Colin's prediction that Harriet would make the decision herself turned out to be true — in fact, Harriet had already accepted Randy's invitation request on Thursday morning. Dinner at Forelli's Italian Restaurant, a table for two at six o' clock.
"How do I look?" Harriet stood in her bedroom doorway, looking somewhat shamefaced. She was wearing her new dress, one far from the bright-flowered brown one she had worn before. This dress was a navy blue jersey, a halter-neck rising in a deep 'v', and no sleeves. It was the most flattering thing Em had seen her wear, the color bringing out the red tint of Harriet's hair, the luster of her eyes.
"You look wonderful," said Em. "Truly, Harriet."
Harriet blushed. "Well, I had help picking it out," she admitted. "My mom. And I got Bobby's opinion. I needed a guy's thoughts on it — and I'm never again asking a stranger in a store what they think."
They both laughed a little at this awkward memory from the sporting goods adventure. For once, Em was actually glad Vic was filming them. This would give viewers a better perspective of Harriet than any footage edited together thus far.
"That outfit's a perfect choice," said Em. "You're going to have a great time tonight, Harriet."
Thus far, this prediction of Em's seemed to be true also. Harriet and Randy seemed to be hitting it off nicely. In person, he looked friendly and slightly bashful. He had worn a tie with his dress shirt, his face slightly pink — then again, he might be blushing. He seemed to blush every twenty seconds, even when he was laughing and smiling.
"I wish I could hear them," murmured Em, as she and Colin watched from several tables away. This was the closest they could get to Harriet's date, not wanting to repeat the creepy, hovering vibe from her date with Elton. Vic, who had less shame, had already zoomed in multiple times on Harriet's table, filming shots of the girl's smiling face and the back of hapless Randy's head.
"No eavesdropping," said Colin. "Ten more minutes, and we can call this a success and leave." They hadn't requested menus this time, only an appetizer. The waiter cast them baleful glances whenever he passed their table.
"Good. I have plans for tonight," said Em. "Ones that don't involve watching other people, for a change."
"Really." Although he expressed it as a statement, Em detected a little curiosity in Colin's voice. "And what might those plans be?"
"A party," answered Em. "At Izzy's. She's having a few friends over for her birthday. Nothing special — just appetizers and loud music and people catching up with each other."
"Isabel is your producer?" he asked.
"Yes. You've met her. The girl in the booth who kept signaling you."
"I remember. In retrospect, I should have obeyed and called you 'Doctor Emma' as requested."
"Well, you didn't manage to get out of calling me the second part," said Em. "Although my good friends don't call me 'Emma,' you know." And I hate being called Emmy, she wanted to add.
"Why not? It suits you," he answered. "You look like an Emma. Very ... dignified. Very engaging and pretty. It's a good name."
It was Em's turn to blush. "Thank you," she said. "I guess it just always felt formal. 'Em' as a nickname is sort of casual, a bit tough. I've grown used to it."
"Mm." Colin's reply stopped short at this point.
"Do you have plans?" Em asked.
"No," he answered. "I'm relatively new to the city, as you know. I spend my evenings unpacking boxes and sorting material for my next academic piece. Something that would bore you to hear more about, I suspect."
"I don't know," said Em. "What's the subject?"
"Suppressed Communication Signals Between Romantic Partners: A Study in the Importance, Frequency, and Authenticity of Personal Reflexes, and Possible Meanings Behind Them."
"Mm," said Em. "No, I'm just kidding. It's probably a very interesting subject ... beneath all the academic phrases, that is."
Harriet and her date had moved on to the main course. Colin motioned for the check. "Allow me," he said, removing his wallet from his coat's breast pocket.
"Oh, really? You ask permission?" Em replied, playfully. "I didn't think the gentleman needed to ask to pay the bill."
"I risk offense if I fight you for the check," he answered. But he didn't ask her again as he counted out the amount and a tip.
Outside, the air was nippy, a cool mist of rain making the atmosphere humid. Nevertheless, Em hunched beneath the folds of her scarf in response to the droplets. Colin moved to shrug off his trench coat and offer it to her, she noticed; then seemed to think better of it and didn't.
"I wouldn't have said 'no,'" she informed him. He looked startled that she realized his thoughts. "But I'm fine without it, thanks." This, before he could attempt to pull it off again.
"Where's your car?" he asked.
"I didn't drive. I'm walking to Isabel's place. It's only a block away. Across the bridge."
"I'll walk you there. And not merely because of my book's guidelines," he answered. "I enjoy company when I'm in search of a cab." He walked along beside her, hands in his coat pockets.
"Can I ask you a question?" asked Em. "What is it about romantic tendencies that makes you want to squelch them so quickly? I mean, your book's themes of chivalry and gentlemanly manners are all about romantic gestures, but you couldn't wait for Harriet to see that her romantic ideas were unrealistic."
"Romantic fantasies tend to blind us to reality," he answered. "There's a difference between being a romantic person and being deluded by romantic themes. People who believe in them too strongly won't make sensible choices. Like Harriet's fondness for Elton the unworthy."
"But what about the old-fashioned idea of simply falling in love?" asked Em. "What about the manners and gestures you describe in your book — don't those ideas keep alive the idea that you can pursue any girl with chivalry, and maybe win her over?"
"Chivalry is more complicated than that," he answered. "It's a matter of choice beyond romance. A difficult one to make for a lot of men. It isn't simply about finding one woman attractive, or wanting the admiration of every woman, whether you want her or not. It isn't meant always to send signals of attraction, which you would know if you had read my book."
"I've read some of it," defended Em. "Parts of it. Lots of parts, actually."
"If you had read it completely, then." He pulled off his glasses, wiping the fog from the lenses. "People tend to read only the lines about the romantic gestures, the communication of love — not the parts about offering similar gestures every day, for every woman, regardless of her personal beauty or personality."
"Meaning the good, the bad, and the ugly alike," said Em. "Which is why you offered me your coat," she added, teasingly. "I assume I'm the second one."
"That's rubbish," he answered.
"Never mind, then. I get the point you're trying to make."
"Thank you." He tucked his glasses into his pocket. "It's a choice of behavior that becomes easier after you see what blind attraction does to people. It washes away every sense of self, every shred of common sense. It leaves them an empty shell, or embitters them to the lowest levels, once they're rejected."
His words reached into Em's past, touching a forgotten piece of it. The memory of Charles was there, the lonely caller with no one else to turn to that night.
"I can think of a similar circumstance, yes," she conceded, a ghost of a smile on her face. "But you'd rather not hear about it, I'm sure."
Colin glanced at her, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"I mean it's from my past career. When I was a disc jockey, there was this caller. Your story made me think of him." She glanced at Colin. "See? Even worse than being a radio therapist, I was merely a disc spinner taking people's late-night requests."
"Really." Colin's tone was flat, but he was paying attention to her.
"Anyway...this guy called one night. His name was Charles. And he had been utterly, utterly crushed by the woman he loved, because she had never really loved him. She'd been using him. I got the impression he was weak-willed; she strung him along, and I'm pretty sure she was unkind when she told him to leave. She must have said the cruelest, most mocking things to him. You could hear it in his voice, in all the things he wasn't saying."
Colin was still listening. Em stopped along the side of the bridge, gazing over the rails at the water below. In her mind, briefly, it was the darkness outside the tiny, desert studio long ago, the roar of traffic, the static over the line during Charles's silence.
"He was so alone," she continued. "And in that moment, I was really afraid for him. He was one of those people who couldn't express pain. It was just ... he seemed like the kind of person who might not walk away from this and have a second chance at love. Not if he loved her and hated her at the same time. So I said anything that came into my mind that I thought would help. I don't even remember what, or for how long."
She turned away from the bridge, leaning against the rail. "Anyway, that's what made me first think about a show where people talk their problems out with a listener — Charles, and all the other lonely, late-night callers."
"Is it?" Colin looked surprised.
"Yes. There's a part of me that still hopes Charles will call in someday," she admitted, shamefaced. "Just to know that everything turned out okay for him. To know if anything I said made a difference. Or if I would have been better off to just play him a stupid heartache song." A wry laugh followed this line. Even now, there was a catch in her voice. The memory of someone else's pain had that effect on her, sometimes.
Colin was silent. "You should let go of it," he said, finally. "Don't keep wondering. Don't keep waiting for him to come back."
Em looked at him. "Why?" she asked. "Is it wrong that I care? What does it matter if I want to know?"
"Because the odds that you ever will are slim," he answered. "And whatever decision Charles made, it was his choice. You have no blame and no part in whatever happened after he hung up the phone."
"Maybe I do," argued Em. "How do you know?"
"Because it's common sense, Emma." Colin met her gaze.
She stared at him a moment. Her lips parted. "I want to think I helped him," she said. "I think I'm strong enough to accept the truth if I didn't. If I based my whole career on a failure, for instance." She didn't laugh this time, even though this last part could very well be a bitter joke, if it was true.
Colin didn't break their gaze. "I'm sure you made a difference to him in some way. You've made a difference to a great many people. Why should he be an exception?"
"The soothing, sympathetic voice to the rescue," Em recited.
He shrugged. "Are you saying you don't actually believe in its power? Because if you do, then let go, Emma. Don't let the past cling to you."
His voice was warmer than usual. More alive than the stiff-and-stolid tones she had grown accustomed to hearing. The sound of it was making her blush, strangely enough. This was why she turned away, and began walking again. After a moment, Colin was walking beside her.
They didn't say anything for several minutes. The words Colin had spoken made her feel better about Charles' unfinished story in a way nothing else had. Until now, the notion that his story would fade as surely as the sound of his voice had been forgotten, the name of the song she played after his call, had always bothered her. Now, however, it seemed natural. She didn't forget because she didn't care, but because she cared as deeply for her present-day callers, and all the chances she had to help them. It made sense, really, when she thought of it that way.
"This is Isabel's place." Em nodded towards the apartment building a few yards away, one with a cluster of balloons tied to the stair rails, the signal for Izzy's party.
He climbed the steps with her. She pushed the intercom button. "It's me, Iz."
"Come on up." The door release buzzed.
"I'll take you to the door," said Colin.
"All right." She didn't issue an objection as he came inside.
"Shouldn't you have a gift?" he asked her. "It's your friend's birthday."
"We did a group gift. A set of skis," answered Em. "She's going to Colorado for a weekend in November." They were climbing the stairs to Isabel and her husband's third-floor apartment. The distant beat of music echoed from the floor above them. On either side of the middle right-hand door, there was a big cluster of helium balloons tied with bright ribbons.
"Thank you," said Em to Colin. They had stopped outside the door. Em knocked on it twice.
"You're welcome," he said. He drew a step away and opened his mouth to say goodnight, Em surmised, at the exact same moment Isabel pulled open the door, a metallic party hat askew on her corkscrew curls.
"There you are —" Her speech ended at the sight of Colin. She looked shocked, and slightly puzzled. "Em. Doctor Ferris. Come on in." She gestured towards the room behind her — clearly Isabel was being magnanimous with regards to Em's unlikely companion.
"I was just leaving," he answered. "But thank you." He smiled at Isabel, then at Em. "Goodnight, Emma."
"Goodnight." She watched as he turned and walked away, descending the stairs again.
"What was he doing here?" Izzy asked. She ushered Em inside and closed the door again. "Seriously, couldn't you find a better date?"
"He wasn't — he just walked me here from the restaurant to be polite," said Em. "I wish he had come in for a drink, at least."
"Good thing chivalry has its limits," answered Isabel.
Still, Em wished he had stayed instead of leaving. Something had been different about him tonight. At least, it had felt that way to her on the bridge. That brief conversation had seemed more meaningful than any she'd had in quite awhile.
Maybe she was imagining it. It was the breeze from the water that affected her. Or the scent of cologne clinging to the coat she had refused. For a brief second, she wished she had let him put it around her shoulders. Maybe she was wrong to refuse the gesture from someone who had earned her respect so recently — no doubt his book would agree with this.
To love a woman selflessly is not an error. Not when he loves her truly — and separately — from himself. He may suffer pain as a result of it, if the relationship ends...
Em propped herself against her pillow as she read. The words were a little blurry from her sleeplessness at this late hour, usually a groan-worthy reminder of the glasses looming in her future. She blinked twice, clearing her vision, as she turned the pages.
But a man with personal strength and character, whose love and respect for his partner were equal, won't have to suffer the bitterness and betrayal of a man whose partner was an illusion, and whose relationship was an emotional sham for both of them.
Love and respect. There it was again, even in the face of failure. This time, it seemed less foreign to Colin's character than times past. It seemed natural and believable to her. That was the last thought in Em's head before she dropped off to sleep until morning, the book still cradled between her hands.