Date #9: Chivalry is not dead

I'm in trouble.

I knew this was going to happen. All day I knew it. I couldn't sit still at work, knees bouncing, fingers tapping. I was restless. I'd cross to the window, stare at the blue sky, the clouds moving past the buildings, the city alive below me, scanning the streets, anticipating something. But what?

Date #9.

I winked at him on Match.com one week ago today. There wasn't anything particular about his photos that caught my eye. In one he was wearing shades. In the other he was sans shades, but so far away it was difficult to make out that the figure in the photo was human, much less a man. It was what he had to say in his profile that piqued my interest. He loved old movies, boycotted reading The DaVinci Code, and - he disliked cats. He wrote me a VERY witty and extremely well thought out email. I responded with equally matched scintillating sentences, and my private email account. I also asked if he was in witness protection - and would it be too much trouble to see a close up shot? He obliged, and there wasn't anything extraordinary about his face. In the photo, he was at a bowling alley, surrounded by beer bottles, with a sort of serious expression, not even looking at the camera. But there was something about the way he expressed himself...and expressed interest in me. We exchanged a couple more emails and I offered my phone number.

Monday night he called while I was at rehearsal and left a voicemail. I returned home too late to return the call. Tuesday, on a whim, I emailed him and asked him to dinner. He responded that he was working late that night, but he loved my initiative and how about Wednesday?

Perfect.

What I knew of him before the date: He's a partner in a lawfirm in the loop specializing in commerical litigation. He's 6'0. He's 34. He's Catholic (though I wasn't sure if he was practicing), he has an ecclectic taste in music and movies. His favorite drink is a martini up with an olive. He drives a truck and just recently rehabbed his house. By himself.

That was it.

We exchanged a couple emails on the day of the date, sorting out the where and the when for dinner. The where? Cafe Iberico - a fabulous tapas restaurant. The when? 6:00pm. I was being picked up for rehearsal near an El stop at 8:00, so he chose something in that vicinity - very thoughtful. He apologized ahead of time for wearing a suit, as he didn't bring a change of clothes. I told him that with me in my skirt we'd make the perfect picture of corporate America.

At 6:00 on the dot, I am sitting at the bar, crossing and uncrossing my legs, opening and closing my flip phone, fluffing my hair, glancing around the room, watching pedestrians go by, waiting for him to arrive. I'm so nervous I could pee. Several men walk in talking loudly, a young couple, a priest. At about five minutes past six, a pick-up truck pulls to the curb and out steps my date. I know it's him. And in that instant I know I'm totally done for. He is wearing a navy suit, white pressed shirt, blue and yellow striped tie. He is gorgeous. He strides toward the door, and spots me immediately. Do we hug? Shake hands? I think we hug. I can't seem to recall now. Immediately he's apologizing for being late (2 points) and that he sent me an email but wasn't sure if I got it, etc. I'm just nodding and smiling and "It's ok" - ing. The truth is, I am too bowled over by his looks, his manners, his suit, his smile...him, to say much of anything.

We're shown a table and he allows me to choose where I'd like to sit. Before I can reach to touch the chair - he is there, pulling it out for me. (2 points) We sit and immediately start chatting. He's asking about how my rehearsals are going, where I grew up, how I first got started acting. I tell him I was voted by my class to be the narrator in the Thanksgiving presentation in first grade - and he tells me he played a turkey in his first grade Thanksgiving presentation - and wet his pants. It was our first bonding moment. We order drinks. A martini for him, a glass of sangria for me. We're talking so much we forget to order. We both admit to being starved and after our server drops by for the third time, we open our menus. I start to get a bit nervous. The idea behind tapas (as most know) is to order many 'little plates' and share them. I have no idea what food he likes, doesn't like, etc. The whole process seems daunting and I'm staring at my menu unsure of what to say, how to proceed. He says, "Any dietary restrictions I should be aware of?" I laugh. "No. But I'm not a huge fan of seafood." He asks my opinion on a couple of dishes and when the server returns, orders for the both of us. I love that he took charge (2 points). We're talking non-stop. I learn that he's the baby, born and raised in Chicago, he is a practicing Catholic and his favorite movie is "Casablanca". He had originally wanted to be a fighter pilot, but didn't have perfect vision so being a lawyer was his back-up plan. He told me what he loves about his profession and what he loathes. How the work is hard and the hours are long, but he strives to maintain a balance. At one point he confessed something to me. Something that made me blush.

He'd Google'd me.

He starts rattling off reviews I'd received in productions and commenting on roles I'd played. I am hugely flattered that he did his research (2 points). I then admit to him that I'd gone through my trusty Sullivan's Law Directory and read all about him - and his firm- online. Though I was disappointed to not find any photographs of him looking everybit the dashing litigator. "Like this?" he asks, and strikes a very legal pose, arms crossed, holding a mimed pair of spectacles to lips. I throw back my head and howl. The food comes and we dig in. He offers me every plate before he takes some for himself (2 points). In a moment of weakness, I beam at him and gush, "I'm...I'm having a great time!" He smiles. "Me, too." We spend so much time talking that the food goes mostly untouched. In fact, I realize I'm not that hungry afterall.

He seems to be a man from an earlier era. The era of Dean Martin, cigars and big band music. An era where women wore red lipstick and pumps and pantyhose on a date, and men wore suits and were chivalrous. Where a date included swing dancing, a drive in a car and sharing a soda.

He's frequently checking his watch to be sure we leave in enough time to get me to the El stop. (So thoughtful - 2 points) We finish our meal, and in an instant he's paid the check and we're walking toward the door. He offers me a ride to the stop and I accept. We're standing outside waiting our turn for the valet and a homeless man approaches, asking for change. "I'll have change in a minute," my date says and returns his attention to me. A minute later the homeless man returns asking for change. "I'll have change in just a minute," he repeats, not at all rude, but firm. A minute later he's paying the valet, and making good on his promise to the homeless man. (2 points)

He opens my door for me and we're off. He has Frank Sinatra playing on his CD and I don't want to go to rehearsal. I'm having such a grand time. We arrive at the stop all too quickly and he turns to me and says, "I had a really great time with you." I smile. "Me, too," I say. "Would you like to go out again?" He asks.

"I would love to."

"Great." He leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. I step out of his truck, shut the door and wave. I start to walk down the sidewalk and turn back to look at him. His head is turned to look at me and we catch each other's eye. I wave. He waves back. And then he is gone.

I am on a cloud for the rest of the night. Even now as I type this, I am not here, but hovering above in some giddy bubble, floating.

This right brained, heart on her sleeve, incurably idealistic romantic is struggling to be practical, level headed, guarded, blase. He said he would call. But the possibility exists that he may not. He may have been so much of a gentleman that he asked to see me again only to tie up the date nicely and end on a positive note.

If nothing more comes of this, I can say that it was lovely to be reminded, through countless chivalrous gestures, that I am a woman. To be in the company of such an intelligent, caring, interesting, funny and warm man.

The bar has officially been raised.