At 8:01, Chandler was in front of her computer, per request. It dinged.
"Hello?" said valkinsey.
"I'm here," she typed back.
"Cool. I was afraid you wouldn't make it."
"You engaged my curiosity."
"Curiosity is a good thing. Okay, here goes. So the date didn't go quite like we'd hoped. We could always try again."
"But we don't know how long it'll be until you're out again."
"Why let that stop us? We could date right here."
"That'd be kind of silly."
"No, it wouldn't. We can just have a conversation."
It would certainly be easier, Chandler thought, without all those distracting pheromones bouncing around. Maybe they could actually say two coherent words to each other.
"Well, okay, I'm game."
"Great. How about I pick you up in a bar."
Chandler wondered where he was going with this. It seemed kind of dorky, but she could always log off if she wasn't into it.
"Okay, I guess."
"Okay, so I walk up to you and I say, 'Hey, I'm new in town, can you give me directions?'"
Role-playing. That was all right--maybe it could be fun. "Where are you going?"
"Your place, if I'm lucky."
Chandler stared at the screen, unsure what to type next. If they'd actually been in a bar, she would have tossed her drink in his face. Well, unless it was one of those expensive drinks.
Val beat her to the keyboard. "Ba ha! I'm trying to be funny."
"You're failing."
"Okay, how about this one. 'Are you from Tennessee? Cuz you're the only ten I see.'"
"Boo, hiss." Actually, though she never would have responded to those horrible lines from a stranger in a bar, they were amusing coming from Val.
He didn't seem insulted, either, but was warming up to the game. "Okay--That's a nice sweater."
Chandler blinked. She actually was wearing a sweater--a ratty old blue one with big sleeves. Sophocles was sleeping inside one of them. "Thanks," she typed.
"It'd look great on my floor."
She sputtered a laugh. "Oh, that one's bad."
"Hey, baby, did you clean those pants with Windex? Cuz I can see myself in them."
Chandler guffawed in spite of herself, disturbing Sophocles to the point where he actually moved. "Okay, you got me. I'm either calling the police or I'm going home with you."
"Cool. I'll buy you a drink first."
"How generous of you. Do I get dinner, too?"
"Sure, why not. How about surf and turf and champagne?"
"I am so there."
"Of course, at the end of the meal, my credit card gets declined..."
Chandler laughed. This was fun. Why couldn't they be like this face-to-face? Clever and funny and comfortable with each other.
"Okay, so we wash dishes for a few hours before we head back to your place."
She second-guessed herself after she sent the message. Was that too forward? She shrugged. It wasn't real life, after all.
Val's reply put her even more at ease. "Wait--I thought we were in New Jersey."
"Oh. I thought we were in St. Louis."
"We can't be here--this place is a mess."
Grinning, Chandler typed away, letting the first thing that popped into her head flow out her fingers. She couldn't believe it was going so well.
"Describe it to me."
"Well, it's not very impressive. Kind of a small place. Big TV, though. Big computer. Big mess--I haven't done laundry in a couple of weeks. Need to wash dishes, too."
Chandler thought of Gifford's immaculate condo in Basking Ridge. Somehow a laundry-strewn apartment sounded more appealing.
"I'll forgive you the mess," she told him, "but if you'd be more comfortable, we can go to my place."
"Well, my mom would be appalled if I let you see my apartment in its current condition."
"Heaven forbid we should offend your mom. Okay, answer one question, and that'll clinch the decision--what do you have in your refrigerator?"
"Hang on, I'll check."
He was really doing it. Chandler sat waiting, watching her cursor blink. He must be taking the task pretty seriously, because the pause went on and on.
Chandler smiled. The Val she'd met in person had knocked her socks off with his sexual energy. This one was knocking her socks off with pure charm. An absolutely deadly combination, in her book. She looked across the room at the calendar on the refrigerator. How long until she could see him again? The rows and rows of Val-less days suddenly looked profoundly empty.
The computer dinged and she jerked her attention back to the screen.
"Okay, I'm back. Refrigerator contents: A half-empty case of beer, a jar of mayonnaise, a bag of coffee beans, and a loaf of bread."
Chandler blinked. "That's it?" She sent the message, then, doing a double-take, added, "A bag of coffee beans? Wait--a loaf of bread in the refrigerator?"
"I like my coffee fresh, and if I don't put the bread in the fridge, it molds before I can eat the whole loaf. And yes, that's pretty much it."
"So at your place we can have beer and a coffee-bean-and-mayonnaise sandwich--I think you're right. We should meet here."
"Good plan. What does your place look like?"
Chandler glanced around. Her apartment wasn't all that impressive, either, but it was clean.
"Well, I just did laundry Monday, and all my dishes are clean--medium-sized TV, ditto for the computer. Big couch, bookshelf, a couple of little blankets on the floor for Sophocles. Lots of stuff in my fridge--hey, I could make dinner!"
"But we already had surf and turf, remember?"
"Oh, right. I forgot. We could have dessert here--there's a cheesecake in the freezer." Not a good thing to admit, she realized after she'd sent it.
"And why do you have a cheesecake in the freezer?"
"Same reason I keep four pints of Ben & Jerry's. For emotional emergencies."
"I have a ton of Girl Scout cookies in my freezer. I bought enough from my niece this year for her to win something. I forget what, but she was happy about it. Okay, so we're going to your place."
"All right. Just remember I have pepper spray in my purse."
"A wise precaution. Okay, we go in and sit--where?"
"Let's start at the kitchen table. I'll dish out the cheesecake."
"Mmm. Delicious. Got any Hershey's syrup I could put on that?"
Chandler had a sudden vision of Hershey's syrup, but it wasn't on cheesecake. It was on Val, dripping over all those scar-stories on his body--the ones she had yet to see, but had manufactured quite vividly in her imagination.
"Be my guest." She paused. "Would you like some syrup in your coffee, too?"
"Oh, absolutely. Hit me a good one."
)
