She’d agreed. Florence had finally agreed to what Freddie could only figure was a date. It was, there was dinner and he’d actually dressed up for once. Still favoring lighter colors he’d figured they looked better on him than dark and the irony of the choice wasn’t lost on him either. He’d gotten her flowers too, weird purple things he didn’t know much about beyond the lady in the store had told him that his girlfriend would love them. Not that she was the girlfriend again yet or anything. She had a long way to go before she was ever that. Maybe so did he. He wasn’t out to hurt her. He wasn’t out to make her feel guilty but what had happened had happened. There was nothing else to it and he wasn’t gonna pretend it had been an easy ending.
These internet boards were a useful little tool for conversations that could never have gone so smoothly face to face. Someone along the way would have yelled at the other and an argument would have started, and Freddie knew neither of them wanted that. Tonight would go well. It was the only thing he knew for sure because he knew he’d behave. No ‘dramatics’ as she called them. She wanted a gentleman she’d get one. Just like it had been in the good times. Though he was still convinced she’d enjoyed the controversy. It had made them famous, just maybe without the fame, without the game, maybe he didn’t need all that so much.
He was nervous much as he refused to show it. He’d taken a little longer looking for the restaurant than he’d usually have but finally he’d decided on a French place, it had been a tournament in France where he’d seen her first, playing well, he’d noticed and he’d kept an eye on her game. Her first tournament and his...third, he thought, and second win. She had come up against him that year and he’d felt almost bad beating her. He’d gone on to win and more besides, revitalized Chess single handed they’d said, playing in a way no one was used to. They’d called him a prodigy. He hadn’t been single handed long of course, it wasn’t long after that he’d called her first. But maybe she’d remember the significance not for her loss, but for their first meeting.
Smiling at the memory he knocked on Florence’s door. He knew her well enough to know she’d have put effort into how she looked but somehow look like she’d fit in whatever the situation. She’d look elegant but not overdone. She had a weirdly effortless beauty and he didn’t know how she did it. He wondered briefly had he not told her that enough, had she not felt admired by her boyfriend. Or had he gotten complacent, assumed he’d have her forever. He’d been very quickly dissuaded of that opinion of course once she’d walked out. It had been a wrench loosing her, especially how he had. And to who. But that was all over now, Her Commie, though he was here, was becoming a distant memory. He’d make sure of it. This, was his endgame. And he was gonna get it right this time, no matter what.
He waited for the door to open and when it did his smile grew wider, he’d been right, elegant, classy and all in black. At least it fit their general theme. But he knew what to do next and how this generally worked. He'd been on enough dates with Florence Vassy to know what she liked. And so he handed her the flowers and offered her his arm.