Libby the Librarian: A Rom Com Novella (4 page)

“From a philosophical standpoint, maybe. From a practical standpoint—“

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll wear the dress. We stay for one hour. No dancing.”
 

I called Shasta the next morning.
I didn’t want her thinking I was mad at her. I had been mad at her, but maybe I’d misunderstood. She seemed to know all about Adam‘s plan for putting me through another excruciating excursion to The Presidio. Some people—Shasta for instance—go clubbing for fun.  It’s a mystery to me what they find so enjoyable about it.

“I’ll come over,” she said. “Help you get ready.”

“We’re only staying for an hour. An hour’s not really worth going to a lot of trouble for.”

She insisted.

There wasn’t a lot to do when she got there. I’d worn a modified Sexy Librarian to work. Modified in the sense that it included all the components except liquid eye-liner and high-heels, but Shasta insisted on redoing my makeup. It really did look good, when she was done. She wanted to leave right after she was finished, but I cajoled her into staying around until Adam came to pick me up.

She m
ay have a boyfriend now, but all hope is not lost. Adam can get her back, if he’ll just make a little effort. Adam isn’t used to making an effort. He doesn’t have to. Woman tend to come to him, and he just picks which one he likes best.

Adam walked in the front door without even bothering to ring the bell.

“You were expecting me, weren’t you?” he said when I suggested that he might have knocked. He handed me a small box. “I got you a present.” I opened it up. It was my ninth-grade glasses with new lenses.

“Seriously?” I said. “You expect me to wear these?”

Adam took them out of my hand and removed my regular glasses without even asking. 

“Now you’re just dressing me and undressing me like a doll.”

“I wish.” Adam said.

Shasta
tittered.

“If only you would be so cooperative,” he added, looking a bit red in the face.
I think he may have forgotten who he was talking to there for a minute. He never says stupid stuff like that to me.

When we got to The Presidio
, it was much less crowded than it had been on Friday night. Unfortunately, this meant we made a much bigger entrance. Everyone who wasn’t dancing was looking at us. Probably thinking, “What is that spectacular-looking man doing with such a homily woman?” People probably assumed we were brother and sister. Scratch that. Adam had his hand on the small of my back. Nobody walks like that with his sister.

“Remember
. You promised. One hour!” I hissed in his ear. I had to lean back against his chest. I teetered a little. Shasta had talked me into wearing the heels with the dress this time. Adam put both hands around my waist.

“What are you doing?”
I demanded.

“You were falling down.”

“I was not falling down,” I insisted and pulled away.

“You’re awfully averse to being touched.”

“And you’re awfully handsy.”

Adam just laughed. We were at the bar now. He ordered drinks.
 

“
You sure you aren’t interested in dancing?” he asked.

“I dance like a penguin suffering from a seizure.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“It is.”

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Later.”

“No.”

“It’s not that complicated; you could learn. Most people only have a few basic moves anyway. Shasta could teach you. She’s a very sexy dancer.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be a sexy dancer.”

Adam leaned in close to my ear. His hand closed over my forearm.

“Look across the bar. A little to the right of the bartender. That guy is checking you out.”

I looked. There was a guy looking at me, but he hastily looked away.

“This is no good,” Adam said. “I’m scaring off all you
r prospects.”

“That guy was not checking me out.
”

“He was.”

“He wasn’t.”

“He was.”

“You want me to march over there and ask him?”

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Adam said. “And while I’m gone, he’ll make his move.”

“What if I don’t want him to make his move? Not that he’s going to, anyway.”

“This is what you’re going to do: You’re going to smile at him when he looks at you. He’ll come over to your side of the bar. You’ll attempt to be civil. If he makes a joke, you laugh at it. If he asks for your number
—which I’m 99% sure he will—you give him one.”

“What do you mean, give him
one
?”

“A phone number. But not your real one. That guy’s not good enough for you. I can tell from here.”

“How can you tell from here?”

“Sixth sense. I’d better go. He’s starting to waver.”

It happened almost as Adam predicted. Bar Guy smiled at me. I smiled back. He came over and sat down beside me. He asked if he could buy me a drink. I said, yes. He told me he was in office supplies. I told him I was a research librarian. He asked me if I was having a good time. I lied and said, yes. He asked for my number. I panicked and gave him my real one.

As he was walking away, something occurred to me
, and I called him back.

“Did Adam put you up to this?”

“Who’s Adam?”

“The man I was talking to earlier?”

Bar Guy just gave me a funny look and kept walking. I don’t think he’ll be calling, even though the number I gave him was real.

“How did it go?” Adam asked. He’d sure taken a long time getting back. Probably being chatted up by woman
eager to give out their real numbers.

“Textbook. You didn’t pay that guy to come onto me or something, did you?”

“Libby!” Adam looked exasperated. “Libby, Libby, Libby!” He looked like he was on the verge of pounding his head on the bar. “Let’s go.”

“But it hasn’t been
nearly an hour.”

“I know. But I’ve decided
I neglected basic groundwork before bringing you here. What you really need, is to how to dance. That way, the next time—“

“I don’t want there to be a next time.”

“It’s much easier this way. Unless, you prefer trying to practice getting picked up by men at convenience stores or laundromats?”

“Why is it necessary
for me to practice getting picked up anywhere?”

“Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“You talked me into buying a red sports model, when I would have been better off with a blue sedan.” I was never taking him along car shopping again. I’d only done it in the first place because my father had advised me that I needed to, as he put it, “take a man along to deal with the salesman.” Looking back on that, I realize that my father may be a bit sexist. Plus, “the salesman,” turned out to be a saleswoman. When she figured out that Adam and I were just friends—believe me, it didn’t take her long—she spent more time flirting with Adam than she did demonstrating the features of the cars I was considering.

Adam didn’t think talking me into a car I secretly enjoy driving qualified as Steering Me Wrong.

“My house is the other way,” I said, as we pulled out of the parking lot.

“We’re not going to your house.”

“I wasn’t consulted.”

“You promised me an hour. There’s still half of it left on the clock.”

“What clock? I didn’t realize there was a clock.”

Adam didn’t answer. Sometimes he just lets me babble until I get tired of the sound of my own voice. I’m not much of a talker. I get tired of
listening to myself pretty quickly.

“Alright. Where are we going?”
I asked.

“My house.”

I love Adam’s house. It’s much nicer than my house. I don’t know where he gets all his money. I’ve never asked, but it’s obvious that he didn’t buy that house based on his salary as a Jr. Professor.

“Do you have food at your house?”

“Of course.”

“Can I eat before I subject myself to the indignity of having my flailing technique criticized?”

“Who said anything about flailing?”

“Do you have anything good?”

“I made Thai yesterday. There’s left-overs.”

Adam cooks. Much better than I do. Come to think of it, pretty much anything I can do, he can do better. Life’s unfair that way.

I ate straight from the plastic container. Adam poured me a glass of wine. He didn’t have any.

“This is really good,” I said. I was eating as slowly as possible. I’ve never been one for athletic pursuits, and when I tell you that, for me, dancing counts as an athletic pursuit, that probably tells you everything you need to know about my natural aptitudes.

“Do you have any breath mints?” I asked. “Too much garlic.” I was stalling. I finished my wine while Adam went off in search of breath mints.

He came back with a handful.

“My breath isn’t that bad, is it?” I unwrapped a mint and popped it in my mouth while he fiddled with his sound system. He turned it up really loud. It was almost as bad as being back at The Presidio.

“Come on, “ he said. He was moving gracefully in time to the music. I could
have watched him all evening.  “Let’s have a look at your flailing technique.”

I didn’t budge from my spot. I was perched on the island in the kitchen. Adam has one of those open plan houses where the kitchen, dining and living room all sort of flow together. Plenty of room for dancing, unfortunately.

Adam came and pulled me off the island.

“Are you attempting to impersonate a corpse?” Adam asked. “You aren’t moving at all.”

That got me moving. I flailed and stomped. I didn’t try to stay in time to the music. I didn’t try to look good. In fact, I tried to be as ungraceful and ungainly as possible.

Adam stood back and watched. I think he was trying to decide if I was
making a serious effort or having him on. I don’t think he ever did figure it out.

“Alright,” he said. “
That gives me a pretty clear picture of your fast technique.”

He went over and changed the music.

“Let’s see how you do with something slow.”

I swayed back and forth a little.
This did not impress him. He came over and put his arms around me, pulling me in close to his body. I stopped moving altogether.

“What are you doing?” I
protested.

“Slow dancing.”

“Well, stop.”

He stepped back and put his hands up in the air as if this was a holdup
, and I was demanding his money or his life.

“You’re awfully sensitive about being touched,” he said. “I don’t want to get personal, but—“

Whenever anyone says they don’t want to get personal, what they really mean is, “what I’m about to ask you is a gross invasion of your privacy, but I’m going to ask anyway because I’m just too damn curious to resist.”

“Then don’t get personal,” I said.

“It’s just that—do you have any experience with men at all?”

I did. A little. I wasn’t a virgin, if that was what he was getting at. It had been a while, though.

“That is extremely personal. And a little insulting.”

“It’s just that—I mean you are really comfortable with me, right?”

“Yes.”

“If you are so comfortable with me, what’s the big deal about a little slow dancing?”

“I don’t know.”

That was true. I really didn’t know. Although,
if I were honest, I’d have been much more comfortable slow dancing with a man I’d never seen before in my life.

“Come here,” said Adam. “I’m going to forget danc
ing, for now. I’m just going to hold you until it stops feeling like I’m hugging a plank.”

“Then we could be here a while.”

He had his arms around me now. I tried to relax, but I couldn’t. He pulled me in closer. Adam is a very tactile person. Me? Not so much.

“This is silly!” I tried to pull away.

“Stop fighting it.”

“Just let me take my shoes off.“ I was buying time, and he knew it, but he let me go and I took my shoes off and placed them by the front door, right next to
my handbag.

“I’ve had a better idea,” Adam said when I came back. “Baby steps. Let’s watch a movie.”

Sure. I could do that. Watching movies: nothing to it.

“Lying on the couch.”

“I’ll take the recliner.”

“We’ll both lie on the couch.”

I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t say no.

Adam picked something out I’d seen before.

“How’s this? Have you seen it already?”

“No.”   

Adam flopped down on the couch, stretched out his long body and patted the foot-wide sliver of surface area left.

“I can’t fit there.”

“Yes. You can.”

“No. I can’t.”

“You haven’t tried.”

“Fine.”

I perched on the edge of the couch. Back very straight. Not touching him at all.

“This really scares you, doesn’t
it?”

I decided to go with honestly. Adam can always tell when I’m lying, anyway.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why.”

“Maybe,
‘why’ doesn’t really matter.”

“I’m pretty pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic. Whatever the reason, you can get over it.”

“I don’t know.”

“Think of this as aversion therapy.”

“You mean like making someone who
’s afraid of snakes gradually work up to holding one?”

“Funny you should mention snakes.” Adam looked suddenly amused. I have no idea why. “Just lay back against me
. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.” He pushed the play button on the remote, like that was it. Everything was settled. Then he ignored me.

I lay back
against him. Very gingerly. I was in danger of slipping off the front of the couch, so I scooted back a little. This was too much. His prologue was in direct contact with my postscript, but he didn’t seem to notice. My face was flushed. My heart was pounding. I hoped Adam wouldn’t notice that I was having to swallow every thirty seconds. I definitely needed therapy, but this definitely didn’t count. Adam kept his promise, though. He did keep his hands to himself, unless you count slipping a pillow under my head.