Page 92 of The Frog Prince

Love goes.

*

Despite my pessimism,only a week later I’m accepting my first date in nearly five months.

He’s a man I met last October at the Leather & Lace Ball, a friend of David’s. Ed Hill’s his name, and he sat at our table and apparently has had a soft spot for me ever since.

I’m a bit worried that this man, Ed Hill, fell for me when I was wearing a bustier, a leather G-string, and fishnet stockings, because I don’t usually wear leather, G-strings, or fishnet stockings. But David has assured me that Ed knows it was a costume and not a personal fetish, so I accept the date when Ed calls.

Dating is still not all that appealing, but at Katie’s urging, I’m determined to approach relationships differently. I’m not going to wear rose-colored glasses anymore. I’m going to be practical, unemotional, and logical.

And being practical, I check out Ed Hill’s company’s Web site and discover he doesn’t just work for Arrow Software—he’s the founder. And the CEO. I surf around the Web site, discovering that Arrow has offices all over the world, including Australia, the UK, Germany, and Japan. I’m impressed and read whatever I can, including posted press releases (company profits are up; new growth opportunities abound) and a bio about top management execs, including Ed.

And continuing to be practical, I study Ed’s head shot on the Web site, trying to remember him from the ball, and I do but I don’t. Ed was quiet, I think, and not a particularly big man—medium height and slender, definitely not flashy and not dressed in anything outrageous.

I’m nervous about the date, but David has assured me that Ed is a really nice, genuine man, and he’ll treat me very well, and isn’t that the first step on the road to recovery? Stop dreaming about unavailable men and date those who are available?

I dress for my Saturday-date with care.

Ed’s offered to pick me up, but I tell him I’m happy to meet him at the restaurant, and I do.

*

I sit outsidein my parked car, just across the street from the restaurant, and watch people arrive. I spot Ed as he steps from his sports car. It’s a nice car, and he’s pleasant enough looking—not handsome, rather nondescript—but as he locks his car and heads toward the restaurant door, adjusting his sport coat, I think he has a kind face.

I get out of my car, smooth my long skirt over my knee-high boots, and pat my sweater flat and tell myself to relax, try to keep an open mind, and have fun.

And Ed is nice, surprisingly unflashy for being a CEO of a multimillion-(billion?) dollar company. During dinner he asks intelligent questions and then seems perfectly content to let me talk while he listens.

But finally I turn the table and ask questions, and Ed answers simply.

Ed’s from Marin, he’s thirty-eight, the middle of three sons, and his parents are still alive and together. He golfs a little bit, but his passion is tennis, and he does his best to follow the Bay Area professional teams.

“Your parents must be really proud of you,” I say as he lapses into silence.

Ed shakes his head, expression rueful. “My dad’s a little disappointed. Dad always wanted me to be a doctor.”

“But you’ve been so successful.”

“Everyone has their own definition of success.”

I look at him a long moment, trying to see who thin, balding megamillionaire Ed Hill really is. “And what’s your definition?”

He nudges his water glass with his finger. He doesn’t drink, abstains from alcohol. “Happiness.”

“Happiness?” That sounds too simplistic.

“Liking yourself when you open your eyes every morning. Gratitude that you’ve got another day.”

Gratitude that you’ve got another day. Liking yourself in the morning.I repeat his words as I drive home later that evening. It’s still simplistic, but it does work for me.

*

Ed calls meon Monday and thanks me for a lovely evening, and follows up by asking if I’d like to go to the Lakers-Warriors game with him on Thursday. It’s a huge rivalry, Bay Area versus L.A., and both teams-are strong contenders this year.

“Okay,” I say, after checking my appointment book to make sure I have nothing going on.

“It’s going to be rush hour,” he says. “What if I pick you up so you don’t have to hassle with traffic?”