Dating and the Subtle Art of Communication

She was the picture of elegance and grace, moving so smoothly that every eye turned and appreciated her entrance through the restaurant door. And after I sat down across from her at the table, I was able for the first time to fully see and appreciate the beauty in her face.

She looked much better than her Facebook profile picture; her eyes seemed to be dancing with the flames emanating from the candle between us; her facial structure with the high cheekbones was flawless, something many women would kill to have; and her hair was perfect, pulled back except for one tiny lock dangling just to the left side of her eyes.

That lock was not a result of careless preparation for this date; rather, she may have spent more time on that lock than the city of Boston spent in the colossal "Big Dig" road improvement project in the 1990's and beyond. In fact, in the right light, that curly lock seemed to be a message written in cursive English. I didn't want to stare, but a quick second glance proved me right. The lock said, "Kiss me you fool."

"So tell me," she began, just as the song Barracuda began playing in the background. I looked around to see whose cell phone was violating our romantic bliss.

"Pardon me," she said, reaching to her purse and pulling out her cell. "I'm expecting a call from my agent. This should be relatively short."

I could understand the need to take a call from an agent; employment being what it is, work does have to take priority sometimes.

"Marty, how are you?" she said, answering the phone. There was a pause. "Oh really, well ... what's that? No, she didn't. Oh Marty, I can't believe she did that ... what ... for how long? Oh that's terrible. So what are you going to do?"

She covered the phone with her hand and whispered to me, "The lead role in a rock musical just got crushed when an elephant fell on her at the circus this afternoon."

"What was that?" she asked, turning back to her cell phone. "Well ... I can, sure, but we'll have to work out some details. Okay Marty, call me later tonight. What's that? Oh, love you too."

"Marty is such a sweet agent," she said, setting her phone next to her water glass.

"So what happened?" I asked, rather curious.

The familiar strains of Barracuda were heard again. She reached for the phone.

"Hi Mom," she said. "How are things? Really? Well that's cool. What? Oh, yes. I forgot to tell you. I've got a date tonight. In fact, I'm on the ... what Mom? Oh, he's very nice. What? Yes, he's right here."

"Smile," she said to me, moments before taking my picture with her cell phone. "I'm sending it now, Mom."

She looked at me and winked with those beautiful eyes. Then I noticed she was staring at my face a little.

"Yes Mom, he is. Very. Who? Oh, I'd say he looks kind of like a cross between Ward Cleaver, Mr. Rogers, and Captain Kangaroo."

She smiled at me. I wasn't sure if I should smile back.

I didn't need to. At that moment, my phone rang. Well, it was in vibrating mode, so it didn't really ring; it just kind of buzzed. I looked to see who could be calling. It was my brother. I hadn't talked to him for over a month, so I figured I should.

"Yo Bro," I answered. "What? No, I'm not there. I'm on a date, and ... yes, true, it is she ... well according to her Facebook profile she does like rock music, but her MySpace says she ... no, don't say that ... I mean ... sure, okay, don't worry; I promise that we won't listen to Captain and Tennille."

"Thanks Mom," she replied. "Love you too," she said as she hung up the phone.

"Got to go, Bro. Bye," I said, quickly hanging up.

As she was putting her phone away, she looked into my eyes with her soft round orbs. She had such a pretty smile.

At that moment, my phone rang. I chose to ignore it; quality over quantity, I always say. And then her phone rang again.

"Hi Marty," she said, greeting him in a cellular way for the second time in less than five minutes. "'Sup, Dude?" she asked.

Marty talked for three or four minutes before my date was able to get a word into the conversation.

"What's that? Ten grand? I won't do it for less than twenty. Fifteen? Sold. You got yourself a new lead singer."

As she talked, my phone rang again, and again it was my brother. "Yo Bro," I answered. "What? Yes, that's right, that's her photo. Thanks Bro, I've always valued your opinion. Right. Oh really? Marty called? Who's Marty? "

My phone started beeping, which meant another call was coming in. It looked like my friend Clovis' cell number.

"Hold on Bro, Clovis is calling. What? Oh, thanks."

"Hi Clovis, how are you?" I asked, cheerful at being able to talk to my buddy. "How was the trip?"

Clovis talked a while. "Oh neat," I replied. "Man that sounds fun. Clovis, hold on. My brother's on the other line. If you want to say hello, I'll conference you into the conversation. What? Okay, that's cool."

I pushed the button. "Yo Bro, gonna hook in Clovis," I said, and in less than a second we had the three of us all in on the same call.

"Bye Marty, don't call me, I'll call you," said my date in a bit of a huff just before ending the call.

"Oh, uh, guys," I began. "Got to go. What? Yes I promise, no Captain and Tennille." I hung up the phone.

"Now, where were we," I said, looking into her eyes.

"You have the most beautiful ..." she began.

Barracuda once again started playing. "I wonder who this could be. Oh, hi Marty. Oh I'm sorry too. Yes, yes you are a dear friend. I didn't mean to ... what? ... Oh, hugs and kisses to you too. Oh Marty, hold on a second, I'm getting a call from the producer."

My date looked at me and smiled before continuing her conversation, "Hello? Yes, I'm familiar with Screaming Ada, and I know I can play that part. What do I know about her? Well, I know she worked with Charles Babbage ... she is considered to be the world's first female programmer ... and they named a programming language after her. What? Yes, I love the idea of a rock musical celebrating her life. No, I'm not being facetious."

I was intrigued that my date was talking about Screaming Ada. Ada had been my favorite programming language once upon a time, and besides, my brother and Clovis were the ones who wrote Screaming Ada, though I did write all the tuba parts.

"I have sung soprano before, yes," my date continued in her call. "Familiar with it? Yes, I believe the opening song is called She's the Strong Type. Oh, thank you. Yes, and ... oh the second song? Let's see, if I remember, it's either Structure in My Life or You Get the Whole Package. Right, okay, sure. Hold on."My phone rang again. At this point, I noticed the waiter was patiently standing beside me. I whispered to him, "Just a second." He smiled.

"Hello?" I answered. "Oh hi," I said, looking up at my date. "Yes, Mr. Pragma, it's a pleasure sir ... yes, I understand. Oh really? I suppose I could do that."

I was talking to my date's producer.

"Yes sir? The lead singer? Sure, I'd love to talk with her. Put her on," I replied.

"Hello? Yes, I've been talking to Mr. Pragma," said the lead singer. And my date, sitting across from me, said those same words at the same time.

I was in a conference call with my date. Judging by the look on her face, I think she realized it at about the same time.

She continued. "And he suggested that an acclaimed musician such as you may be able to rewrite some of the songs for Screaming Ada so that my vocal range would fit better. And could you put together a tuba choir for the finale?"

"Yes, I can do that. My brother and Clovis were the ones who actually wrote this musical in the first place, and I'm sure between the three of us we could get it modified for you."

"Oh, you're so sweet," she said, over the phone.

The waiter nudged me in the back and said, "Ahem."

"Oh, he's here to take our order," I said to my date over the phone. "What would you like?"

"What would I like?" asked Mr. Pragma.

"Not you, with all due respect sir, but I intended that question for my date," I remarked politely.

She looked at me thoughtfully, and said into her phone, "I'd like the coq a vin, please."

I turned to the waiter and repeated her order to him.

"Would Madame prefer asparagus or Jerusalem artichokes?"

"Hey, do you want asparagus or Jerusalem artichokes with that?" I said over the phone.

She pulled out her laptop and booted it up. "Hold on," she said, "Let me look at the online menu."

Good idea, I thought. I pulled out my laptop too.

It booted quickly and I heard the familiar BING that told me my friend was online.

A little IM window appeared on my screen. It was my date. "What are Jerusalem artichokes?" she typed.

"They're also called sun chokes," I replied, in IM.

"Oh," she sighed over the phone.

"Ahem," growled a low voice over the phone. It wasn't my date. It was Mr. Pragma! I had forgotten about him.

"Sir?" I asked.

"I'm too old for this stuff. Call me on Monday and we'll work out details," sighed Mr. Pragma.

"Yes sir, will do," I responded. He hung up.

"Hold on," typed my date in IM.

"What?" I typed in reply.

Over the phone she said, "I think we can order from this restaurant online."

"Oh cool," I typed in IM.

"Check this out," she replied in IM. "I sent you the link in Stumbleupon."

I opened my browser. There was the online menu. I gave it a thumbs up.

I turned to the waiter. "Hold on a second, I need to give a review."

I wrote a glowing review of the online menu and then forwarded it to two hundred of my Stumbleupon friends.

I then placed her order and mine from the online menu.

Another IM window popped up. It was my waiter. "Will that be all?" he typed.

I replied in IM, "Yes."

And I turned to him and said, face to face, "Yes."

In IM I typed, "TTYL."

The waiter replied, "TTYL."

To my date I typed, "How RU?"

She replied, "Fine. N U?"

And we carried on a delightful IM conversation until our food arrived, at which point we turned off the laptops and put our cell phones away. It was awkwardly silent as we ate dinner. As soon as we finished, we pulled the phones and laptops back out and resumed our conversation.

Five minutes later, the e-bill arrived from the waiter. A new IM window then popped up. "Your bill, sir," typed my waiter in IM.

Very efficient, he, I thought to myself.

I paid the bill and left a nice tip, using PayPal.

Leaving the restaurant, I drove her back to her apartment in silence, and then I called her as I raced home as fast as I could. I couldn't wait to get back into IM so that we could have the full communication experience. I was getting the feeling that this relationship had some potential.