“What do you want? What would make you come with me?”
His voice is so earnest and his eyes so pleading that I almost cave right there. I do cave, internally, it’s over. Hook, line, sinker. My idea of dating is going home with the drummer of a band, tiptoeing past his roommate passed out on the sofa, and try to have quiet orgasms and, later, quieter escapes. I rarely proffer a phone number. I like this, my distant, detached life.
I slant my eyes at him, coquettish, for fun. “Convince me.”
He laughs, his head tipped back until I can see the inside of his mouth, behind his teeth. “You want me to woo you, then?”
I place my hand on my forehead, a mock swoon. “Exactly. Woo me.”
He leads me out into his car, which is waiting for my inevitable yes (I wonder if his driver has ever seen anyone say no). We drive to his apartment, which is appropriately spectacular, shiny and glossy with high ceilings and gleaming surfaces, modern furniture, tall windows, rooms as big as my entire apartment. I follow him to a guest room, complete with en suite bathroom. The shower I use would hold my entire bathroom. By the time I’m dressed and trussed and fluffed, I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, minus the whole prostitution thing. An array of cosmetics, all new, waits for me to pick and choose. The whole setup leaves me baffled. Does he just keep all this, waiting for a woman? Is this his schtick? Then I figure, what do I care? I envision my dark apartment.
When I emerge into the hallway, he gasps. If there is a script for this movie, this moment in my life, it would have been written exactly as it played out. My heart hammers and my hands shake and I know in that instant, like the sappiest of romance movies, that this man will change my life.
At dinner, he is attentive. It’s his dinner, I learn. He’s the host. He barely pays attention to anyone else. Do you need more water? More sorbet? Another glass of wine? I laugh and wave him off. You wanted me to woo you. So, I’m wooing you. He hovers, this man, in his God-expensive suit and finely crafted leather shoes. His colleagues are curious, I imagine, about the defiant-looking girl with the pierced eyebrow and the spiky hair wearing an elegant dress. They are kind but dismissive. Henry doesn’t tell them what I do for a living, that I’m practically hired help. His assistant is nice, in a self-serving way, as though he cast Henry as Daddy Warbucks and me as Annie, and maybe, just maybe, his good deed will make the paper. I catch his eye throughout the night, and he winks in a way I presume he means to be reassuring but does nothing to reassure me.
A woman in the group, blonde, coiffed, peaches-and-cream skin, simpers next to Henry. Her long red fingernails dance along his hairline as she shoots looks in my direction. He flirts back momentarily and then leans close to me, his breath curling around my ear: Don’t worry about Dianna. She’s not nearly as attractive as she thinks she is.
After dinner, there are speeches and some mingling, but Henry peppers me with questions, rarely leaving my side. A man has never been so goddamned interested in everything I have to say. We take his car home and he sits in the back with me but doesn’t make a move. I can’t tell if I’m impressed or disappointed.
He never flinches at my little run-down Hoboken neighborhood with the exposed fire escapes and barred windows. He walks me to the door with a chaste, gentle kiss on the lips, quick and soft as a feather.
His pursuit after that night is relentless. Hungry, primal. He can’t stop thinking about me, he says. He whisks me away: Madrid, London, Los Angeles. I accompany him on business trips and each time he presents me with a new glittering gown. Strappy sandals. Five-carat diamond necklaces. Teardrop sapphire earrings. Everything he can offer, on display. The Wheel of Fortune with your host Henry Whittaker.
All this doggedness wears me out. I say this to him, “Henry, I can’t be the woman you want me to be. Who will fit in your circles, go to your parties, be your arm candy. This is not a relationship that can work.”