four-story brownstone on Gramercy Park, and his own plane. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable that I expect the woman I end up with to have a lot to offer, too.” His look asks a rhetorical
Do you?
Martha’s look doesn’t have an answer. But she does find it odd, even if Kurt’s fine qualities don’t include her personal favorites—warmth and humor—that he hasn’t landed someone who likes what he offers enough to stick around. She wonders if he might not be one of those men who wants a woman’s love, only to become contemptuous when he gets it; one of the if-you-love-me-then-something-must-be-wrong-with-you types. Kurt’s face doesn’t look so handsome anymore.
Then his list begins: “The right woman must be intelligent, beautiful, athletic, and a lover of the arts.” He goes on to say that money isn’t a requirement per se, but an impressive academic record and some level of career success are. “Above all, she can’t require a lot of coddling. I need a woman who can hold her own at a business dinner.” He pauses and gives Martha a guilty look, perhaps realizing he sounds emotionless. “I’m a real sucker for sad eyes.”
Sad eyes? Aren’t they usually part of a larger, sad person?
Martha wonders.
Mental note: Lose the list.
“Mostly, the woman I’m with needs to understand the pressure I’m under,” Kurt says with an urgency that suggests he needs Martha to understand. “I work in a
war zone.
People are being obliterated out there. They’re dead before they know what’s hit them. That’s what it’s like in my business every day.” He takes a sip of his drink, a double scotch on the rocks. “When I get home, the last thing I need is someone desperate to rehash my day. I need peace.”
Martha can’t believe that she’s blanked on such a major piece of information in his bio. She wishes she could light up a cigarette. “What is it you do again, Kurt?” she asks in her mother’s calmest flight-attendant voice.
Trauma surgeon? Al Qaeda–cell infil-trator? Mob informant?
She can’t recall.
“I run a software company,” he answers.
Martha quells the urge to laugh and reaches for her napkin.
“Do you have any idea what’s been happening in the software industry in the last few years?” he asks incredulously. “It’s been decimated. We’re dodging bullets.”
“Uh-huh.” Martha leans back in her chair.
Kurt takes a breath, relaxes his shoulders, and smiles. He turns handsome again. He takes her in, not in a lewd way, but in the way that a man does when he’s letting a woman know he finds her attractive. “Enough about my work,” he says, allowing his voice to become softer. “Let’s get down to romantic business.”
Encouraged that he’s trying to lighten the mood, Martha smiles back.
“The right woman for me is slender, above five-five, and under thirty-five . . .” He pauses for a moment as if to gauge if he’s unintentionally insulted his date. “. . . so she isn’t in too much of a rush to get married and have children.”
“Do you feel pressure to get married?” Martha asks.
Kurt adjusts himself in his chair. “Are you always so direct?”
“Pretty much,” she answers, though if it were a real date, she knows she’d never have asked the question.
“My motto with women is to take it one day at a time.”
That’s the Alcoholics Anonymous slogan, too,
thinks Martha. “Let’s forget about who you want to date and focus on your skills as a dater,” she suggests.
Kurt’s forehead vein swells a little. “I was only informing you of my minimum standards. I know you’re not a match-maker. You’re a dating
expert.
” His emphasis on the word
expert
somehow makes it mean the opposite. “It’s not as if I don’t know how to treat women.”
I didn’t hire me,
thinks Martha,
you did!
But still, she wishes she hadn’t made Kurt feel defensive. He brings to mind her first foray into psychoanalysis when she was twenty-four. Her goal then was
Do you?
Martha’s look doesn’t have an answer. But she does find it odd, even if Kurt’s fine qualities don’t include her personal favorites—warmth and humor—that he hasn’t landed someone who likes what he offers enough to stick around. She wonders if he might not be one of those men who wants a woman’s love, only to become contemptuous when he gets it; one of the if-you-love-me-then-something-must-be-wrong-with-you types. Kurt’s face doesn’t look so handsome anymore.
Then his list begins: “The right woman must be intelligent, beautiful, athletic, and a lover of the arts.” He goes on to say that money isn’t a requirement per se, but an impressive academic record and some level of career success are. “Above all, she can’t require a lot of coddling. I need a woman who can hold her own at a business dinner.” He pauses and gives Martha a guilty look, perhaps realizing he sounds emotionless. “I’m a real sucker for sad eyes.”
Sad eyes? Aren’t they usually part of a larger, sad person?
Martha wonders.
Mental note: Lose the list.
“Mostly, the woman I’m with needs to understand the pressure I’m under,” Kurt says with an urgency that suggests he needs Martha to understand. “I work in a
war zone.
People are being obliterated out there. They’re dead before they know what’s hit them. That’s what it’s like in my business every day.” He takes a sip of his drink, a double scotch on the rocks. “When I get home, the last thing I need is someone desperate to rehash my day. I need peace.”
Martha can’t believe that she’s blanked on such a major piece of information in his bio. She wishes she could light up a cigarette. “What is it you do again, Kurt?” she asks in her mother’s calmest flight-attendant voice.
Trauma surgeon? Al Qaeda–cell infil-trator? Mob informant?
She can’t recall.
“I run a software company,” he answers.
Martha quells the urge to laugh and reaches for her napkin.
“Do you have any idea what’s been happening in the software industry in the last few years?” he asks incredulously. “It’s been decimated. We’re dodging bullets.”
“Uh-huh.” Martha leans back in her chair.
Kurt takes a breath, relaxes his shoulders, and smiles. He turns handsome again. He takes her in, not in a lewd way, but in the way that a man does when he’s letting a woman know he finds her attractive. “Enough about my work,” he says, allowing his voice to become softer. “Let’s get down to romantic business.”
Encouraged that he’s trying to lighten the mood, Martha smiles back.
“The right woman for me is slender, above five-five, and under thirty-five . . .” He pauses for a moment as if to gauge if he’s unintentionally insulted his date. “. . . so she isn’t in too much of a rush to get married and have children.”
“Do you feel pressure to get married?” Martha asks.
Kurt adjusts himself in his chair. “Are you always so direct?”
“Pretty much,” she answers, though if it were a real date, she knows she’d never have asked the question.
“My motto with women is to take it one day at a time.”
That’s the Alcoholics Anonymous slogan, too,
thinks Martha. “Let’s forget about who you want to date and focus on your skills as a dater,” she suggests.
Kurt’s forehead vein swells a little. “I was only informing you of my minimum standards. I know you’re not a match-maker. You’re a dating
expert.
” His emphasis on the word
expert
somehow makes it mean the opposite. “It’s not as if I don’t know how to treat women.”
I didn’t hire me,
thinks Martha,
you did!
But still, she wishes she hadn’t made Kurt feel defensive. He brings to mind her first foray into psychoanalysis when she was twenty-four. Her goal then was
Similar Books
