Authors: Candice Dow
“Yeah, most people get it wrong. That’s amazing.”
Being that people often mispronounce my name, I know how important it is to get it right the first time. “Yeah, I hate when people say my name wrong.”
She nodded. “I know. I blame my mother though.”
I laughed and plopped into one of the chairs in the waiting area. “Uh-huh. Me too.”
We giggled a bit about the name game before I began filling out the stack of papers. As I plowed through the pages, I became apprehensive. There were too many clauses. They’re not responsible if someone kills me. They will not refund for loss or damaged property. This is ludicrous. As I disputed everything on every page, I scribbled in my address, my name, my expectations, my signature, and damn it, I signed my check.
I stepped back up to Shakemia’s desk and handed her the clipboard. Before I gave her the check, I asked, “Are you sure it’s worth it?”
She nodded. “Yeah, we have a good selection of men. You’ll be happy with our services.”
“Okay.”
She winked. “I’ll look out for you.”
I covered my chest with my hand. “Really?”
“I gotchu, Ms. Barnes.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Someone will be out in a second to take you back.”
A middle-aged lady opened the door, came out, and smiled. My insides frowned. How is she supposed to help me find someone with the right combination of street and intellect? I crept toward her, “Hi.”
Her quivery voice said, “Hello, Ms. Fat-a-mah.”
I smiled at Shakemia, and corrected her, “Fa-tee-mah.”
“Yes, Fat-a-mah, I am Gertrude. C’mon back.”
As we walked back to her conference room, she went over what I was supposed to have read. “I’m sure you know that I’ve been doing this informally for over thirty years. The business has been in existence for about ten. I’m really good at what I do. I help you handpick all of your dates. I do a full psychological profile before the first date.”
“We have to do this tonight?”
“It depends when you’d like to go on your first date. Are you in a rush?”
“Oh no, I’m in no rush to date.”
She snickered. “No, honey. I mean are you in a rush this evening?”
I checked my watch as if I had more to do than read manuscripts and she waited for my response. I shook my head and she invited me to sit at the conference table.
“Okay, we’ll profile you this evening.”
The dysfunctional connotation associated with profiling rattled my nerves. “How do you profile?”
“You take a series of quizzes.”
“Are they open book?”
She didn’t respond. Her fifty-something maturity didn’t find me at all humorous, so I reverted to intellect. “So what do you conclude from these quizzes?”
“They give me an idea of what you’re looking for. How you expect to be treated. What type of person you’d be most attracted to.”
“So, when do I get to the pictures?”
“Well, you’ll only see pictures of men that you’re compatible with.”
“So, how long does it take you to grade the quizzes?”
She chuckled and pointed to the computer workstation. “Your answers will be analyzed immediately. Then, our database will be automatically searched for matches. And you and I will analyze the results. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds good.”
As I sat down at the workstation, she gave me basic instructions. I raced through the series of questions that had nothing to do with me going on a date and became irritated. Why Mya thought this made more sense than online dating perplexed me. The nine hundred and eighty dollar per month overhead charge for this fluffy office was the only difference I could identify. If nothing comes of this, I swear Mya is giving me back my money.
When I finished the useless profile, I walked to her office and smiled. “All done.”
As she looked at her computer screen, she motioned for me to have a seat. “A widow, huh?”
No matter how often I hear it, the word makes me cringe. “Yes, my husband died three years ago.”
“He really took care of you, huh?”
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Get to the point, lady.
She smiled. “I’m just analyzing your results.”
“I thought you said the computer does that.”
“Well, Fat-a-mah.”
I curled my lips. She continued, “We have a large database of professionals and it’s rare that you come up with no matches. So, when that happens—”
“Are you saying I don’t have any matches?”
Her lips folded and she nodded. “I usually go back and analyze the results myself.”
Just friggin’ great! When I decide it’s time to date, the damn computer says there are no men out here for you, Ms. Fat-a-mah.
“So what does your analysis say?”
She turned from the computer and folded her hands on her desk. “When did your husband die again?
“Three years ago.”
“It appears he was a lot older than you. How much?”
What did my new date have to do with me and Derrick’s age difference? “Seven.”
“He practically did everything for you.”
“No. He did what a man should do for his wife.”
She chuckled. “I hate to tell you this, but your expectations are out of this world.”
I snatched my neck back. She nodded. “Based on what you’ve written, I don’t think anyone can make you happy right now.”
Thanks lady. Thanks a whole lot. Can I get my damn check back?
I raked my fingers through my hair and her jaw dropped. “You still wear your ring?”
As I peeked down at my three-karat princess-cut diamond solitaire, I clasped my hands together.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think we can help you. You can get your check back from Shakemia. Maybe you need some more time to get over your husband.”
I don’t need to get over him. I don’t want to get over him. Still, her conviction aggravated me. “So, you’re trying to tell me that you don’t have anyone that fits my criteria?”
She shook her head, and I pleaded, “I mean, it’s just a date.”
“People are searching for spouses. One thousand dollars a month is a pretty penny if you’re just looking for a date.”
I said, “Money is not an issue. I’m just looking for quality guys to date. If there’s nothing you can do for me…”
When I stood, she motioned for me to sit. “This is against the rules, but I’ll let you view a few profiles and we’ll charge you one hundred dollars per date.”
With both thumbs up, I said, “Okay, let’s do this.”
“Don’t tell anyone I did this for you.”
“You’ve got my word.”
We moved back to the conference room and she selected a few profiles. She said, “You like the bad boy, huh?”
“No. I like the professional with an edge.”
She laughed. “Most women these days do.”
After searching through about eleven profiles, I selected two: One guy was a thirty-year-old business owner; the other was a twenty-nine-year-old banker.
The next step was to contact them and let them see my profile. If they were interested, she would make the connection.
I
n less than twenty-four hours, Gertrude called to say that one of the guys was interested. When I called Mya to tell her about my probable date, she teased, “Tima’s going to talk to a guy! That’s so funny.”
I chuckled. “It
has
been a long time.”
“It’s been an eternity. Do you even know what to say?”
“Girl. Hopefully, he can lead the conversation, ’cause I don’t know what to say to a guy.”
“Tima, that is messed up. Personally, I don’t like to talk a lot before I go out with a guy. If you talk too much and you meet him and don’t like him, you feel obligated to explain. If you just briefly discuss the details of the date, you don’t owe him anything if you don’t like him. Trust me. You remember all the times I had to tell a guy after the first date that me and my old boyfriend got back together.”
“Why did you lie?”
“’Cause I had sat up on the phone with the person, telling him that I was ready for a relationship. When I met him and didn’t like him, I had to say something.” She giggled. “For the record, do not tell anyone that you haven’t dated since your husband died. You should always have a recent old boyfriend or have a friend that you see off and on.”
As I was schooled on the rules of the modern world, I laughed. “That is ridiculous.”
“Play or be played.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Love is a game, baby girl.”
My cell phone rang as I jotted down mental notes. When I didn’t recognize the number, I said, “Mya, I think that’s him.”
She shouted, “Don’t answer!”
“Why?”
“Because you want to hear his voice first. Then, you call him back. I can tell from a guy’s voice if he’s someone I want to talk to. What if he sounds like Steve Urkel?”
“Mya, you are making this way too complicated.”
“Whatever—I’m just looking out for my girl.”
“So, when do I call him back?”
“After we listen to the message.”
“We?”
“Yeah. We’re in this together. You aren’t skilled enough in the screening process yet.”
I called my voicemail and linked it with Mya. As I waited for the new message to play, I twiddled with my wedding ring. There was a short pause before he spoke:
“Hey, Fatima. This is Damien. Looking forward to talking to you. You can hit me back on…”
Mya said, “Well, at least he sounds sexy.”
“Yeah, that’s a plus. So, when am I allowed to call him back?”
“In ten minutes, but remember, get the details of when and where you’ll meet and get the hell off the phone.”
“This is so silly.”
“Trust me. You’ll thank me in the end.”
“One last question.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do I really have to take my ring off?”
“Is Derrick still wearing his?”
I laughed. “You know what? I need to find better friends.”
“Sike, I’m just playing, but it’s time to take it off. Your husband is gone. He can live in your heart forever, but no man will ever take you serious with another man’s ring on your finger.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Baby, it’s your world. You can do what you want, but would you want to hang out with a man still wearing his wedding band?”
“You’re right. Let me get ready to call this guy back.”
Before I called him back, I went into my bedroom and searched for my ring box. When I sat the solitaire and the wedding band in the box, I felt naked. To appease myself, I slipped the diamond band on my right hand and tucked the solitaire away in my special drawer that contained a bunch of sentimental gifts from Derrick.
When I returned Damien’s call, butterflies floated in my stomach. A piece of me prayed for his voicemail, but as I prepared my message, he answered.
“Hello.”
I stuttered, “H-hi. Ah. Damien?”
“Yes. Fatima?”
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Everything’s good. How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s good.”
“So…”
I searched for something, anything to say, but he relieved me. “So, when would you like to hook up?”
Boy, did he get to the point fast. This divide-and-conquer method to dating is no fun. When Derrick first called me, we chatted for nearly four hours. Do people do that anymore?
I said, “Uh, whenever.”
“Maybe we could catch a movie on Saturday.”
“That’s cool.”
“Where do you live?”
I thought it over and said, “In the city.”
“I’m in Brooklyn.”
I certainly wasn’t anxious about inviting a stranger into my hood, so I offered to meet him in his. He promised he’d give me a call before the end of the week with the movie times. Just like that, my inaugural speech was over.
On Saturday, I stuffed some reading into my large Louis Vuitton satchel. While I sat on the train headed to Brooklyn on a first date, I got antsy. Didn’t want to read. It was like I was fourteen again. What should I say when he walks up to me?
Hi. Nice to meet you. Good to see you.
At two-fifteen, I was still standing in front of the movie theater in Prospect Park for my two o’clock date. My blood pressure escalated. How the hell can you be late for a first date? My weight shifted back and forth on my four-inch heels. I tossed my hair behind my ear and called Mya. “Do you know this clown isn’t here?”
“Tima, don’t get all up in a bundle. Maybe something came up.”
“He has my cell phone number.”
“He’ll be there. Just be cool.”
I looked at my watch. “Whatever. I’m about to leave. I don’t have time for this.”
“Dating is not easy.”
“Well, you’ve given me that whole spiel before. Isn’t that why you sent me to that jackleg dating service? Wasn’t that supposed to guarantee a quality guy?”
I curled my lips and waited for her to respond. She laughed. “No one told you to have unreasonable expectations.”
I laughed too. “Whatever.”
“This is the dating game. It’s hit or miss.”
Standing on a corner in Brooklyn on a Saturday afternoon wasn’t exactly my idea of dating. Shit! I could have sat home for another weekend. Mya said, “He’s almost twenty minutes late. Do you want me to come down there and go with you?”
“No, I’m leaving now. I’ll call you when I get uptown.”
Damn it. This is not worth one hundred dollars a pop. I want a refund. I could go to any bar for this kind of treatment. Damn if I’ll pay for irresponsible men.
Just as I stormed up Prospect Avenue, my phone rang.
He sighed before speaking. “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find my keys, but I’m on my way.”
I checked my watch and contemplated if I should even wait. Hell, I spent forty-five minutes traveling here. I’ve stood for thirty-five minutes waiting for this loser. At least, I should get a free movie out of this.
When he showed up, it was ten minutes to three and I was livid. He leaned in for a hug and I retracted from this caveman. Okay, I did request a guy with an edge, but his edges were ragged and he was rugged.
Either the untamed weeds sprouting from his face camouflaged the fine guy with a five-o’clock shadow that was on his profile, or I had been bamboozled. As he began to explain the lost key fiasco, my mind was already on the train back to Harlem.
“I had to go to my mom’s job to get her key,” he said.
Lawd, please don’t tell me this man lives with his mama.
He continued. “She went in her purse to get her keys and she had my keys.”
I cringed. That damn Black Love. There is no way in the world he is paying a thousand dollars a month. The organization must be a cover-up for some sort of drug-trafficking. Although the date was over before it began, I decided to engage him slightly.
“So, you and your mother live together?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“So, what kind of business do you own?”
“Is that what my profile says?”
I nodded. As he snickered, I looked around. Is there a comedian performing? He doesn’t have a job?
“So, do you pay for the dating service?”
“Nah. If you aren’t doing the selecting, you don’t have to pay.”
My mouth hung open. “So, I take it, you’re not selecting.”
“Oh, hell nah. I ain’t paying for no dates.”
Was that a double negative or a triple negative? Whatever the case, he was a quadruple negative. Late. Lives with mama. No job. And more important, no tact.
Mya is in for it and so is that damn Gertrude from Black Love. She tried to act like her matchmaking was something special and that she had it down to a science. What a joke. Not that I expected my first date to be love at first sight. Duh! That only happens once in a lifetime and I’ve had my turn, but are there any respectable men out there that are cool enough to just hang out with?
Neither of us said much from that point on. My body language told him this was our first and last date. His carelessness let me know that he was just a random flunky that Black Love hires to go on dates with desperate women.