I met her in the bar Wednesday evening\u2026 sort of. Now we\u2019d be meeting proper, and I was a wreck, adjusting the hem and straps of my evening gown, taking a few steps in my heels before kicking them off and then debating whether to put them back on before she showed up. A curl of auburn dropped in front of my glasses and I swept it away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When we first met, I was with a group of coworkers. We sat there in our office wear; cargo pants, tee-shirts, camp shirts, sensible shoes, and only one of the five of us without glasses. We overheard a comment from another group at the bar about \u201cthe nerds over there\u201d and we all laughed. I complained that I had gone too early to La Traviata and there were no tickets left for the next performance. That\u2019s when she approached and sat next to me, using her motorcycle helmet for a low stool as her leather chaps and jacket squeaked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Before offense at her intrusion set in, she fixed me with a direct stare, her jet-black hair framing a sharp, tanned face that held gem-green eyes where I saw my plainness reflected. \u201cSo, you\u2019ve already seen this\u2026 what is it? A play?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOp\u2026 opera.\u201d I couldn\u2019t break away from her stare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve seen this opera, but too early? How does that work?\u201d Her eyes were questioning, curious, but her mouth held a small, off-center amused smirk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAdele Schlimmer is playing Violleta, one night only.\u201d I broke free from her gaze and ended up staring at the toe of her boot. \u201cShe\u2019s\u2026 I mean\u2026.\u201d My cheeks felt hot and my pulse whooshed in my ears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She lifted my chin with a soft touch and leaned closer. \u201cHey, I\u2019m sorry. My band had a gig coming up, but the venue cancelled. Since I\u2019m not playing and you\u2019re not going to the opera, why don\u2019t we go out Friday and do something together?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t even know your name,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m Janice.\u201d My sudden boldness both surprised me and made me once again unable to look directly at her. The others around the table were giving me encouraging nods and winks and knowing looks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFriday,\u201d she said, and offered her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBut your name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy name is Friday, and<\/em> I\u2019d love to take you someplace nice Friday night, Janice.\u201d Her eyebrows raised in anticipation. I nodded, and she took my hand and kissed it. She wrote her number on a napkin and handed it to me before standing and addressing the table. \u201cI apologize for the intrusion. Enjoy your evening.\u201d I watched her walk to the DJ booth near the dance floor at the far end of the bar where she took off her jacket and started the music. Hard, thumping, electronic pulses geared for dancing boomed under shredding electric guitars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That\u2019s the usual time we would leave, but I sat and watched her work the controls, building the energy up and letting it back down before building even higher in incremental steps. \u201cI could probably model this in a 3-D plot to show tempo, key, intensity and crowd reaction over time.\u201d One of the group gave me the thumbs-down sign, our signal that we were letting work interfere with our hump-day ritual. I conceded the point, and we left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Work passed by in a blur. My mind kept going back to the number I had put in my phone under the name \u201cFriday?\u201d and wondering whether I would actually follow up. At lunch on Friday I finally texted her. \u201cYes.\u201d Then followed it up with \u201cThis is Janice, BTW.\u201d I was berating myself for my awkwardness when she called.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHello, Friday?\u201d My answer was both giddy and weak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHey Janice. I\u2019m glad to hear from you. Like I said, someplace nice. I\u2019ll even dress up. Pick you up at 7:00, your place, if you text me the address. Otherwise I\u2019ll pick you up at the bar.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOn your bike?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, I\u2019m not gonna ride in a dress. See you at 7:00.\u201d If it were possible, I would say I heard<\/em> her smile. \u201cSee you,\u201d I said, and she hung up. Ignoring the part of my mind coming up with terrible psycho-killer scenarios I texted her my address. So it was that I ended up pacing around my apartment in evening wear, wondering if I was about to make an utter fool of myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She rang the bell a few minutes before 7:00 and I scrambled into my heels before answering. The woman standing on the other side couldn\u2019t be more different from who she had seemed at the bar. Her hair in a French braid, tasteful makeup, and a simple diamond necklace accentuating her skin. She wasn\u2019t tan, so much as olive in the bright hallway. Her emerald green gown glowed on her skin and made her eyes seem even deeper. I realized I was staring and started to apologize. \u201cSorry, I, uh\u2026 would you like to come in for a minute? Or\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, I\u2019m sorry,\u201d she said. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean to stare. I knew you were attractive, but, wow. You are stunning.\u201d She was staring straight into my eyes and my face grew hot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThanks. You just look so\u2026 different. It surprised me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI hope that\u2019s a good thing.\u201d Friday smiled. \u201cI can\u2019t be the bad-ass biker bitch, DJ, punk rock drummer all the time.\u201d She lifted my hands and smiled. \u201cNo more than you can be the adorably cute, nerdy data scientist all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow did you know what I\u2026?\u201d The earlier fears about psycho-killer stalkers came back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour ID badge on your lanyard. It was eye level where I was sitting.\u201d Her eyebrows drew together in worry. \u201cI hope I didn\u2019t just scare you off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, no. I just\u2026 why me?\u201d The real question was there. It had left my mouth without my permission. What would someone like her want to do with a nerd like me? I\u2019m the opposite of Friday.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI guess I should come clean.\u201d She cast her gaze to my hands which she still held. \u201cI\u2019ve watched your Wednesday ritual in the bar for a couple months now. Been trying to get the courage to talk to you, but kept chickening out. This week I sat close, trying to figure out what I\u2019d say. I couldn\u2019t help overhearing your conversation. When I saw how disappointed you were about your opera, I felt like I needed to cheer you up, or try at least.\u201d She closed her eyes. \u201cI\u2019m hopeless, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou\u2019re not. Did you want to come in for a few minutes?\u201d We were still standing in the doorway. \u201cWe both look awkward right now, I\u2019m sure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m sure we do. I\u2019d love to come in, but our ride is waiting.\u201d She regained her composure. \u201cAre you ready?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She offered her arm as we walked out and I accepted. She led to me a waiting cab and held the door for me. \u201cSo where are we going?\u201d I asked. \u201cSomewhere nice,\u201d she said with a cryptic smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The cab stopped in front of the Performing Arts Center where La Traviata was showing. Friday paid the fare then offered her arm again. \u201cI believe you wanted to see this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n We walked in, arms linked. \u201cHow did you\u2026? Did you already have tickets?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, but when you know the production company, say, as a musician, you can sometimes get comp tickets that aren\u2019t being used. I called in a favor.\u201d She nudged me. \u201cI figured I\u2019d try, at least. I didn\u2019t want to say anything and get your hopes up only to have to let you down again. Until this afternoon it was still looking like it would just be dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut you\u2019re not into opera. You thought La Traviata was a play, unless you were faking it.\u201d I stopped and faced her. \u201cDid you fake it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, I don\u2019t know the first thing about opera.\u201d She laughed, and we walked to our row. \u201cI\u2019m more at home at a punk show or rock concert.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo why? You could have saved your favor, taken me anywhere.\u201d I had to know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBecause it seemed important to you. Worst case: I find out I don\u2019t like opera. Best case: I add opera to the stuff I already listen to. Hint: it\u2019s not just rock and punk.\u201d She paused to let me into the row before her. \u201cEither way, I get to spend time with you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut we can\u2019t talk here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAfterwards we\u2019re going for drinks, maybe something to eat.\u201d We sat next to each other. \u201cI wanted to be cool about it and say \u2018we\u2019ll see where the night takes us,\u2019 but I hope this turns into another date, at least.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n As the strings gentled us into the prelude, my hand found hers and our fingers intertwined. My thoughts swirled between the warm hand in mine and the strains of the music. I hope so too.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I met her in the bar Wednesday evening\u2026 sort of. 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