Things I Want to Say Read Free

unwritten rules and silent signals that applied to dating among adults. A man in a brown suit at the other end of the bar caught my eye and smiled. I looked away, and resolved to finish my wine and get out of there as soon as I could.
    Brown suit had another idea. He picked up his drink and moved onto the stool next to me. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” he said, “but I hate sitting at the bar by myself. It makes me feel so self-conscious. And well, more alone.”
    Since this was exactly what I’d been feeling myself, I nodded. “I know what you mean,” I said.
    He offered his hand. “Mitch Brannon.”
    “Hi, Mitch. I’m Ellen.” I knew enough not to give a stranger my full name. I was naive in some ways, but not dumb.
    “So, are you in town on business?” Mitch asked.
    I shook my head. “Class reunion.”
    “No kidding? Tenth?”
    I knew he was flirting then, and couldn’t hold back a pleased smile. “A lady never tells,” I teased.
    “And a gentleman wouldn’t dream of pressing the issue. Can I buy you a drink?”
    I realized my glass was empty, and started to say no, but Mitch had already caught the eye of the bartender and signaled for two more drinks. I pulled a basket of snack mix toward me and started to eat. The salt would make me all puffy and bloated tomorrow, but without something in my stomach I was afraid I’d get tipsy and stupid fast.
    For the next twenty minutes, we made small talk. I found out Mitch was from Pittsburgh, a salesman in town to call on Markson Manufacturing, which was still Ridgeway’s largest employer. The plant made parts for hospital dialysis machines and other medical equipment. Unexciting but necessary, and apparently quite profitable, stuff.
    When Mitch offered to buy me a third drink, I had the sense to refuse and switch to water. I thought about excusing myself to go get something to eat, but to tell the truth, I was enjoying myself too much to leave just yet. I couldn’t remember when a good-looking guy had sat and flirted with me like this. Working in the flower shop, most of the people I came in contact with were set designers for television shows and movies, and most of them were women or gay men.
    Mitch was most definitely flirting with me. For all I knew, he had a wife and six kids back in Pittsburgh, or a mistress in every town between here and Pennsylvania. I told myself it didn’t really matter. Nothing was going to come of this. But I looked at it as a chance to brush up on my own technique before I saw Marc again.
    Mitch had a third drink. Or maybe a fourth. I didn’t know how long he’d been in the bar before I showed up. His face was a little flushed, his conversation a little more garrulous, but I didn’t have the sense he was really drunk. “I love your hair,” he said at one point. “It’s so beautiful.” He leanedforward, his tone confiding. “I’ve always had a thing for redheads. You caught my eye the minute you walked into the room.”
    I refrained from pointing out that, since I’d been the only female in the bar at the time, I naturally stood out. There were a few more women in the place now, but Mitch had stuck with me. It was flattering, in a superficial way. But sometimes superficial is all I need.
    By the time Mitch finished his drink, I was overdosed on snack mix and in need of real food. I slid off the bar stool. “It was nice talking to you,” I said, “but I have to go.”
    “No,” he protested, standing also. “We’re just getting to know each other. Let me take you to dinner.”
    I shook my head. “No. Thank you, but I have an early morning tomorrow. Thanks for the drink.” I headed for the door before I could change my mind.
    He followed, making a few more feeble protests, but was enough of a gentleman to take no for an answer finally. Still, I was worried if I headed for the hotel restaurant, he might spot me in there later and try again to persuade me to further our acquaintance.
    Call me