“That will be eight-two ninety-five,” I said to Paul. “Any interest in our customer loyalty plan?”
Paul laughed, then stood up and grinned. “Look at Abigail,” he said, gesturing to me.
Mark and Lisette applauded.
“Look at her,” Mark said. “How many times have you done improv before?”
“Never.”
“Never ever?” Mark shook his head.
Paul looked delighted with me.
“I told you!” Lisette cried. “She’s Saturday Night Live good,” Lisette added, giving me a meaningful glance.
“You mean Second City, I hope,” Paul replied. “The Canadian sketch comedy tradition takes a back seat to none.”
“I said about four things.”
“That in itself is an accomplishment,” Paul said. “Just following the scene takes most people a long time.”
“Well, the truth is I was just pulling from my own life of crying alone in my room, so…”
“Use what you’ve got,” Paul agreed. He looked at the others. “Mark and Lisette. You’re up.”
I sat down, focused but amazed. It had been fun. There was something about it that reminded me of being a very little kid, playing pretend with my sister. It was silly, of course, but a wonderful silly. I knew what Lisette meant by the end of the night. It felt like I had connected with a part of my brain that I didn’t even know was there—the part that was open to anything, the part that could take something and run with it.
“I have some books for you,” Paul said, when the evening began to wrap up at around 11 p.m. “Stick around a minute.”
Lisette made Paul promise that on the upcoming weekend, all three of us would go to Bell Island together, which is the next place she had decided I needed to see. Then she made her goodbyes and I gave her a hug on the way out. Mark grumbled as he put on his coat and then told me I wasn’t terrible before he gave me a kiss on the cheek. He glanced between me and Paul’s retreating figure before nodding and closing the door.
I waited for Paul to come back, standing dutifully in his hallway like a good student.
A part of me wondered if something was going to happen. Paul had been flirting with me all day on Saturday, hadn’t he? Were we going to talk more? Kiss? Had I ruined things with that comment about bitter men and their divorces? Were the books an excuse to be alone?
I wanted them to be an excuse, and the thought mortified me, my sheer desperation to have a nice guy want to date me, just once.
As I waited for him to return, I sat on his sofa and pondered the wood stove, wondering when he used it. It was mid-July, and he probably saved it for winter, curling up with a movie after an early sunset, grading papers. The image was so vivid that it made my chest ache. I glanced through his DVDs—lots of westerns, action, Edgar Wright films. Every single Humphrey Bogart.Blackadder.Dr. Who. It was a portrait of what he caredabout, and I realized how much I already knew about him, the way his mind worked when he built a joke. He returned a couple of minutes later with three books on improv.
Because hehad been serious. And this wasn’t a seduction.
“Sorry about that. I wanted to give you these. Keith Johnstone,Impro, is the best of the lot, I’d really love it if you checked it out. And this one is all about Del Close, who was the leader of the Chicago school.” He handed me the pile. “You don’t have to read them, but I think you’re really good, for your first time. If you want to keep coming to practices, I thought you might like to be inspired.” He looked a little shy as he said it, like he was expecting me to laugh at him, which surprised me after his total willingness to be goofy all night.
I took the books, wondering if I was taking his most prized possessions. I tried to handle them with appropriate respect. “I would like to come again. But just to be clear, I mean, I’m only here for a few weeks.” I was still nervous that he would think he had to let me down easy when it came to joining the Newfingers.
“Well, yes…I hope…” He trailed off, then regrouped and continued. “But even if this is just for when you go back to New York, you should consider sticking with improv.”
“You’re being so kind.”
He looked wary. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“I feel like you’re about to ask me to buy into your multi-level marketing scheme. Tell me it’s not crypto.”
“I do have a lot of NFTs to unload.”
“Ah, makes sense.”
Then his eyes got a twinkle in them. “You don’t like compliments.”
