yeah. This is from his Shadow of the Cat album.” She’d know; she gave me that album for my birthday last year.

“You’re a fan?”

“My partner was. She turned me onto it.”

“If you like Gato Barbieri, then you’re my dream woman.” I stand up, keeping my hold on her hand. “Will you dance with me?”

Now her smile is bright. “I’d love to.”

We move onto the dance floor and settle into a familiar rhythm. There’s no way for us to pretend physical distance; our bodies just can’t do it. Lori presses her nose into my neck. “You smell wonderful,” she says.

“So do you.” I squeeze her, enjoying her warmth and the feeling of her body against mine. God, we haven’t danced in forever. But our bodies haven’t forgotten.

“Can I tell you something?” I ask.

Lori lifts her head. “Sure.”

I look straight into her eyes. “If you asked me tomorrow what you’re wearing right now, I could tell you every detail. I’d say you were wearing the most devastating dress I’ve ever seen, in a shade of blue that matches your eyes perfectly. I’d say I spent most of the evening trying to keep my eyes on your face, and not always succeeding, because this dress is designed to make conversation difficult. And I’d say that I was proud to be the one holding you.”

“Thank you,” she says, looking both pleased and a bit bashful. “Can I tell you something in return?”

“Please do.”

The slightly shy look is replaced with one of focused intensity. “You are easily the most beautiful woman in this room,” she says. “When you walked past my table that first time I nearly dropped my martini glass. You looked absolutely incredible. And when you sat down, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for every other woman in this bar. Because none of them are with you. And I’m proud to be the one in your arms.”

For a moment my tongue can’t remember how to form words. “Lori,” I whisper.

“Yes?”

“Are we still in character?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Good, because I need to do something I don’t usually do on a first date.”

“What’s that?”

I stop dancing, cup her face with both hands, and draw her in for a kiss. It lasts a long, long time, and when we finally separate I can hear whooping coming from the general direction of Noelle’s table.

“Kiss the girl and ask her to come home with me,” I answer. “Because I love you, and I want you desperately, and the effort of keeping my eyes off your chest is killing me.”

“You’re not supposed to keep your eyes off my chest; that’s the point of the dress,” she says, smiling. Then she sobers. “I love you too, and yes, I’ll go home with you. Gladly.”

I kiss her again, then pull back. “Hey, I just realized something.”

“What?”

“We never even introduced ourselves.”

Lori thinks about it, and breaks up laughing. “God! We’re easy!”

“Do you think we would have gotten around to it before the sex?”

We look at each other. “Nah,” we say in unison, and then we’re laughing so hard we have to hold on to each other to stay upright.

We don’t go home right away. It’s too much fun dancing to great jazz and taking breaks to talk—really talk, the way we haven’t in awhile. Sure, we talked the night Lori said I didn’t see her, but that was a stumbling, difficult kind of conversation as the truths were wrenched out of us. This time it’s easy and intimate and loving. And I’m having a good time watching the expressions on Lori’s lovely face, and the way she smiles when she catches me looking at her cleavage. Lori is gorgeous, and I find myself amazed that this incredible woman has chosen me, with all my flaws. I look at her and feel an emotional rush, like…well, it’s a cliché, but I feel like I’m falling in love with her all over again.

Maybe I am. Would that be a bad thing?

Eventually we’re danced out and ready to go. We gather our coats and drop by to say goodbye to Elizabeth, Noelle, and the others. I introduce Lori and they give her a ribbing for letting Elizabeth pick her up, but she quickly puts a lid on their teasing by kissing Elizabeth on the cheek and thanking her for her wonderful company. I stand behind her and smile, knowing that my wife has just added another admirer to her list. I don’t have a single friend who doesn’t think she’s terrific.

As we turn to leave, Elizabeth catches my eye.

“You’re one lucky woman, Luce McKenzie,” she says. “And just for the record, you have excellent taste.”

I look at Lori, who is smiling up at me.

“I know,” I say, without taking my eyes off her face.

The cool night air is a bit of a shock after the heat of the bar, and I wrap Lori in my leather coat to keep her warm while we wait for the taxi.

“It’s not luck,” she says.

“What?”

“Elizabeth said you were lucky. But that’s not true. Those stories we told each other about losing our partners—there’s only one thing separating us from that reality, and it’s not luck. It’s work. It’s being willing to talk and say the hard things.”

“It’s being willing to listen, too,” I say, nuzzling her throat. “And being willing to clobber your dense wife over the head when she doesn’t hear you. Or see you.”

“Oh, believe me, I noticed you seeing me tonight.”

I’m glad it’s a short cab ride home, because my will power is rapidly eroding. I pay the driver while Lori unlocks our front door, and in two bounds I’m in the door and locking it behind me. She lets out a startled yelp as I grab her by the waist and push her against the wall. “There’s a lot more of you I’d like to see tonight,” I growl playfully, and she laughs.

You know what? After nearly thirteen years, it’s better than ever. That’s what I call a great first date.

 

 

 

fiction page