How to catch David

How to Catch David

“First things first”, she whispered to herself, “first things first, he MUST propose before spring.” She didn't write that down, though, for it was hardly a resolution she could put into life in his stead, was it?

Yet he must.

What could she do about it then? She nibbled at her pencil, which had already become an awful sight, such a nibbler was she.

1–she traced the figured carefully, more a drawing than the real 1–thus buying some time before she unraveled the list of what SHE needed to do, in order to catch in her not-so-recent nets, the dashing, darkly handsome, overseas sales representative in the firm she worked in.

Number one and foremost and absolutely necessary was, before catching the man himself, to catch part of his attention. For until now, good morning in the morning, and good evening, well, then, was all she'd got from David Duval, the all too French, all too good-looking object of her, let's say, undivided, alas unshared, desire. She could hear in her brain her father's voice and what the dear man would have said had he still been alive. “A Frenchman? Don't we have enough British young men around that you have to be enamoured of a Frenchie?”

Well, he would not say that, for she wasn't young any more and needed a man well in his forties, if she wanted him his senior. Which was not an obligation. But still. She didn't fancy young men. Anymore. David Duval was a divorcee, with a teenager daughter. He was just right for her.

Wish to God the man realized that, some day. Before the end of winter. For then SHE would be forty, not even divorced. A spinster. On the highest shelf, really. Her fortieth birthday was on March, the 21st so... This year's Equinox would be a watershed, she had decided.

And David Duval would fall in love with her.

She cleared her throat and draw a flourishing 2 on the page. 2 was more a part of number one. In fact, her entire list would be about: How to catch David Duval's attention soon enough, and strong enough, for him to propose before March 21th.

2 Meet the man by happenstance in the many hallways of the firm. Meet him in the restaurant he took his meals in, although that restaurant was well above her means. Meet him in the men's restrooms if needs be, but meet him at least once a day.

3 Considering she had met him daily until now, but he had not seen her, 3 was about making him see her. And how in hell would she do that?

She was pretty enough. Even as a soon-to-be quadragenarian, Lisa still saw that in men's eyes whenever she entered a room containing male specimens. But David Duval seemed immune to her dark-haired, somewhat Mediterranean, curvy charm. And anyway, looking back at her life, those good looks had not brought to her any man she could have made a life with. She'd had fun–sometimes–she'd had lovers–not that many if you came to think of it–. None had lasted more than a few months, though, be it her choice–rarely–or theirs–sadly–. She bit at her pencil harshly enough for her gums to hurt.

she wrote–in the sheet's margin–Stop nibbling at your pencils, it will damage your teeth, your gums and make you look like a sexagenarian before your time.

              Back to number 3: Make David see her. Really see her. In order to do this:

3.2 Wear skirts and dresses instead of her usual, although elegant, pantsuits. You have some legs. Use them.

3.3 Smile. You don't smile half enough. And people say when you smile, your heart and mind benefited from the fact. It could not hurt.

3.4 Learn French. At least, start to. Then, for God's sake, use it. It must not be so damn difficult, nor was it too different from Italian, which was her grandmother's original language, and which Lisa was about fluent in.

3.5 Work harder (keep smiling, though). David Duval was a work-alcoholic. Might be the reason he had not noticed her yet. Better to hope for that. He would appreciate someone working hard. Harder than she did. Yet, the conundrum would be to meet him daily, while working harder. Mmmmmmmm.

She scratched at her hair, then put back a lock of it behind her ear. Work is not all what life is about. Which leads to:

3.6 Figure out what David Duval does when he does not work. Try to be a part of that... The man seemed fit enough so he might do some workout, some gym. Well, she did too. She only had to find out where he practised. Provided it was not rock-climbing, or rafting, or whatever awfully risky sport, she was willing to accompany him in his hobby. If he proved to be a number-one equestrian, well, that would be a bonus, for she was a more than passable rider. But she never heard him speak of horses at all. Well, he spoke only of work, at work. His secretary had shared that first-importance information with Lisa once, around the coffeemaker.

Lisa did a quick survey of the open space before going on. Just in case the man was around. Not a chance.

3.7 Bring cookies and the likes at work more often. That is something she could do. Mom gave her cookies once a week. Lisa could bring those. She could make a batch of hers, but the result wouldn't be half as tasty. She had witnessed David relishing Annie's pastries once or twice. Wish he would relish hers. Or Mom's.

Lisa was running short of ideas. She pursed her lips in frustration, and opened the side drawer of her desk where a few chocolates, sweet reminders of Christmas, beckoned to her. She was unfolding one when the man himself sailed to her desk, all dashing dark- David Duval looks out–she inwardly called him DDL when she wanted to make fun of her infatuation, and yes, he looked quite like Daniel Day Lewis in the Last of the Mohicans, but for the much shorter hair, and give me one woman who doesn't envy Dora, at the top of this rock–. Well, David Duval stopped at her desk and flashed at her a smile, well one of those smiles... It just made her want to turn around to see who was the lucky one that smile was for.

She resisted the urge though, for her desk was the last one and behind her was only a wall. The smile was for her, and all she could do was smile back. Also bend forward and put her arms on the sheet with the list. That gave her an awkward posture, but David Duval's eyes were locking with hers and he didn't seem to mind.

He cleared his throat and shrugged some. Was he... intimidated? Lisa kept her smile steady, although her heartbeat was racing up, and her mind was whirling. Why hadn't she written about number 4? Number 4 would have been about what to do when you have caught DDL's attention. Blast.

“Lisa,” he said, then stopped, a puzzled look on his face. A handsome puzzled look, though.

“Lisa,” he said again.. “Zut.” 

She still had to learn French, but didn't mind. The word must convey some puzzlement or spite, maybe? “Dam,” he said, proving her right. “It's January the fourth,” he said, which had her rounding her eyes. 

“It is,” she said, swiftly picking up her list and putting it in the still open drawer. She took a handful of chocolates before slamming the drawer shut. 

“I still have some chocolates left. Would you like one?” she asked.

“No. I mean, not right now.“ He took a deep breath. “Lisa, last year on January the fourth I wrote a complete list of things to do so that you, I, we...” DDL was stammering. 

Holy Stars. His words couldn't be mistaken, nor could the look he shot at her. It was a hot look, also a tender one. Holy twinkling Stars. She wouldn't need to catch David, after all. Lisa couldn't stop smiling now. He was so much DDL, stammering or not. She bent to reopen the drawer. “I have a list too,” she said. “So that you, I, we...” She stopped and chuckled.

He laughed and bent his head on the side, mirth and joy in his eyes. “Have you?” he said. “May I have a look?”

“I don't think so,” Lisa said. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Not yet, not ever,” he said. He took her hand. “I don't need a list now. But I sure need one of those chocolates,” he said.

She gave him one. He took it, and he didn't wait for spring.