“What was the question?”
“I asked them to give me a sound argument that Freud’s psychoanalysis techniques were flawed. We’ve spent the last three weeks studying Grünbaum and Colby, so it should have been an easy question.”
“Yes. I agree. What did you get as an answer?”
“Ms. Balick wrote, ‘Freud was a man.’”
I laughed. “I think that might be a valid argument. You should probably give her some points for that.”
“Cute. But I don’t think so.”
“You were always a tough grader.”
“I always gave you good grades.”
“I earned them.” Which was true, but it got me thinking. “Have you ever given anyone points they didn’t deserve? Maybe because they were pretty or you felt bad for them?”
“Never.” His answer didn’t surprise me. Baldwin sipped his wine. “So where do you want to go Thursday night?”
“Thursday?”
“Your birthday dinner.”
“Oh. I forgot. I’ve been so busy lately, it totally slipped my mind that my birthday is coming up.”
“Well, it didn’t slip mine. I was thinking we could go to Ecru. It’s a new French place on the Upper East Side. The waitlist for a reservation is three months long, but a colleague of mine is friends with the owner and said he could make sure we get in.”
“That sounds great. Thank you.” If I was being honest, I would have preferred to go to Joey’s again for a big, greasy burger. But Baldwin was a foodie and always trying to expand my palatal horizons. On occasion, I even liked some of the fancy foods.
Baldwin stayed for a while, and we talked shop. He told me about a paper he hoped to get published, and I told him how nervous I was to meet two of my video clients in the office tomorrow. After I relocated to New York, some of my video and phone clients who were local to the area had become face-to-face clients. It was always odd meeting them that first time, but tomorrow’s appointment made me particularly nervous because I suspected the husband could be physically abusing the wife.
It started to get late, and at one point I yawned and stretched. My thin T-shirt rode up and exposed some of my stomach. Baldwin’s eyes zeroed in on the flesh, and I watched as he swallowed. Moments like these confused me the most. I wouldn’t claim to be an expert on men, but I’d dated a decent amount myself, even had a few long-ish relationships. Generally, I could read a man’s attraction to me pretty well, and in this moment, I would have sworn Baldwin was into me. It wasn’t new. I’d felt it on plenty of other occasions. Which might be the reason I was still han
ging on after so many years.
Sometimes a spark turns into a fire.
Baldwin cleared his throat and stood. “I should get going. It’s late.”
“Are you sure? Maybe I’ll pour a glass of wine for myself if you want to have a second…”
“I have an early lecture tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I hid my disappointment and walked him to the door.
Baldwin said goodnight, and then stopped and turned back. For a brief second, my imagination got the best of me, and I imagined him turning around and shutting the door—deciding to stay.
Instead, he said, “I’m expecting a package tomorrow. If you see it in the hall, can you grab it for me? I won’t be home until late.”
“Sure. Is tomorrow night the New York Psychology Symposium you were telling me about?”
“No. That’s next week. Rachel has tickets to see an off-Broadway play tomorrow.”
“Oh. Rachel.”
“You met her last week briefly at the coffee shop.”
“Yes. Rachel.” Like I could forget. She’d been wearing the dress shirt he’d worn the night before when I heard his door open and peeked through the peephole. “I’ll grab anything outside your door. Have fun tomorrow night.”