We get shakes at Steak ’n Shake. I know that’s a terrible first date—or second date?—it’s the only thing that’s open in Dayton after a certain time. Except Denny’s, but Chad works there, so that’s out.
Jules and I have the worst first date ever. It’s because I’m hung over, and because we’re at Steak ’n Shake, and because Jules is manic depressive. But mostly just because it’s our first date.
You’d think after such a beautiful kiss, and talk, and walk by the river, that we could make it through our first official date with some spunk—with some spark even—but we can’t. We sit there like a couple of depressed old people. Our server probably thinks we know someone who just died. At least we’re comfortable enough with each other to be sad.
Jules hardly touches her shake—which is strawberry.
I drink too much of my shake, which is chocolate, and she offers me some of hers, which I drink most of.
“Who was that woman at Black Box 101 tonight?”
“I just met her after the show.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Really,” she says.
“It looked like you totally knew her.”
Jules doesn’t respond. Then she says: “What did you call it?”
“Black Box 101.”
“It’s just ’BlackBox’,” she says. “One word. 101 is the street address.” She says it like I’m a fucking idiot.
“Sorry, I thought—“
“You don’t have to be sorry,” she says. “Don’t ever be sorry with me.”
I’m getting reprimanded at Steak ’n Shake.
But she’s right.
Why did I say that?
I don’t know why I said that.
“How long does your show run?”
“I don’t want to talk about that. Six weeks,” she says. “Five if we suck. Do you want to get food?”
“Not really.”
“Why did you take me here?” she says.
It’s a fucking legitimate question. “I don’t know—“ I start to say I’m sorry but I don’t say that. “It’s the only place that’s open.”
“What about Denny’s? Or bowling?”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No!” Then she feels the implication. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No, I’m—about bowling? No. No. Do you like bowling?”
“I guess,” she says. “What else do you do around here.”
“I usually paint,” I say. “What do you do?”
“I usually act,” she says.
“I liked your acting.”
“You do?”
“I thought..I thought you were wonderful.”
She kicks me under the table. “Was that you??! Oh my god. What do you paint?”
“It’s fine. Abstract stuff.”
“Want me to kick you again?”
“Hard, please.”
She kicks me really soft.
I grab her shake and drink the rest of it. “If you want more I’ll get us more but it looked like—“
“Let’s go,” she says.
“Ok.”