ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? (Running Wild) by Bobby Hutchinson Page B

want to get to know you, India. I want us to get to know each other better. And we can’t do that over the telephone.” His voice was rueful, and it wasn’t all an act. “I only wish there were some way to give you a character reference, but there isn’t.”
    Certainly not when he’d fed her such a bloody big pack of lies, he thought with a stab of guilt. Maybe over dinner, they could start over?
    Sure, Watson. You can spill the beans about the article and admit you’ve been lying through your teeth just to get a story. Now that'll get you brownie points, Romeo. And she’s gonna be thrilled to hear you're a single, stay-at-home dad who scribbles insurance company ads for a living in between doing the laundry. “India, how do you usually meet the guys you date?”
    There was a short silence, and he wondered if she was finally going to blast him for being too nosy. “Oh, ummm, I guess mostly friends. I have friends who introduce us.”
    She must have better friends than he did, he thought glumly. None of the guys he knew ever set him up with anybody. They were too busy trying to get laid themselves to worry about him, the selfish bastards.
    “Could you maybe just pretend I’m somebody one of your friends introduced you to, then?"
    This time there was a long, thoughtful silence.
    "I suppose I could do that," she finally said, and Harry realized he'd been holding his breath. He let it out with a whoosh and then realized he’d done it in her ear.
    “Sorry. I’m just relieved. That's wonderful, India.” He had to glance at the calendar to figure out what day it was. Wednesday? Yeah, Wednesday.
    “How about Saturday evening?” He crossed his fingers, praying that Mrs. Campanato would be able to sit for Sadie. “Around seven?”
    “Eight would be better for me.”
    For him as well. Sadie would be ready for bed by then. “Eight it is.” He was elated. He hadn't dared believe he’d pull this off.
    “Tell me where we’re having dinner, and I’ll meet you there, Harold."
    “Absolutely." She was being cautious, and he admired her for it. Trouble was, he had no idea where to take her for dinner.
    “I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon and give you the details. Will that be okay?”
    “That’ll be fine.”
    He detected a bit of strain in her voice. This was a stretch for her, too. Or at least, he hoped it was. Surely she didn’t date every weirdo who called for sex?
    “Good night, Harold.”
    “Night, India. And thanks.”
    Elation filled him as he hung up. He couldn't wait to see what she looked like. He’d been careful not to ask her, because he’d guessed that what she’d say would be exactly what she told her other callers. His hunch had paid off now, because if the description was a fantasy, it would have made her refuse to see him.
    And what about you, super stud? You’re supposed to be a big time sophisticated businessman. How the hell are you gonna pull that one off?
    With a sense of trepidation, Harry walked into the bathroom and really looked at himself in the mirror.
    His heart sank. He was a real prize, all right, but it wasn’t first prize. His blue eyes were bloodshot because he’d worked until two in the morning meeting the deadline on the golf article. His thick black hair badly needed cutting. And of course he’d have to shave off the stubble; even Sadie had complained that his whiskers scratched when he had kissed her tonight. There was nothing to do about the crooked nose, a keepsake from long-ago rugby games. There was that cleft in his chin that women had seemed to like, back when he was a player in the dating game. Was it still there under the whiskers?
    Would it come to kissing Saturday? God, he hoped so. He was sadly out of practice, but surely it would come back to him; it had to be like riding a bike.
    He’d have to get his sports jacket and his gray slacks cleaned. Did he have a decent shirt?
    Did guys still wear sports jackets on dates, or had the whole men’s clothing scene