Tonight was the first evening that I had the chance to work with Freya. Of course I have been to visit her many times since she was assigned to my charge—how strange that still seems to me!—but these have been quiet weeks for her, with little activity in her romantic life. I was excited, then, when she arranged to meet a new friend for a drink this evening. I should have known better; with this woman, nothing happens just as I expect it.
When Freya arrived at the bar, she made an impression as she usually does. Tall as she is, with her brilliant hair, her grace, and her tendency to wear deep, vivid colors, she turns heads wherever she goes. Tonight she was wearing a black pantsuit with an emerald green shirt underneath, and she looked powerful and beautiful, though I know that I am biased. I believe that by the time she had settled into her chair with her drink, every person in the room had noticed her.
Of course, this was in some ways intentional on Freya’s part. The establishment she had chosen for the date, which is one of her favorites, is a dingy place, with arcade games off to one side and most of its patrons dressed casually or in work clothes. This suits Freya perfectly, though it took some time for me to see why.
Her prospective partner was running late, so she sipped her whiskey and checked her email on her phone. She met Shane earlier this week while she was on a lunch break at work; while she waited for her food, he engaged her in conversation, and she enjoyed the time so much that she was almost late back to work. So she gave him her number, and when he called the next day, she was glad enough to meet him.
I was not there for their meeting—at the time Nick had a cold, so Gabrielle had decided to stay home and take care of him. This was the wrong decision, and by midday tensions were high and I didn’t feel that I could leave them. But Freya was looking forward to this evening with the jittery eagerness that accompanies high hopes for romance, so I was optimistic.
Her excitement and my optimism slowly declined through the first hour. Freya called Shane, but there was no answer. She ordered a second drink and switched to a novel on her phone, but every time the door opened, she glanced up, with a stab of disappointment when it wasn’t the person she was looking for. Throughout the second hour, that disappointment gradually shifted to irritation.
I was dumbfounded. How could anyone not want to spend their time with Freya? Something must have happened, and I told her that more than once.
Finally she had had enough. When she got up from the table, I expected her to grab her coat and leave in a huff. As ever, though, she surprised me.
She approached the bar, where a group of servers from a neighboring restaurant were bemoaning a long evening. She stepped up to them where they could not avoid seeing her and said, “So I know the one about not taking candy from strangers, but what about drinks? Because I just got stood up, and I need shots, and it’s just pathetic doing shots alone.”
They were as surprised as I was, but perfectly amenable to free alcohol. The group absorbed Freya, and within twenty minutes they were all laughing and talking as if they had known each other forever. Freya would accept no sympathy for her rejection—“it’s his loss,” she said, waving one hand—and instead spent her time getting to know her new friends.
“You know, you are not what I expected,” one of them told her later in the evening.
Freya raised her brows, though there was a slight smile on her face that hinted to me that she already knew what the young man meant.
“I mean, you look way too classy for this place,” he went on.
“Exactly,” she said.
They were confused, all but the bartender, who wore the same smile as Freya.
“Look, I’ve been coming to this bar for years,” Freya explained. “Haven’t I, Staci?” She winked at the bartender, who was now laughing. “But people are always saying that I stand out, that I look too good for this place—and that’s totally intentional. I almost always choose this place for a first date, because it makes a hell of a first impression. Of course, if you’re going to overdress for somewhere, you have to sell it.” She bounded to her feet and drew her shoulders back. “Good posture, steady stride, and an expression that says you know you look damn good and it’s everybody else who needs to meet your standards.” Laughing, she put her hands on her hips. “It’s how I got my first job, too. And on a social level, everyone thinks you’re cool when you can kick someone’s ass at skee-ball in a pantsuit and six-inch heels.”
Nothing would do, then, but for the entire group to go over to the corner where the skee-ball table was waiting. I have to agree with Freya—she did look cool, although she did not happen to win, at least not the first game.
She was challenging the group to another game when the door opened and a stocky young man bustled in, breathless and red-faced. “Freya, oh, good!” he called, nearly collapsing in relief. “You’re still here!”
Freya and her entire group turned, surprised. “Shane?” she called. “I figured you were dead by now.”
“I am so sorry,” he said, coming across the bar without even taking off his coat. He kissed her cheek, not terribly pleased that he had to stretch up to do it. “My phone died, and then they were doing maintenance on the T…”
His excuses and his distress were all quite genuine, and I made certain that Freya knew this. She noticed without my help, however, that there was already alcohol on his breath, an indication, perhaps, that this was not his only engagement this evening.
Her server friends muttered uncomplimentary things about Shane’s appearance and his lateness. Observing this, though Shane didn’t, Freya excused them and took Shane back to the table where she had waited for him all that evening.
By the time he had taken three sips of his drink, I knew that he was not right for Freya. He forgave himself too quickly for his lateness, dominating the conversation with information about himself. Freya was polite and listened, but she knew, too, that she was only giving him a chance out of fairness.
Just before he was about to propose another drink, two of the group of servers came up to their table. “Hey, Freya, we’re going dancing,” one of them said. “Want to come along?”
Freya looked at Shane, who was surprised by the interruption, and then back at the girls. “Sure,” she said. “Give me a few minutes? I’ll meet you outside.”
Shane opened his mouth to protest, but anything he might have said was drowned out by the excited squeals of the girls. They hurried out, and Freya got to her feet with a smile.
“Shane, it’s been…nice,” she decided finally, slipping on her coat. “But I don’t think it’s going to work out. See, I just got out of a relationship with a guy who thought a lot of himself, and I don’t think I could do that again.” She patted his arm. “Best of luck, though.” And without another word she went out to join her new young friends, leaving Shane stammering at the table.
I can’t regret the evening—it is evident that the two would never have worked out, and Freya made some new friends and ended up having a very good time. It has given me a lot to think about, too. I can’t help but wonder if Shane was as careful as Freya to present himself in a certain light when he first met her. That impression was misleading, whereas Freya goes out of her way to set off her true self to her best advantage. I realize that first impressions are important, but I feel that it is better to be open and honest about who you are. Anyone who is drawn to you then will be drawn to the real you.
Perhaps I will emphasize this with Freya. After all, who wouldn’t be drawn to her? She needs no manipulations to win love. She needs only to be her warm and winning self.