Page 56 of A Fabulously Unfabulous Summer for Henry Milch

Why would he know something like that?

“I did my undergrad there,” he said, answering my unasked but mentally shouted question. Gazing into his beautiful face, I couldn’t help but think that if I saw him for any length of time, I was going to have to go to graduate school just to keep his interest.

“Where is Central Michigan University?”

“Mt. Pleasant?”

“And where—”

“Near Midland.”

“In Texas?”

He chuckled. “No, Midland, Michigan. It’s about a two-hour drive from here.”

The waiter came with the wine. He poured a tiny bit into Edward’s glass. He tasted it and said it was fine. The waiter poured wine for both of us and asked if we’d like to order. Edward told him ‘in a bit’ and the waiter went away.

I sipped my wine. It was very good. Sweet and peppery all at once.

“I have a confession to make,” he said. That was terrifying. If he made a confession, would he expect one in return? I had no intention of admitting anything.

“I went to Keck School of Medicine at USC.”

“Oh, so you’re the enemy,” I said, referring to the cross-town rivalry.

“I never really bought into that.”

“Oh, me either. It’s a sports thing, isn’t it?” Of course, for four years no one could say USC around me without my saying, ‘Oh, the University for Spoiled Children.’ But we’ll let that pass for now.

“Did you like L.A.?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t say I got to see a lot of it. Medical school is intense.”

I knew that, of course, having gone directly fromDoogie Howser, M.D.toER. I wished we’d met in Los Angeles. I mean, we were there at the same—

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-one.”

“And when were you in Los Angeles?”

“From ninety-four to nine-eight.”

“It’s too bad we didn’t meet. I mean, not right away, that wouldn’t have been legal. I was legal the last year you were there.”

“I couldn’t have given you the attention you deserve.”

I deserved attention. What a fabulous idea.

The waiter came back with the popcorn perch and asked if we were ready to order. Edward said we were and then proceeded to order, while I fantasized about the kind of attention I deserved. Edward ordered a filet of sole cooked in butter. Then it was my turn. I’d paid zero attention to the menu.

“I’ll have a steak.”

“New York or filet mignon?”

“The New York, probably.”

“He’ll have the filet,” Edward said.