Take her out somewhere dressy like it's a big occasion.

You stand next to Ellen's roommate Amy in the back of The Reservoir, the cafe on the hill above Widley built in an old brick water tank. She tugs the loops on the light blue ribbon she's just re-tied on her wavy red hair.

You're flushed and sweaty from the self-help you had to give yourself in the bathroom, but feeling a little more cool and collected.

"So," Amy says, "If you really have a thing for Ellen, just keep playing your Mr. Nice Guy card. There are a couple of guys she's been dating on and off. I gotta admit that they're hunks. Dudes. Charmers. Don't tell Ellen I'm talking 'em down, but from what she tells me after a date, well, they're kinda full of themselves. She's got herself all tied up in knots trying to decide which one she wants, but what she really needs is someone who will pay more attention to her."

"Not too many considerate guys up at Widley?" you ask Amy.

"Well," Amy says, "Widley was all girls up to ten years ago, so the guys are still, um, way outnumbered and they get so they don't try so hard. I tried to point her toward some prospects but, um..."

"Ellen too contrary to take advice on her love life?"

"No, actually she asks me for a lot of advice, and she takes it," Amy says, "but it doesn't seem to do her any good. She nixed a guy after one date because she thought he had stupid shoes. I introduced her to my old boyfriend, and I thought they had hit it off, but she said it would be too weird to date a guy who had, uh, intimate knowledge of her roommate. And I almost thought I had fixed her up with Lorraine Easterly-Smith, major cool gal who comes from serious money. The next morning she come back from Lorraine's, like, with major bed head hair and this dreamy look on her face. But she gets all chicken and breaks it right off." She tosses her head, and her red ponytail swishes.

The dark-haired waitress scampers up, still young, pierced, and petulant. "Done?" she asks, looking at the wooden spoon in your hand attached to the restroom key.

"Uh, yeah," you say, and hold it up.

She snatches the spoon and key from you. As she brushes past, you catch a scent of sandalwood on her hair. She slams the door, and you hear the seat thump down.

You look at Amy and swallow. "Um..." you say.

A fierce liquid tinkling sound comes from behind the restroom door.

"Yeah," Amy begins. She lowers her voice slightly. "I'd love it if, um, you and Ellen had a good time while you were here. How about you take her to the Alhambra like I suggested. Get her a corsage. Take a taxi. She can have fun showing off her dress and pretending it's a big occasion. Help her play it up. My ex Brad must be just about your size, and he's got a suit you could borrow. He's a sucker for good causes."

You consider Amy's suggestion. "You think she'll like it?" you say.

"Make her feel like the star of the show. It's what she wants. She likes you, she just doesn't think of you 'that way'. And if it doesn't work out, c'mon back and I can collect on the 'art modeling' you owe me."