36 Questions That Changed My Mind About You Page 2

  That made her laugh for real. “Don’t worry. I won’t let some mean old universe push me around. I want to do it. Seriously. At some very deep level I think I actually do. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ right?”

  “Awesome.” He took one final look at her registration. “Everything’s in order here, so unless you have any more questions I’ll just get you to sign the consent form.”

  He gave her a moment to look it over. She ran her finger along every line as she read, then scribbled her name at the bottom.

  “Okay. My heart’s in your hands!” Hildy smiled and her eyes disappeared into thick tangles of lashes. Her teeth were large and straight and white. Her skin was perfect.

  He amended her score to 7.75 and took her form.

  “All right then. I’ll get you to go to room 417, just down the hall to the left. Help yourself to coffee. On the table, there’ll be a deck of index cards with the questions, but please don’t turn them over until the session begins. We’ll have a subject partner for you shortly. I’ll do my best to weed out the trolls.”

  She pulled the collar of her coat over her mouth and laughed again. She might even be an 8.

  “And don’t forget your fish. He’s going to start to take it personally.”

  CHAPTER

  2

  The guy walked in without knocking.

  Jeff looked up from his laptop. “And you are?”

  “Paul Bergin.” No smile. Little eye contact. Voice not much more than mumble.

  “You’re here about the interpersonal closeness study?”

  “I’m here about the study that pays forty bucks. That the one?”

  “Could be. That’s what we pay.”

  “Then that’s the one I’m here for.” He took a neatly folded square of pale blue paper out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Jeff. His hands were red with cold. “How long’s this going to take?”

  Jeff motioned for him to sit down but he already had. “Depends. Probably an hour or two, but we don’t impose any time limits, so it could take a bit longer. Up to you.”

  “If it takes longer, is there overtime?” Paul flashed a smile now, maybe figuring a little charm might pay off in extra cash.

  “Sorry. Flat rate. Still interested?”

  Paul looked around as if he was sizing up the street value of the various action figures lining the metal bookshelves on the far side of the room. “May as well. When do I start?”

  “I’ll just give you some background information on the study and then we can get going.”

  “What do I need background info for?” He rolled a small gray raisin of Juicy Fruit between his front teeth.

  “Thought you might be interested.”

  “Not really. Ad said I just had to answer some questions.”

  “Yes. Well, you and your partner have to ask each other thirty-six questions.”

  “I don’t have a partner.”

  “We choose a partner for you.”

  “I have to make up the questions?”

  “No, they’re already written. You’ll each get a set of cards with the questions written on them. You just have to do your best to answer them.”

  “That’s all I have to do?”

  “Sign a consent form now and fill out a short report when you’re done.” Jeff checked Paul’s registration form. “You a student?”

  “I have to be?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m unemployed.”

  “You’re eighteen?”

  “Almost nineteen.”

  “Hetero?”

  “What?”

  “Straight.”

  “Yeah. I put that down.”

  “Single?”

  “As much as possible.”

  “Okay. Then sign this and go to”—he checked his notes—“room 417. Your subject partner should be there.”

  Paul didn’t bother reading the form. He wrote his name neatly at the bottom, stood up, and was gone.

  Jeff waited until the door shut, then he wrote B.R.O. But he meant “bro” as in “dude” (as in “asshole”). Then he wrote:

  BC (for “blue collar”)

  COS (for “chip on shoulder,” by which he also meant “asshole”)

  SS (for “street-smart,” although it pained him to admit Paul may be smart at all. Nothing he hated more than a guy with a swagger.)

  Then Jeff wrote 9.

  Which was childish. If he knew anything about heterosexual females, he knew that Paul would be a solid 9.5 if not a full 10 for most of them, despite the fact his nose had obviously been broken at some point. Or maybe because of the fact. Nothing like a little DANGER: KEEP OUT sign to get some girls scaling the walls.

  Paul also had a tiny teardrop tattoo just below his right eye. In Jeff’s opinion, that was a little bad boy overkill, although, obviously, it wasn’t his opinion that counted.

  It was Hildy’s.

  That almost made Jeff laugh.

  Hildy and Paul.

  This should be interesting.

  QUESTION 1

  PAUL: Hey.

  PAUL: Hello.

  PAUL: Hel-lo?

  HILDY: Oh. Um.

  PAUL: You okay?

  HILDY: Ah, yeah. Yeah. Sorry.

  PAUL: You look like you saw a ghost or something.

  HILDY: No, no. I, um, was just reading and lost track of time and you sort of surprised me that’s all. So, like, ah, hi.

  PAUL: Yeah. Hi. I’m Paul.

  HILDY: You mean Bob.

  PAUL: No. I mean Paul.

  HILDY: (Laughs) I didn’t hear that.

  PAUL: I said Paul.

  HILDY: Um. We’re not supposed to know each other’s names.

  PAUL: No one told me that.

  HILDY: Really? I was told we’re supposed to call each other Bob and Betty. You know for, like, privacy and everything.

  PAUL: Fine. So who gets to be Betty?

  HILDY: Ha! Good point. How very, like, cisgendered of them to—

  PAUL: What the hell’s the matter with this chair?

  HILDY: Want to switch? I don’t mind. I’ll—

  PAUL: And have you land on your ass instead? No. I’ll take my chances.

  HILDY: Sure? I bet we could get a—

  PAUL: You planning on staying or what?

  HILDY: Ah. Yes. Why?

  PAUL: You gotta be hot in that thing.

  HILDY: Oh. Right. My coat. One of my little weirdnesses. I like being really warm. Drives my friends crazy. They always say they get sweaty just looking at me. Not going to bother you, is it? Because I could—

  PAUL: Just don’t go passing out on me.

  HILDY: Don’t worry. I’ll do my best not to, you know, swoon…

  PAUL: Thanks. Great. Can we get started?

  HILDY: Sure. How should we do this? Maybe one of us reads the question out loud and the other answers?

  PAUL: Fine.

  HILDY: Then we could alternate?

  PAUL: Fine.

  HILDY: You start or me?

  PAUL: Whatever.

  HILDY: Or, hey. Why don’t we flip a coin?

  PAUL: I don’t really care that much. You go first.

  HILDY: Sure?

  PAUL: Yeah. Look. Can we just get started?

  HILDY: Right. Sorry. I’m nervous. Are you nervous?

  PAUL: Why would I be nervous?

  HILDY: (Laughs) Things like this make me anxious, although Jeff did say there are—

  PAUL: Jeff?

  HILDY: The psychologist. He said—What are you laughing at?

  PAUL: Psychologist. The guy’s, like, some dweeb college student with his little forms and his joking-but-not-really hard-on for Happy Meal toys.

  HILDY: He’s a PhD student.

  PAUL: Yeah. That’s what I said.

  HILDY: Well, not quite…

  PAUL: Close enough.

  HILDY: In any event… He says there are no right or wrong answers but still. A lot riding on this. Which is why, I guess, I’m a tad, you
know, wound up.

  PAUL: Really? Hadn’t noticed. How about you pour yourself a couple of Jäger shots when you get home? In the meantime, I’ll start. Question 1: Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

  HILDY: Only one? That’s all I get to pick?

  PAUL: Yeah.

  HILDY: It says that?

  PAUL: It says “Whom—Christ, I can’t believe it—whom would you want as a dinner guest.” That means one.

  HILDY: Hmm. That’s hard. I want to say someone like Jane Austen or D. H. Lawrence or Barack Obama but honestly? I’d be so awed in the presence of all that brilliance I probably wouldn’t enjoy it. Then again, I don’t want to waste my one and only invitation on some, like, joe-on-the-street…

  PAUL: So who’s it going to be then?

  PAUL: It’s just dinner.

  PAUL: We’re not talking about sleeping with anyone here.

  HILDY: Sorry. Am I taking too long?

  PAUL: Gee. What makes you think that?

  HILDY: Oh. Hey. I know. (Laughs) Taylor Swift!

  PAUL: Done. Taylor Swift.

  HILDY: No! I’m joking. Sort of. She’s my guilty pleasure and I honestly don’t think she gets the credit she deserves but if I can only ask one person, I’m not sure she’d be the person I’d pick… You better go first. I need some time to think about this one.

  PAUL: Fine. I’d ask someone who could cook.

  HILDY: (Laughs)

  PAUL: Question 2.

  HILDY: No. Seriously. Who would you ask?

  PAUL: Someone who could cook. If they’re coming for dinner at my place, they better be able to cook because I sure as hell can’t.

  HILDY: That’s actually not a bad answer. I didn’t even think of going for—

  PAUL: Question 2. Would you—

  HILDY: Hold on. I haven’t answered Question 1.

  PAUL: Well, mind answering it then? There are thirty-five more questions. Not worth the money at this rate.

  HILDY: What money?

  PAUL: The forty bucks.

  HILDY: What forty bucks?

  PAUL: The forty bucks you get for doing the study.

  HILDY: We get paid?

  PAUL: Yeah. Why else would you be doing it?

  HILDY: I don’t know. I like psychology and the thought of being part of an experiment interested me and…

  PAUL: (Laughs) Talk about starved for entertainment.

  HILDY: You know, I hate to bring this up but there’s a tone you’re using that I don’t appreciate.

  PAUL: Sorry, Ma.

  HILDY: Gee. And there it is again.

  PAUL: Can we just get on with this?

  HILDY: Yes. If you change your tone.

  PAUL: You’re kidding.

  PAUL: You’re not serious.

  PAUL: Fine… How’s this? Better?

  HILDY: And your facial expression.

  PAUL: Who made you boss?

  HILDY: Nobody. But I am your equal and I don’t feel obliged to participate with someone who refuses to show me the respect I deserve.

  PAUL: Unbelievable.

  HILDY: Not really. When you think about it, totally reasonable. Respect is the hallmark of a civilized society. I’d appreciate it if you watch the swearing, too.

  PAUL: I didn’t swear.

  HILDY: Out loud.

  PAUL: What? You read lips now, too?

  HILDY: Right. Like I have to be a trained lip-reader to figure out what you just said.

  PAUL: You never heard it before or something?

  HILDY: I’ve heard it plenty. I just don’t think I should have it, like, flung at me.

  PAUL: Can we just get back to the stupid question?

  HILDY: Yes. Sure. If you answer respectfully.

  PAUL: Okay. Here’s my voice… Here’s my face.

  HILDY: Beautiful. Thank you. And given that you’re concerned about time, I’ll hurry things along and just say that I’d invite my grandfather for dinner. I never had the opportunity to meet him and I think if I had, I’d better understand the man my own father is today. Hopefully, that would help us resolve some of our current, you know, issues.

  QUESTION 2

  PAUL: I’m going to keep asking the questions.

  HILDY: Probably not a bad idea. I tend to go off on tangents. Time management, as you probably guessed, is not one of my strong points.

  PAUL: And it’s not the answer to any of the questions, either.

  HILDY: There’s that tone thing again.

  PAUL: Nothing the matter with my tone.

  HILDY: Sorry. You’re right. It was the actual content of what you said this time.

  PAUL: Oh, you got a problem with the truth now?

  HILDY: Popular misconception. So-called honesty is not always the best policy, especially if you’re just using it as an excuse to be nasty. There’s no reason to voice your—

  PAUL: And that’s not an answer to any question, either! So, Question 2: Would you like to be famous? If so, in what way?

  HILDY: I’m only responding because I signed up to do the study so I feel, I guess, honor bound to do so.

  PAUL: And I’m only responding for the money. Whatever. Just answer the question.

  HILDY: I want to do something important with my life, and since fame can be a useful soapbox, yes, I would like to be famous. In fact, this might sound crazy and wildly ambitious and everything, but I’d love to someday be remembered as the next—I don’t know—Nelson Mandela or… What’s so funny?

  PAUL: You’re a five-foot-two white chick carrying your books around in a six-hundred-dollar Coach satchel. You’re not going to be remembered as the next Nelson Mandela.

  HILDY: I’m five foot four and the “satchel” was a birthday present.

  PAUL: What? From your cellmate?

  HILDY: No, my parents.

  PAUL: My point exactly. You are not going to be the next Nelson Mandela. And you’re still white. Like really white. Or am I wrong about that, too? You got that Michael Jackson thing or something? And P.S. You’re not five foot four.

  HILDY: Yes, I am. And please stop clicking your gum.

  PAUL: In those boots maybe. Barefoot, no way you even come up to my armpit.

  HILDY: Yeah, but what are you? Six foot two?

  PAUL: Whoa. What are you on?

  HILDY: What does that mean?

  PAUL: I’m six foot if I’m trying to impress someone. Five eleven if I’m being honest.

  HILDY: Guess I don’t have to ask which it is today. And, to get back to the topic at hand, the question is not “Are you going to be famous?” It’s “Would you like to be famous and in what way?” and guess what? That’s how I choose to answer the question. Your turn.

  PAUL: Okay. A) Yes and B) Extremely.

  HILDY: You’re not taking the questions seriously.

  PAUL: I wasn’t asked to take them seriously. I was asked to answer them. So, yes, I would like to be famous. And in what way? Extremely, because that’s where the money is. Those are my answers. You’re not the boss of me.

  HILDY: So childish.

  PAUL: Whoa. Who’s got the tone issue now? And also, just so’s you know, people who walk around with a fish in a bag trying to look all rom-com cute have no business calling anyone childish.

  HILDY: You know nothing about this fish or why I have it or why it’s important to me.

  PAUL: And, strangely, nor do I give a shit.

  HILDY: I just wish you’d be half as honest answering your questions as you are in your comments to me.

  PAUL: Who was it who once said, “Guess what? That’s how I choose to answer the question”?

  HILDY: Fair enough. You do it your way. I’ll do it mine. So much for “relationship building.”

  PAUL: What?

  HILDY: Nothing.

  PAUL: Next question.

  QUESTION 3

  PAUL: Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? If so, why?

  HILDY: Of course.


  PAUL: Of course? Seriously? “Whazzup?… Yeah… Okay… Bye.” What’s there to rehearse?

  HILDY: Believe it or not, some people use the phone to do more than order pizza or arrange drug deals. Some people have actual conversations.

  PAUL: For which they practice. Is it just me or is that pathetic?

  PAUL: Oh. So you’re not talking to me now.

  PAUL: So much for being “honor bound” to respond.

  PAUL: Fine. I’ll just do the remaining thirty-three questions on my own, get my forty bucks, and catch the next bus out of here.

  HILDY: So you’re telling me that you never rehearsed before you called a girl to ask her out on a date.

  PAUL: Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.

  HILDY: Never?

  PAUL: Okay. Maybe not never.

  HILDY: I knew it.

  PAUL: Maybe when I was twelve I did.

  HILDY: You started asking girls out when you were twelve.

  PAUL: Yeah.

  HILDY: Twelve?

  PAUL: Okay. Eleven then.… What?… Like, when did you start dating?

  HILDY: Is that one of the questions?

  PAUL: Oooh. Too-shay.

  HILDY: Can we just get this stupid thing over with?

  PAUL: Thank you, Jay-sus! Thought you’d never ask.

  QUESTION 4

  PAUL: What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?

  HILDY: Well. Hmm… I’d be in the country somewhere, I know that. An old inn or a cottage… something with a sense of history. Ideally, by the ocean… Nice if it had a window seat. I’d get all bundled up in a blanket with a good book and a large latte. Oh, and since we’re talking perfect, the latte would be in a bowl, like they do in France, not in a cup, which I suppose would technically make it a café au lait but whatever. I’d maybe have some imported chocolate bickies on a plate nearby in case I’m feeling like something sweet. Then I guess I’d read for most of the day, go for a walk along the beach, maybe get myself a green tea smoothie or, if I’m feeling decadent, a… You’re not listening. You don’t have to like what I’m saying but you can at least stop drawing and, like, pretend to listen.