Authors: Ginger Simpson
On the bright side, at least if she selected a choice piece of meat, she'd enjoy it for dinner and not worry about having to sleep with it.
She keyed in her password and waited again while the processor hummed. The truth—she was tired of being alone…sick of always attending social functions by herself and never knowing what it felt like to be part of a couple. She needed someone in her life and falling short of places to look. If stooping to peruse Internet dating sites was what it took, then so be it.
Again, the devil dangled the overdose option. She immediately pushed that black thought aside. This was one fight he wasn't going to win. Besides, her mother needed her.
"Fuck, hurry up." The computer wore on Cassie's patience, and she swore under her breath. "I could give myself a friggin' manicure while I wait."
Thinking movement of the mouse might help, she wiggled it back and forth, but soon realized the futility of her action. What she was doing was as absurd as people who continued to push elevator buttons.
A dot of light finally flashed in the center of the screen, and then blossomed into her Internet provider's logo. When she clicked on her email icon, nothing happened. Frozen in place, the cursor didn't move.
"Shit," she mumbled. Her first instinct told her to kick the tower, but that wouldn't speed the process. No use would be served inflicting injury on already dying equipment. Her jaw tense, she leaned over and restarted the computer and resumed her wait. Her fingers drummed a steady chorus on the mahogany desk. Her mind drifted back to earlier, happier years at her job.
Cass worked for an insurance company. She'd cut her teeth in the business, starting as a secretary and working herself up the corporate ladder. Now she was in charge of reinsurance and an executive in the company. Her plush office, overlooking the city of Los Angeles, was a far cry from the cubicles of the secretarial pool. Too bad she….
The finally-functioning monitor yanked her attention back to present. She clicked on the shortcut to her email and waited while the screen loaded. Slowly, one-by-one, the messages appeared, and she scanned sender's names, looking for responses to her Internet ad. There was only one from Perfectmatch.com. She perused the compulsory introduction about emails coming directly through the dating site then hurriedly scrolled to the meat of the post.
"Blue Eyes, hmm." She rested her chin in her palm.
The screen froze again. "Dammit, that's it." Cass pounded the desk. "I'm getting a new computer tomorrow."
She doodled on a tablet while the computer rebooted again. Blue Eyes. The screen name summoned thoughts of the day she met her ex-husband, Gregory Fremont. His eyes were so blue they hypnotized her.
Greg was a debonair, smooth talker who could sell a drowning man a glass of water. He had certainly sold her a bill of goods.
They'd met when Cass started work with Orion Insurance. The attraction between them had been immediate and mutual, and the resulting courtship sparked a whirlwind of romantic dinners and weekend trips. Too bad he didn't turn out to be as wonderful as he had first seemed, but then she reminded herself life was all about lessons. Though Greg, she learned independence.
She absent-mindedly rubbed the vacant spot where her wedding set had been and recalled almost dying of delight when he slipped that huge diamond engagement ring on her finger. How she wanted to be Mrs. Gregory Fremont—now she wondered what the attraction had been. Other than his good looks, there was really nothing redeeming about him. The true Gregory surfaced not long after they married.
He was selfish and cared only for his own needs. In the first year alone, she lost count of the number of times he came home late, not even having the courtesy to call. If she made an issue of it, he became angry. He didn't think she had a right to know where he'd been and what he'd been doing.
Why Gregory wanted a wife was beyond her. He managed to find hobbies in which she had no interest whatsoever. One rare evening, when they shared dinner together, he asked how she felt about motorcycles. She had told him how much she feared and disliked them, and the next day, he brought home a brand new Harley Davidson. From then on, his weekends were centered on road trips with people she barely knew. Even sexy lingerie and candlelight didn't entice him to stay home.
She chuckled to stifle the encompassing sadness. At least they didn't argue much; they never saw one another.
Despite the lack of companionship, the union lasted almost fifteen decades. Financially, they were well off, but they certainly hadn't been a couple for years; he went his way and she went hers. The marriage was on life support when Orion's executive exchange program had humanely pulled the plug. They sent Gregory to Japan to train agents abroad. Cass elected to stay in the States and concentrate on her own career. Maybe if she'd gone, Greg would not have met his little Geisha girl. Feelings of wifely incompetence shrouded Cassie, but she shook them off.
Actually, she was glad she'd stayed. At least she could support herself. When Greg had returned home, asked for a divorce, then married his Asian woman, Cass had a difficult time determining if she was more hurt or pissed. She'd always heard being the person left behind was hard on the ego. Sadly, the saying was true. It would have been much easier if she'd been the one leaving him. In retrospect, she should have.
Cassie stopped doodling and leaned back in her chair. She rolled her eyes at the overload of memories. She hadn't thought about Greg in years. Seemed he was a character in a book she read once, one with a crummy ending.
Turning her attention back to her computer, she logged in again. Most of the other messages she'd received were spam. She hated that. There should be a way to stop people from littering one's inbox with crap!
The scroll key took her back to the message from Blue Eyes. Everyone chose a corny screen name for themselves—she picked Dream Weaver. Her fingers trembled when she clicked on the message:
Hi,
I saw your profile on Perfectmatch.com and thought I'd jot you a quick note. Sounds like we may have some things in common and I'd like to have the opportunity to get to know you a little better. I notice you didn't post a picture of yourself; I didn't either. Don't have any current ones, but check out my info on the site and if you like what you read, would you be willing to share your phone number? By the way, my eyes are blue but my name is Evan.
What had gotten into her? She eyed the delete key and pondered using it. Her shoulders sagged.
When had she become so desperate that shopping for men on the Internet had become an option? Besides, he was probably butt ugly.
She pushed back from the desk and started to stand, but her gaze drifted back to the message still displayed on the screen. God, was she the loser she felt she was—pitiful and unable to meet a man face-to-face? But what if this one was her knight in shining armor?
She slid the chair forward and propped her face in her palm, reading the message over again. Her fingers hovered over the delete key, but…What would it hurt to read about him?
She typed the dating site URL, found the search option, and keyed in Evan's screen name. Irritation crept over her like a shroud at the computer's continued slowness. The blinking lights on the tower indicated processing, but loading took forever.
She raked impatient fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. "Okay," she admonished herself, "so you'll read his bio and that's all. You posted an ad, someone responded, and now you can delete both the profile and the message." God, now she was talking to herself.
On his profile page, just like on hers, a large empty space showed where a photo should be. Her heart racing, she scanned his vital information, hoping to find an immediate turnoff. Unfortunately, he sounded better than average…at least better than what she had encountered in person.
Five foot eleven inches, sandy blond hair, non-smoker, occasional drinker, owns his own business, and looking for a confident woman who would like to share some good times and possibly more. Blah, blah, blah. Let's chat.
She mentally added the blue eyes to the image in her mind. He didn't sound so bad. The only thing she would change was his height. She stood five foot ten and liked really tall guys. What did it matter? She wasn't going to meet him anyhow.
She quickly rose and walked away. Maybe taking a shower would wash these stupid notions out of her mind…or at least keep her from carrying on conversations in an empty room.
The warm water, streaming down her body, didn't wash away the thoughts of Evan that invaded her mind. The cause of her sudden bout of desperation to find a man went unanswered. While she lathered her body, she pondered life. Her world centered on work. She held an impressive title but lacked the respect of her peers. Changing professions at this stage wasn't an option, but sharing her personal time with someone would be a definite improvement. She turned off the water and grabbed a towel. A glance at the reflection of her nude body in the mirror brought a smile. For an old broad, she truly wasn't so bad.
Clad in her robe, Cassie walked out of the bathroom with the towel on her head. Her nightly routine of removing her make-up made her wonder why she went to so much trouble to look glamorous. In the laundry room, she paused to hang the damp terrycloth on the side of the hamper and let her hair hang free, combing her fingers through the wet tangles as she strode toward the kitchen.
Her mouth felt like cotton. She opened the refrigerator, and despite all the childhood warnings issued by her mother, Cass took a big swig from the milk carton. Mom was snug in her own part of the house and would never know.
"Haven't I taught you better than that?" Cassie turned to find her mom standing in the doorway, her lips drawn into a thin line.
"Sorry, I didn't think I'd get caught." Cassie swiped the back of her hand across her wet lips.
Her mother shuffled toward the counter, folded the wadded dishtowel Cassie had left there earlier, and hung it neatly on the sink's edge. She glanced at her daughter. "So, how was your day?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary." Cassie wasn't about to share information about Evan. Her mother was old-fashioned and very set in her ways. Computer dating would send her into shock.
"I've dusted and cleaned a little of the downstairs today, dear, but I didn't mess with your office." She moved to the pantry and removed a box of crackers.
Once, her mom was a fair-sized woman, but age had curved her spine and hunched her back. Her voice still held that recognizable parental tone that warned Cassie something needed tending. Mom's living quarters were always spotless while Cassie's were never up to par. Thank goodness the older woman hadn't ventured upstairs. Talk about a shock to her system.
Cassie hung her head like the chastised child with whom she identified. "I plan to give everything a good cleaning this weekend. I'd do it tonight, but I'm beat." She stretched her hands overhead for emphasis.
Wearing a satisfied smile, her mother left the room. Cassie reached over the sink and switched off the overhead fixture. She headed for the bedroom, but passing through the living room, noticed the multi-colored blocks on her computer screensaver in her adjacent office.
She sighed and walked to her desk, intending to switch everything off, but as she brushed the mouse, his profile appeared…Blue Eyes. Despite the alarm bells sounding in her head, she sat and started typing.
Hello back,
Glad you answered. This is my first time doing this, but then I bet everyone says that. I never thought I'd be corresponding with a mystery man.
I read your profile and liked what little I read, but I'd like to know more about you, too. I consider myself an independent woman and, like most others out there, I'm looking to meet the right guy. I've been married once, but he certainly wasn't the one. What kind of business do you own, Evan? I'm in the insurance industry and live in the San Fernando Valley. Where are you? I think it's a little too soon for a phone number exchange. Do you mind if we just email one another for a bit?
Hope to hear from you soon.
Cheers,
Cassie
Before she changed her mind, she clicked send. Her hand on the off switch, she still wondered what possessed her to be so impulsive…so desperate. She shrugged.
What harm could come from a simple email? He probably wouldn't answer anyhow.
Chapter Two
The constant buzz of the alarm invaded Cassie's sleep. She reached to the nightstand and slapped the button atop the clock, silencing the annoying noise. Although early, the sunlight filtering into the room forced her to squint until her eyes adjusted to the brightness. If changing the position of her home was humanly possibly, she would turn the whole house around. The lacey white curtains that matched her down comforter made her bedroom stylishly feminine but did little to darken the room. Perhaps lack of darkness caused her to always be an early riser.
Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she slid her legs over the edge of the bed and curled her toes into the plush ecru carpet. Sleeping in just one morning would be nice, but work beckoned. She grimaced at the thought of another day at the office and wondered what it would be like to be married to someone rich and not have to work at all.