Read Online He Loves Me Not by Caroline B. Cooney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caroline B. Cooney
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my fingers, thus making it impossible for me to play our next gig, Ralph couldn’t care less how I got through doors.
But Ted took my arm, extricated me from his seat belt, positioned my shoulder bag again on my shoulder, and turned me very gently away from the car. I was all set to feel warm and good about his attention—when I figured out the only reason he did all that was that he was afraid I might slam the door on the seat belt, and he wanted to feed it back into its slot. He did that. Lovingly. I wanted to make a smart remark about men who stroked seat belts for fun, but I had wrecked enough already. I kept silent.
After he’d locked up the car, Ted took my arm again, and we walked into the restaurant together. We took a booth in the corner and I sat opposite him. I watched his face. First he surveyed the restaurant, found that it looked exactly like every single other HoJo’s on earth, decided that the other patrons didn’t look all that interesting, and finally his eyes came to rest on me.
And he grinned.
Gosh, if I had been like old Jell-O before…
I thought that Ted Mollison had possibly the world’s nicest smile.
This is an interview, I said to myself. The Register is paying for this and it is not a date. I will not see Ted again. I must be calm and professional as befits an interviewee. I must be fascinating and intriguing, however, so that Ted calls me up for a date anyway.
I tried to think of one single solitary fascinating thing to tell Ted about me.
The waitress, chewing more gum than any three people normally could, wanted to know what I was having. “Uh,” I said, fascinating nobody. Ted, the infuriating creature, was fascinated by the amount of gum in the waitress’s mouth.
I gave up. Fascination was not my strong point. I didn’t have any strong points except playing hit tunes. If I did have any, why, I’d already have a boyfriend.
“Could we see a menu, please?” said Ted.
The waitress mumbled something and ambled off. I figured she wouldn’t be back for ten minutes. How was I going to be fascinating for ten whole minutes?
It turned out that I was not going to have time to worry about that. I was not even going to have time to read the menu. Ted shot questions at me like machine-gun bullets. He’d start with one topic and jerk into another and back to the first and off on a third. I could hardly keep track of anything and pretty soon I was just spouting answers without thinking—probably what Ted wanted. I wasn’t sure it was what I wanted, though. I like to think long and hard before I speak.
He wrote it all down, too, in a shorthand notebook.
“Tell me the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you.”
I told the waitress I would have the seafood platter and told Ted about the Polish wedding where they had to explain to me what a polka was.
“Tell me about Ralph,” demanded Ted.
I told him about Ralph. How come he didn’t want to hear about Alison? Who cared about music and Ralph and gigs? I wanted to talk about me, and then I wanted to talk about Ted and me.
The delivery of our food was a welcome diversion for me, but Ted was just annoyed by it. He couldn’t talk as well with his mouth full, and he was very impatient because I had to finish each mouthful before I could answer him. It is very hard to chew normally when the person across the table from you is tapping his pencil waiting for that chewing nonsense to finish up.
Finally Ted began talking about himself in order to fill the moments when I was chewing. I relaxed a bit and enjoyed my supper after all.
“Once,” said Ted, “I interviewed this fascinating guy who runs the only one of this business in the entire world. He manufactures autographed baseballs.”
I cracked up laughing. Imagine doing something like that all day every day of your entire life—writing names on little white balls. Ted laughed, too. “That’s what I thought, but it turned out to be a fascinating business, especially
But Ted took my arm, extricated me from his seat belt, positioned my shoulder bag again on my shoulder, and turned me very gently away from the car. I was all set to feel warm and good about his attention—when I figured out the only reason he did all that was that he was afraid I might slam the door on the seat belt, and he wanted to feed it back into its slot. He did that. Lovingly. I wanted to make a smart remark about men who stroked seat belts for fun, but I had wrecked enough already. I kept silent.
After he’d locked up the car, Ted took my arm again, and we walked into the restaurant together. We took a booth in the corner and I sat opposite him. I watched his face. First he surveyed the restaurant, found that it looked exactly like every single other HoJo’s on earth, decided that the other patrons didn’t look all that interesting, and finally his eyes came to rest on me.
And he grinned.
Gosh, if I had been like old Jell-O before…
I thought that Ted Mollison had possibly the world’s nicest smile.
This is an interview, I said to myself. The Register is paying for this and it is not a date. I will not see Ted again. I must be calm and professional as befits an interviewee. I must be fascinating and intriguing, however, so that Ted calls me up for a date anyway.
I tried to think of one single solitary fascinating thing to tell Ted about me.
The waitress, chewing more gum than any three people normally could, wanted to know what I was having. “Uh,” I said, fascinating nobody. Ted, the infuriating creature, was fascinated by the amount of gum in the waitress’s mouth.
I gave up. Fascination was not my strong point. I didn’t have any strong points except playing hit tunes. If I did have any, why, I’d already have a boyfriend.
“Could we see a menu, please?” said Ted.
The waitress mumbled something and ambled off. I figured she wouldn’t be back for ten minutes. How was I going to be fascinating for ten whole minutes?
It turned out that I was not going to have time to worry about that. I was not even going to have time to read the menu. Ted shot questions at me like machine-gun bullets. He’d start with one topic and jerk into another and back to the first and off on a third. I could hardly keep track of anything and pretty soon I was just spouting answers without thinking—probably what Ted wanted. I wasn’t sure it was what I wanted, though. I like to think long and hard before I speak.
He wrote it all down, too, in a shorthand notebook.
“Tell me the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to you.”
I told the waitress I would have the seafood platter and told Ted about the Polish wedding where they had to explain to me what a polka was.
“Tell me about Ralph,” demanded Ted.
I told him about Ralph. How come he didn’t want to hear about Alison? Who cared about music and Ralph and gigs? I wanted to talk about me, and then I wanted to talk about Ted and me.
The delivery of our food was a welcome diversion for me, but Ted was just annoyed by it. He couldn’t talk as well with his mouth full, and he was very impatient because I had to finish each mouthful before I could answer him. It is very hard to chew normally when the person across the table from you is tapping his pencil waiting for that chewing nonsense to finish up.
Finally Ted began talking about himself in order to fill the moments when I was chewing. I relaxed a bit and enjoyed my supper after all.
“Once,” said Ted, “I interviewed this fascinating guy who runs the only one of this business in the entire world. He manufactures autographed baseballs.”
I cracked up laughing. Imagine doing something like that all day every day of your entire life—writing names on little white balls. Ted laughed, too. “That’s what I thought, but it turned out to be a fascinating business, especially
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