Tell it to the Marine(5)

“It doesn’t sound boring, I played a psychologist once.” Lame, Lauren. Lame. “Look you do something real for a living, but I played one on TV.” She swallowed another mouthful of wine to cover her discomfort.

“You were charming. I loved watching you trying to ferret out the murderer.” He turned his glass in an easy circle on its napkin.

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t have sent patients to me. I barely understood the issue the profilers were describing or why my character was so defensive.” And can we stop talking about my career…isn’t that what bores the hell out of me when every other date I’ve had does it?

“I don’t know. You disagreed on the underlying cause, and as it turns out you were right. The triggers were not psychosexual and indirect, but directly related to his immature understanding of social interactions due to a lifetime of bullying. The man literally couldn’t comprehend kindness, which was why the perp kept coming back to see your character week in and week out. You were the first one to accept him for who he was and why, when he experienced the break, he didn’t hurt her and she was able to talk him down.”

“Well, when you put it that way…I was brilliant.”

He laughed, a kind, cheerful sound devoid of any condescension or judgment and she grinned.

“Half of my job is listening, hearing what a patient says. Too often we don’t really listen to the people around us. We talk to them, we listen to them talk, but we don’t hear them. We judge people whether it’s a social situation or business relationship, we categorize the worth and value of their words before they even open their mouth. In some cases, we label them and box them up as people and never allow them to step beyond those parameters because we don’t want to hear it.”

The waitress returned with a pair of walnut apple salads sprinkled with feta cheese, then quickly and efficiently left them to their privacy.

“How can we not want to hear the people we care about?” Lauren picked up her fork and speared an apple slice. “Doesn’t the act of conversation suggest that we want to hear what someone else is saying?”

“Yes and no. When we talk, we want the person we are speaking to, to hear us and share our emotions with regard to the topic of conversation. Case in point, you wanted to relate to my profession so you mentioned what you played on television. It’s not the same thing and you were a bit embarrassed about it, but….” He waved his fork at her when she opened her mouth, the already mentioned embarrassment creeping up to warm her cheeks. “But it also demonstrated that you were trying to empathize with me. You did hear me and you wanted to create a common space for our conversation.”

“And here I thought it a little vain and pretentious by asking you to pay attention to my career, and I hate bringing up my career.” Thank God for dim lighting. I must be beet red at this point.

“But you’re an actress—it’s what you do. Why would it be vain or pretentious to bring up your body of work?”

She crunched the apple thoughtfully, considering her answer. “Because…it’s lame? I have people who come up to me all the time, acting like they really know me or really love me because they saw me in some movie or some program and it gives them the right to this intimate acquaintance with me. I deal with actors and their egos all the time….”

Why is it always so hard to put my thoughts into actual words? Do I really need a script for this?

“At the risk of sounding clinical, you have every right to refer to your career and your experiences for the purposes of conversation and worry about the awkwardness that I might be interested in you only for those experiences.” He chewed a mouthful of salad, gaze never wavering. “For the record, you stole my breath away in Once Smitten, Twice Shy, but any intimacy I want to experience, I want to do so with the woman across the table from me, not the lady on the screen.”

“You’re direct.”

“Best way to avoid miscommunication is to say what you mean. Mean what you say.” The wry hint of self-deprecation didn’t escape her.

“You didn’t sound clinical…okay, maybe a little…but I like that you seem to understand my babble.”

“It’s not babble. It’s conversation. We can talk about your work. We can not talk about your work. You can finish that salad and dance with me. Or we can talk about the Cowboys….”

“That’s a sports team, right?” She hid a smile behind another bite of salad, the sweet tart of the apple enhanced by the smooth, smoky feta and lemony lettuce.