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A week had passed and Adah’s snarky mind still had not figured him out.
This John person was rather youthful in appearance, as tall as she was but not as tall as Siaeed; nor as urbane. Siaeed had been born a peasant but had managed to rise above it. But this American seemed to hold tight to his working class values. Why? Was he lazy? Regardless, to Adah, a slight gap between his front teeth made for an intoxicating smile. He did not match the image of other male librarians she’d had limited contact with: on the vertical plain, his chest showed strength rather than drooping straight down to end at an overhanging belly bump. His abs were tight, his shoulders sturdy, his back square not rounded; his walk showed athleticism. If she needed to snog with this chap to gain a significant piece of intelligence, it might not be so bad.
But he seemed to change. This John person’s eyes used to linger, locked with hers a bit longer than usual. Now when they engaged stares and smiles, he was the one to drop eye contact first. Had Edna succeeded in putting fear of being sacked in him?
John Tettouomo might still be a new plaything, someone to practice her sultry skills on — she was after all, a fem fatale. To tease, incite, and flirt with this man might help her pass through this vale of tears that marked her journey through Wilton’s Science & Technology Index.
Unless, of course, Edna had scared him off.
***
HE MUST BE HOMOSEXUAL, Adah had convinced herself. So many male librarians were. As for John Tettouomo, rugged good looks did not always equate to hyper-masculinity.
Another week at Scrooge & Marley had crawled by, and Adah’s charms had failed to illicit the response a woman with her powerful ego demanded. So either this chap was gay or painfully shy. Except for that one time they’d met and they’d exchanged smiles, he seemed incapable of holding her eyes. An intelligence officer like Adah had been trained to find a person’s weakness. Personally, she did not find shyness in a man at all appealing. She lived her life boldly, on the edge, but when it came to targets for recruitment, she was far less discriminating. She decided that should Siaeed and the Soviets continued to press her for a name, she would hand John over.
Sorry, poor chap, but at least you’ll have some colour in your life.
And then one day, while she was eating lunch and enjoying a book, Algorithms by Knuth, this John chap must have, as the Americans so crudely put it, finally grown a pair. Without a trace of hesitation, he approached her table and politely asked to join her. He’d taken her by surprise and her head snapped back. Not how a trained intelligence officer should react; but he seemed not to notice.
“Of course, John, sit please.”
“Love your accent. You sound like you’re right out of Upstairs/Downstairs.”
Smiling pleasantly, “And you like a character out of a Woody Allen movie.”
John looked hurt. Not what she’d intended. Adah dealt pain only when necessary and never for its own sake.
He replied, “I once had a girlfriend tell me I looked like that asshole. Not what I wanted to hear.”
Men tended to think of themselves as impervious, impenetrable rocks. But years of dealing with them as targets, she knew all were made of glass. Thus, she cleverly restored John unto himself:
“I shan’t do that again; I promise. Besides, you’re much too rugged to merit a comparison to Woody Allen.”
Adah found him to be a rather charming, witty, and a bright fellow. She might actually enjoy his company. And besides, that gap between his front teeth reminded her of one of her favorite characters out of a G.K. Chesterton fairy tale: Paddy the Beaver. She’d read about Paddy and his adventures while studying English at university.
Despite his enchanting Paddy the Beaver smile, this unfortunate man might soon find himself falling in love with her, a mistake so many others before him had made.
Beware John; I’ll eat your heart.
***
THE ACTUAL MOMENT OF truth between Adah Ameen and John Tettouomo occurred only a few days ago. Yes, she’d seen him and he’d seen her. Would she be the first to extend an invitation with a smile? Would he excuse himself from the table where he sat with two indexers from the Guide to Mass Market Periodicals and come join her again?
Take care of #1, right John? Don’t worry about what those two will think. Be a man.
It looked, though, the only way he’d get the message was if she threw open her jacket, tore off here shocking pink blouse, and exposed her breasts. She was reminded of a Spanish phrase that described librarians of either gender: ratón de la bibliotheca (mouse of the library). Damn them all to an eternity in a hell special to librarians, fueled by burning books.
And speaking of eternal fires, Adah grew up in Cairo under a relentless sun and waves of heat that scorched the city in an endless summer. This had given her a completely different perspective from the silly, pasty white American indexers here at Wilton. These fools worshipped the sun as if it was a god. They prayed that it should paint their skin in golden hues. Unlike black Americans and other people of color, what these folks received for their petitions were hues of red or pink. Only a chosen few could tan. Given her olive skin tone, Adah had neither the need nor the will to subject her body to the grueling process of sunbathing. She hated summer and all the fun in the sun associated with it. She came from a city of perpetual heat that carried with it the stink of mass humanity, sewage, garbage, and car and diesel fumes all baked together like a dung heap in a convection oven. Unless someone experienced such horrors personally, living in the Middle East was indescribable. That Arabs and Jews insisted on fighting over this hell on earth, what did that say about such foolish people?
Adah worshipped winter, with fall and spring occupying second and third place respectively. Moscow received plenty of snow. The first snowfall she’d ever experienced was as a student there. She remembered running outside, whirling about with outstretched arms, and letting pure white flakes anoint her tongue like a communion wafer. Winter in Moscow was hated by Muscovites, but for Adah, those snowy days were the grandest of her life.
From late September to early May, Moscow lay under a white comforter. But here in New York, snow did not visit often enough. When it did, it quickly went from pristine white to a sooty, slushy gray. That was why she preferred to live in New Jersey. Other than on the roads, and the state was crisscrossed with them, in New Jersey snow retained its purity. And an unabashed Adah was not at all averse to frolicking in New Jersey’s winter wonderland.
Thus, a bit of chill and overcast skies on this day in late April would not send her scurrying inside like the ratones de la bibliotheca.
As for John Tettouomo stopping by again for a short visit, he was a thought that passed through her mind like flurries; she decided she’d rather sit alone and enjoy a cool, refreshing day. Although she did find him attractive with his Paddy the Beaver front teeth, her eyes and mind returned to the properties of the programming language LISP.
There were only the four of them on the roof that connected the two Wilton towers: John, the two other indexers, a man and woman, and herself. The tables were separated a fair distance from each other. Suddenly, she caught motion from the other side of the roof in her peripheral vision. John was carrying his lunch over. The closer he got the better his sandwich smelled; something spicy, something Italian. Its heady scent completely overpowered the lentil soup she’d brought in a thermos from home. It was so tasteless — out of a can — that she did not bother to finish it.
At first, she sent him one of her expressionless stares. Then she closed her book and offered him a small smile. In her mind, she quoted Emily Dickenson, her favorite English poet: “Forever is composed of nows.”
Judging by the determined look on his face, it looked like for this now John had decided to make a move.
He went into total Paddy the Beaver charm mode — and she genuinely enjoyed it.
“What about your chums?” she said, nodding towards the two indexers staring from the other table.
John turned and gave them a small wave. Turning back to Adah and grinning, “Fuck ‘em.”
Adah could not help herself, she rocked back and forth in her chair, clapping and laughing. She’d heard that Paddy the Beaver had been a roofer before coming to Wilton. She found his blue-collar sense and sensibilities quite refreshing. This also explained his casual remark to her when they were first introduced: “You have all the tools, Adah.” She supposed this was how his mind worked
She let him do most of the talking. Finally, she looked at her watch. “I suppose we should be getting back. Dear Edna will have a — how do you Americans say?”
“A cow.”
She laughed. “The way you express yourself comes straight from the working class. I find you quite refreshing, John.”
“Thanks, Adah, I take that as a compliment.”
She put a cover on her soup and picked up her book. John had a Now or Never look on his face. He motioned for her to sit a minute longer. Adah watched as he seemed to fumble inside himself searching for a box marked, “Courage.” This time she was not put off by his sudden display of shyness. She actually sympathized and sat back down. Damn Edna, damn Wilton. No clock on earth would ever rule Adah’s life.
A flirtatious, “Is there something you want to say, John?” she said, leaning forward seductively, resting an elbow on the table and her fist beneath her chin.
“Yeah... How about having dinner with me Saturday night? To celebrate.” Then a Paddy the Beaver smile.
“And what is it we might be celebrating?”
“I’m leaving Wilton. I’m going back to roofing. I’m much happier swinging a hammer in the great outdoors than planted in a chair pushing a quill across a page.”
A bit taken aback, “But you’ve only been here a month?” she noted.
“A month that seemed like an eternity.”
She could sympathize.
On that checklist of suitability, so far she’d checked all the boxes “Yes” — but a lack of ambition turned her overall assessment to a solid “No, no, definitely not!”
John Tettouomo was of no use to the GRU. On a personal level, however, “I shall be quite happy to help you celebrate your freedom. And I shall be quite happy to join you for dinner Saturday night.” She scribbled her phone number on a sheet of paper and gave it to him. Then he gave her his number. She stood up to leave, but he gave no indication of following.
“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
“Since I’ll be leaving this place soon enough, I’ve decided to extend my lunch hour. I’ll walk with you to the cafeteria. I want some more food. I’m still hungry.”
She chuckled. “That’s very, very naughty, John, and a man with a ravenous appetite.”
He grinned. Might he be a fellow traveler, someone who did what he wanted, propriety be damned? Not only was John pleasing to look at, but he possessed a spirit she found quite intriguing. A plaything, a distraction — just what she needed right now to relieve her boredom.
When a fully sated John finally returned to the office, he went straight to Edna’s desk, said something to her, smiled and offered his hand. Stunned speechless, she did not shake it.
He shrugged, said goodbye to everyone, including the typists, and walked out of Wilton forever.
***
HOW STUNNING SHOULD Adah dress for tonight’s date with John Tettouomo? How much Wow! did she want to pop into his eyeballs? Dinner and dessert in a fine restaurant would cost him a pretty penny.
Oh well, these swarthy blue-color types do make lots of money in America; much more than some in the educated classes.
But to go all out might be a cruel tease.
Oh well, the world is a cruel place.
Adah finally decided to go full fem fatale, only because of how it made her feel. Whatever passion that might be aroused in John was not taken into serious consideration. She chose a beaded black wool dress that had set the GRU back $500. It had a round collar and dolman sleeves, small built-in shoulder pads, with swirls of soutache ribbon and soutache patterned beads around the body. Her heels were black stilettos that would raise her high above the top of John’s head — if he had a problem with that then let it be his problem. She wore black silk stockings, quite a turn on for American men. Late April nights in New York held a bit of a chill, so she’d top it all off with a brown suede bomber jacket.
She carefully evaluated her reflection in the full length mirror that hung on the outside of the closet door: I am hot!
He’d best be on his best behavior.
I know these swarthy laboring types. No groping in inappropriate places, John, or I shall quite simply break your arm.
John showed up at her door with a small bouquet of wildflowers. He told her, “If it’s considered un-cool to give a girl flowers on a first date, I don’t care. It’s how I feel. I want you to have these flowers.”
Trained to read a person’s body language and facial expression, John’s closed-mouth grin said: If you think I’m too gauche for you, then the bloody hell with you, Adah.
Probably not his exact text, but close enough in subtext.
She’d accepted his gift graciously, and he relaxed. She invited him inside for a moment, gave him a quickie tour — except for the bedroom whose door was shut — and then put the flowers in a vase.
They left.
Gentleman John held the door open for her as she got into his 1974, copper-colored Dodge Dart. A pleasant gesture, but as for the car, it was, as the Americans say, a piece of shit.
A loser car for a loser... You disappoint me, John. But she would not allow such cruel thoughts to seep onto her face. He was a genuinely nice peasant who wielded a hammer, and she would not hurt his feelings.
He was nicely dressed, though, in a gray Yves St. Laurent three-piece gray suit, brown shoes, white dress shirt and a yellow power tie — which looked quite good on his slim, fit body.
Adah was determined to like him despite his low-value as a GRU target.
Their destination was The Binghampton, a restaurant converted from an old ferryboat and parked at a peer on the New Jersey side of the Hudson in Edgewater.
Adah was genuinely appreciative. “Oh my, John,” she said as he parked the Dart in the lot. “This is wonderful, an excellent choice.” She smiled and entwined her arm with his as they walked to the restaurant.
In the lobby waiting to be seated, people stared. John beamed, obviously pleased to have such a fabulous looking woman on his arm. He told her when he’d phoned to make the reservation he had specifically asked for a romantic table by a window with a view of the Manhattan skyline. That meant the eastside of the restaurant.
“I told the girl who took the reservation that this is our first date. I said I wanted to impress. She guaranteed me a great table.”
It was a little after eight, so the bright lights of the City cast their spell from across the Hudson.
“Well, John, this table is quite charming.”
She shined her intoxicating blue eyes at him. John held her gaze; then the waiter showed up and broke the mood.
He ordered a seared, prime filet mignon well done with black peppercorn brandy sauce. Adah ordered mussels and clams pasta with chardonnay, shallot and garlic sauce. Her concern was for his wallet: her dish was among the least expensive items on the menu. She had a glass of white wine from Chile and he chose a red from Australia.
While they waited for dinner to be served, he asked her where she grew up.
“Cairo,” she replied. “To borrow one of your less eloquent but most descriptive phrases: a real dump.”
“You told me you’re Christian.”
“My parents are Coptic. Adah comes from the Bible, it means ‘delightful one’ in Hebrew.”
“You certainly are that, Adah.”
“I can also be quite a heathen. Sometimes I drink a bit too much.”
“Good thing you’re not Muslim.”
“Would hardly matter, I’d still overindulge.”
Then she told him what it was like growing up a Christian in a Muslim country. Another thing about John Tettouomo that Adah found quite refreshing: he listened. He was genuinely fascinated by what she had to say. Curiosity about a world that lay outside the Big Apple — and its suburbs — was a definite plus. And he was not so full of himself that he felt a constant need to impress. She had not been to dinner with a man she truly liked, instead of one who was strictly a prey animal, in quite a long time. With John she felt completely at ease to be herself — as much herself as an intelligence officer could be with anyone.
This chap is quite genuine.
Beneath a rough exterior she saw a kind and gentle man. And he’d gone all out to please her, the flowers, holding the car door for her, and making sure they sat at a charming table with an amazing view. When he asked her to take a walk with him after dinner, she readily agreed. As they walked, he did most of the talking. He held out his hand, but this time, she did not take it. Better to maintain a certain degree of separation — for his sake. The last thing she wanted was for him to fall in love with her. Mr. John Tettouomo and Ms. Adah Ameen could never be.
When he dropped her off at her apartment building, he insisted he walk her to her door. She found the offer charming but unnecessary. Adah was more than capable of seeing to her own safety and, if need be, his as well. But she allowed him to be her Sir Knight. At the front door of her apartment she made the first move. She kissed him gently on the lips.
“I had a wonderful evening, John. Thank you so much. Sorry I can’t invite you in because I’ve a class tomorrow morning, and I’m quite tired.” Then she blurted out, “Let’s do this again next Saturday night. This time it’s on me. I’ll ring you up.”
What was she thinking! Adah Ameen had been damaged, severely damaged. The kindest thing she could do for this genuinely nice man was to find an excuse not to see him again. So why did she commit herself to another date next Saturday?
John flashed his most Paddy the Beaver smile: “Yeah! That would be great!”
Her life in New York was being crushed under the twin weights of loneliness and boredom; to continue a relationship with John Tettouomo, even a platonic one, would be mean and selfish.
OK, so I am selfish, but never mean.
She had all week to come up with an excuse to cancel that would not hurt his feelings.