Thou Shalt Not(110)

“Wait,” he said. I looked at him in surprise.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t want you to think I’m a pathetic stalker, but I really need to know your name. And then based on how you take this, I really need to take you to dinner.”

“Need?” I mouthed with my eyebrows up. He nodded.

I looked at Cora, not sure how I felt about her hearing all of this. She was preoccupied with her doll, trying to rip open the package. Every few seconds the package would slip and knock her father in the face. He didn’t even acknowledge it. He just kept staring at me with the most peculiar amber eyes.

“Need,” he repeated. “Something that a person must have…something that is needed in order to live or succeed or be happy.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

He grinned. Got another whack in the chin. “Partially…mostly. We will go somewhere very public so you know I won’t kill you.”

“Okay.” I don’t know why I said okay. I meant to say no. It just slipped out. Maybe it was the safety of the cute kid that made me agree. Or the fact that creeps weren’t usually so well spoken or charming. I had limited experience with creeps, so I could’ve been wrong about that too.

“What’s your name?” he asked me.

“Uh-uh,” I said. “I don’t want your cyber stalker fingers all over my Facebook profile.”

“Ah, so you have a Facebook profile.”

“No,” I said. “But if I did…”

“I’m confused,” he said.

“So am I.”

He smiled. I didn’t.

“There is a McDonald’s on Glades by the mall…”

“McDonald’s!” He looked genuinely distraught.

“Do you want to have dinner with me or not?”

“I like their fries,” he said.

“Good. What brand of shoes are those?” I asked, pointing to his toes.

He looked down at his feet, lifting his toes up until he was balancing on his heels. He cleared his throat. “Alexander McQueen.”

“Well, walk your Alexander McQueens into McDonald’s tomorrow night at seven, and your need will be filled.”

“Okay,” he said. His eyes were smiling at me, but his mouth was trying to stay serious. It was distracting. Charming.

“Can I wear different shoes?” he asked.

“Don’t be cute,” I said, turning away and heading for the registers. I stopped a few feet before I got there. ”What’s your name?”

He was smiling like an idiot. I think he was looking at my rear before I turned around.

“Caleb,” he said. “Caleb Drake.”





I Googled Caleb Drake when I got back to the office. He worked for a brokerage firm in Ft. Lauderdale. He didn’t have a Facebook profile either, unless he had amped up privacy settings, but I was pretty good at getting past those. It was a stupid name: Caleb Drake. Pompous—like his shoes. If he wore those things to our dinner date I was going to drop a blob of ketchup on them just to see how he reacted. I wrote a quick email to Seeta telling her about my strange day. She sent one back almost immediately telling me to drop ketchup on his shoe. Great minds, best friends, sadistic women—blah, blah, blah. I don’t know why I hopped on the McDonald’s date train, but I was at least going to have a little bit of fun with it.



He was early. Earlier than me. This bugged me. I got there early to compose myself. To get a table and be sitting there when he walked in, looking bored. But, there he was, already sitting, tapping his forefinger lightly on the tabletop. He stood up when I walked in, like this was a proper date and we were in a real restaurant.

We walked to the counter together. He asked me what I wanted and when it was his turn to order he said, “The lady will have the number one with extra pickles and a Coke…”

The lady...

He carried our trays to the table and waited till I sat down to seat himself.

“Is this an act?” I asked, opening my Big Mac.

“What?” He looked confused.

“This whole gentleman thing you have going? We’re in a fast food joint in case you haven’t noticed.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re in Bern’s or McDonald’s, a man should live by the same standards wherever he takes a nameless woman.”

I dipped a fry in ketchup and ate it in three parts.

“What’s Bern’s?”

“A restaurant. My favorite restaurant,” he added. “I can take you there tomorrow, but I’d have to wear my other shoes.”

I looked down at his feet. He was wearing house slippers. I choked on my Coke. He handed me a napkin, feigning surprise. “What?”