I felt nervous. I flashed back to my first date. I was eleven or twelve I think, maybe sixth grade, and I was supposed to take my first love, Bonnie was her name if it matters, roller skating. Skating started at noon as I recall, and I was supposed to pick her up at 11:30. I was ready by about 9:00 and spent the next two hours fretting, trying to watch TV, and looking at the clock about every thirty seconds.
Keeping true to the image, I looked at my watch and realized it was far too masculine for my wrist. I promised myself a new one the next time I went to the mall. I pictured something delicate, maybe silver.
I sat, remembering what Carl had told me. A gurl is always posing. My back was straight, my shoulders back showing my small breasts to their best advantage, my legs crossed, my ankle barely touching my calf.
Nadine came in and looked around.
I liked, very much, that it seemed to take her a few seconds to recognize me in my new look.
"Oh. My. God," she said softly, coming to me and offering both hands. The way she said it made each word a separate sentence.
She looked me up and down and I giggled.
"Oh. My. God," she said again and kissed me. I pulled away just a little, as she had done when freshly made up for years when I got grabby before we headed out for date night, and gave her a puckered-up peck on the lips.
"Oh, Ronni," she said, and I thought she was going to cry, "You are stunning."
I wished I could blush on command, but I settled for giggling, looking at the floor, and saying, "Thank you," in a low voice.
She walked to the counter, handed her Platinum card to Brian, and said, "You guys did an amazing job. Twenty-five percent tip for all."
He smiled, said, "Thank you," and ran the card.
She signed and then took my hand as I stood, being as graceful as I could, just like Carl had drilled into me.
"God," she said, walking me to her truck, "You look so good I don't think I can keep my hands off of you."
I giggled, turned, and said, "Not until we get home. I don't want this," and I made a motion with my hands, starting at my face and moving down my body, "messed up."
She smiled, offered her hand to assist me into the truck, and said, "Fair enough."
She was quiet on the way home, not even singing along with the "oldies" station on the radio.
I was oddly nervous. There was something about sitting there in the truck as she drove, dressed and made up and feeling pretty that was getting to me. I realized, as I looked ahead and felt the butterflies in my belly, that I had probably passed by my last chance to salvage any masculinity I might have retained.
I was a gurl and, dammit, I was a pretty gurl.
And I knew, suddenly, clearly, frighteningly, what I wanted.
"Call Diego," I said, not daring to look at her, "Please."
I could sense the sudden tension in her.
"Ronni," she said softly, and I noted that she used my "gurl name," "Are you sure?"
"Yes, no, God, shit," I babbled, "Nadine, I'm not sure about anything anymore." I kept looking straight ahead.
She was silent for a mile or so, expertly handling the truck through traffic.
"No," she said at last.
What I felt was a complex of happy and sad and disappointed and relieved.
"Never?" I said, still looking straight ahead.
She laughed, a soft laugh full of, well, I'm not sure what it was full of, but it didn't feel like humor.
"I did
not
say that," she said, "But tonight I already have plans for you."
"Oh," I said in my best small, gurly voice.
"And I have plans for about twenty minutes from now," she said.
"Ohhh," I said, trying to put as much excitement as I could into my voice.
We finished the ride back to the house in silence.
At home, she opened the door for me and then held my hand until we were inside the front door.