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I finally settled on a black, lacy cocktail dress that I had never had an occasion to wear before. With its A-line waist skirt, it emphasized my curves without being too over-the-top, and it would match with whatever he was wearing. I wore a simple pair of flats with it, not wanting to look overdressed by pairing the outfit with heels, and I brushed out my hair but left it falling in soft waves over my shoulders.
When I answered the door to Eric's knock, I could tell that I had played things right. From the expression on his face to the sharp intake of breath, I could tell that I'd made an impression. I grinned inwardly, but outwardly, I tried to act nonchalant.
“Hey,” I said, leaning in to kiss his cheek and then following him down to the car. I knew it was going to be about half an hour to get over to Westbrook, but if this went the same as our previous evening together, we'd have no problem coming up with things to talk about.
“So just so I know how much you're going to hate tonight, what's the worst play that you've ever been to?” Eric asked as he started driving.
I giggled and shook my head. “For all you know, tonight's performance is going to be incredible,” I told him.
“It could be,” Eric conceded. “But you don't know Henry Welden, and he's the lead in this play.”
I thought back. “Probably the worst play that I've ever been to was this rendition of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' that I went to when I was about 13,” I mused. “A family friend was performing in it, but he just had some bit part, nothing special. He was over the moon about it, though, and dragged us all along. I spent the whole play not sure what was happening. It didn't help that the actors didn't have microphones, and you couldn't hear half of what was being said.”
Eric groaned. “Tonight could be just that bad,” he said.
“What about you?” I asked. “What's the worst play that you've ever been to?”
Eric paused for a moment. “Well, I went to this really bad Shakespeare performance on the lake last summer,” he said slowly, but from the way he said it, I could tell that there was more to the story than that. Maybe he'd taken a date to that show as well?
“What aren't you telling me?” I probed, deciding that this was an innocent enough thing to be blunt about.
I was surprised to see Eric's sheepish expression. “The worst play I've ever been to, worse even than the Shakespeare, was probably one where I wasn't a spectator,” he admitted.
“Go on,” I said gleefully.
Eric sighed. “Back in high school, I played the lead in Arthur Miller's 'Death of a Salesman,'” he admitted. “I was never really a theater person, but my guidance counselor was harping on about how I needed more activities on my resumé if I wanted to get a position in one of the top colleges in the state, and a friend dared me to try out. I didn't think anything would come from a silly try-out, so I agreed. But they ended up casting me. And what's more, they ended up giving me a big role.”
I laughed. “So what happened?” I asked.
Eric grimaced. “I was so nervous that I forgot half my lines,” he told me, but he sounded amused by the story. “The director ended up yell-whispering the entire play.”
I giggled. “You poor thing,” I said.
“It's funny, in retrospect, but at the time, I was mortified,” Eric said. “Getting up to do my dissertation, years later, I was still having flashbacks about it. Actually, I didn't sleep well for a month leading up to that presentation, because every time I closed my eyes, I had another nightmare that I got up in front of all my peers and opened my mouth, but not a single word came out. And then there was someone stage-whispering all my research, as though I hadn't had any part in the project.”
I shook my head. “You poor thing,” I echoed.
Eric smiled over at me. “What about you, do you have any acting background?”
I shrugged. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be an actress, and I took some acting classes. But I never really got the hang of it. I tried out for a few things in high school, and I got a couple of bit parts,” I told him. “Mostly, I just worked in the costume closet.”
“That sounds fun,” Eric said.
“It was,” I agreed, smiling at the memory.
We pulled up in front of a restaurant, and Eric idled for a minute. “I hope Greek is okay,” he said, looking nervously over at me. “Sorry, I should have asked first, but I had a recommendation for this place.”
“Greek sounds great,” I said, feeling suddenly compelled to reach over and grab his hand, squeezing it for a moment before releasing it.
It was worth it, to see the slow smile that spread across Eric's face as he shut off the engine and got out of the car.
I got out as well and followed him inside. “Actually, theater is where I met my first boyfriend,” I mused after we'd ordered our meals. I took a sip of my drink.
“Oh really?” Eric asked, arching an eyebrow at me, and I suddenly had a panicky moment where I wondered if it was too soon to be talking about past boyfriends with him. This was only our first date, if it was truly a date. But then again, at our age, we both knew that the other person had dated. Hell, he had even been married and had a kid. What did it matter if I talked about some silly high school crush that I'd had?
So I continued: “Robbie Harrison,” I said. “He played the lead in our school's production of 'Jesus Christ Superstar,' and I thought he was so cool and so handsome. I finally scored a date with him, and things went from there, but when it finally came down to it, and he kissed me, I was disappointed that he didn't have the beard.”
Eric blinked at me. “What?” he asked.
