“I might be a mess when it comes to women, but I promise you, I know how to date. It’s all the other stuff that gets me.”

“Spoken like a true optimist.”

I laughed. “That’s me alright,” I said. “At any rate, say as little about yourself as possible. And it’s a good practice not to stare at her crotch and drool. Rarely goes over well. I’ve had problems with that myself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Don’t point at your own crotch and say ‘touch me here.’ She might be down with it, but it’s too risky on a first date.”

“Anything else?”

“Don’t tell this joke: What is the definition of an eternity? The time between your orgasm and when the girl finally leaves.”

“Ahh. So you don’t think misogynistic, sexist jokes are the way to her heart?”

“Probably not. But maybe tell her you think boxing is a barbaric sport that should be abolished.”

“You’re shitting me?”

“Of course I am. You say that, and she’ll think you’re a pussy,” I said, then I heard a noise in the hall. I rushed to Gene’s door and stuck my head out into the hallway, but it was only my neighbor carrying out the trash.

“Damn it,” I said. I removed my phone. No missed calls.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“You worried about Carolyn being out without your knowing where she is?”

“No.”

“Bullshit,” he said, calling my bluff. “You’re a weird kid, Stratton Brown.”

“That’s certainly true,” I said and looked at him. He was still working his hands together. He took a deep breath, lifting his shoulders, and then dropped them.

“Christ, Gene, you’re making me nervous just watching you. Make yourself a drink or something.”

“I was trying not to drink.”

“Well, do. You’ll feel better. Just one though. Showing up drunk is another of those things best avoided.”

I wished Gene luck and went back down with the book still under my arm. I dropped it on the bed and took out my phone and tried calling Carolyn again. Nothing. I plugged in my phone. Then I sat at the desk and removed the pages I’d printed at work earlier that day. I already had 132 of them.