INTERNET DATES FROM HELL (14 page)

Each time we spoke on the phone, the conversation flowed better than the time before. I had asked him why he had never had a relationship, but he refused to answer and told me that he would discuss it when we met. Since he worked in the city and I lived there, we decided to meet for pizza at a neighborhood parlor close to Penn Station. If the date didn’t pan out, it would be beneficial for both of us to be that close to Penn Station. He could easily hop on the 1, 2, or 3 train to Times Square at 42nd, then transfer to the S to Grand Central to Metro North to his park-and-ride at White Plains and proceed on to Rockland County, and it allowed me to make a quick getaway as well, since I lived only a few blocks away. If the date went well, we could enjoy the Christmas decorations in Macy’s windows.

When we finally met, he looked like his photo, but appeared thinner. He seemed very nervous in the beginning, but after twenty minutes he became more comfortable. I was still curious as to why he had never had a relationship, so I asked him again. His response was that he had gone on many first dates, but was never pursued by any of his contacts, due to his drinking and excess weight. As a result of severe depression and low self-esteem, he decided to attend weekly AA meetings, where he had great success. Sober for seven years, Mickey exuded a great sense of accomplishment. “Seven years,” I thought. “All those years without a drink or a relationship? I’ve had dry spells in the past, but this is unbelievable!” He said that he had lost weight and now felt great about himself. Most women would probably have left at that point in the date but I stayed, and the teacher in me gave him an “A” for honesty. He seemed lovable, but maybe life had just dealt him the wrong hand.

“This could be another Miracle on 34th Street,” I laughed to myself. But maybe it was too early to decide. After a mutually good time, we both agreed that a movie would be in order, so we walked down the street to the Loews on 34th. We decided to see Almost Famous. After the second sex scene in the movie, I couldn’t help but wonder about Mickey. I discreetly turned to him and whispered, “If you have never had a relationship, does that mean you are a virgin as well?” He told me that he would tell me later, if I promised not to judge him. Uh-oh, what had I gotten myself into now? The curiosity was eating me alive. There was at least another hour of the movie left, and my anxiety soared!

Finally the movie ended, credits rolled, and we exchanged small talk regarding the story line on the way out of the theatre. Once we arrived at the diner, I immediately ordered a piece of cake and a cup of tea, while he ordered nothing. I pleaded with him to order something. He said he wasn’t hungry. “Then order something to drink,” I said. Oops, wrong choice of words. He acquiesced by ordering a club soda. I realized then how hard it was for him, or anyone else, to remove an obsession such as alcoholism from one’s life. Before I posed the question again, I assured Mickey that I had an open mind, as well as a diverse group of friends who were anything but ordinary.

“So tell me, Mickey, are you or are you not a virgin?” I inquired tactfully. I couldn’t determine the cause of the redness he exhibited. Was it a blush of embarrassment or a sign of anger? Moments later it was clear to me that it was neither.

“I beg your pardon, Trisha, but you don’t need to have a relationship to have sex,” he retorted.

I felt foolish! He was right! Although quite forceful, Mickey remained polite and respectful throughout. I immediately apologized for my rudeness.

He responded with, “No need to apologize, Trish. There’s nothing better than frankness on a first date. I admire that trait in you. Now let me be frank with you.”

In the midst of his statement, I cut him off with one of my patented questions, “Don’t tell me that you use the Internet for those encounters, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do, now that you asked.”

Asked? Pried is more like it. I was actually prying into his personal life, and I had only known him for just a few hours. Who was I to do that? But then again, this was my life and I didn’t want to get involved with anyone without a normal sense of control regarding his sexual impulses. Mickey continued. It was downright shocking what he revealed in the next few minutes. He told me that he had been meeting with prostitutes (high-end call girls, as he referred to them) over the past seven “dry” years. He admitted that at times these encounters were weekly and that the highest-end whore was upwards of $500. I am glad that he didn’t tell me what he paid for the low-end ladies. Without pause, he detailed the different Web sites he had done business with. The only drawback seemed to be the expenses he had (not for the hos, but for the “ho”-tel rooms, due to the fact that he lived with his parents). His demeanor never wavered. It was almost as if he was proud of his accomplishments (sexual conquests is what I called them). I decided to let Mickey talk until he was finished rather than deliver my own philosophy regarding the issue. The last thing I remember him saying was that he was going to treat himself to a high-class call girl this Christmas if this date doesn’t work out. I thought to myself, “Well then, make your call, boy, because this isn’t going anywhere.” Although there weren’t any Ho Ho Hos in my Christmas that year, I’m sure Mickey had a few of his own.

16
 

Pay Attention to Red Flags
 

December 2000

Only a few weeks later, the week of Christmas, I ironically received an interesting e-mail from Jamie, a thirty-five-year-old attorney from Stamford, Connecticut. I say ironically because during the week of Christmas, Internet dating reaches its nadir. By that time of the year, most people have either found someone to share the holiday spirit with, or are preoccupied with their family responsibilities. Jamie, however, persisted throughout the week. After four e-mails and attachments, I finally wrote back. He had mentioned his recent separation in the previous e-mail and I became a bit gun-shy. Another steadfast rule of mine was to not date married men under any circumstances, separated or otherwise. That was only one of the four red flags that appeared regarding Jamie. But feeling festive, I agreed to meet him for a quick cup of coffee at a nearby coffee shop. That week’s calendar was filled with obligations, so coffee was the best I could offer. He surprisingly agreed.

What’s the worst that could happen? A new friend? I didn’t realize at that point that my dance card was so full. Only when I was standing in Lord & Taylor did I realize that my list of friends to buy presents for was the length of my forearm. It may sound cruel, but I had no time for more acquaintances. Nevertheless, our coffee date went well (all fifty-three minutes of it), and we decided to keep in touch. He said it was just as well, since he hadn’t begun his shopping yet. He would take advantage of being in the middle of the city, and, with any luck, he would conquer his shopping list. We bid farewell, and I went about planning my annual Christmas party for my friends. Only two days left. I thought he wouldn’t call until after the holidays were over, but, much to my surprise, he called the next day. I thought it might be an attempt on his part to thank me and wish me happy holidays, but no, he wanted to get together the following evening. I told him that I couldn’t make it, that I was having my annual gathering. His response was pushy. “Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone. Maybe you can invite me to your party and I can help you with the serving.” It was then that I found out he had worked at a catering company to put himself through law school. Good naturedly, I agreed.

This turned out to be one of my greatest mistakes. Even as a child I brought home stray cats all too often. It just so happened that Jamie was involved in a major litigation that would, with any luck, end by December 23rd. The trial was taking place in New York City, and he would be free a few days before Christmas Eve. I was in the middle of baking cookies for a holiday party when my tree stand broke, scattering the tree and its decorations in the middle of my studio apartment. I tried desperately to upright the tree, but to no avail. Just then my cell phone rang. It was Jamie wanting to know what he could bring to the party. I told him a tree stand would be nice, as I nearly cried into the phone.

“You’re joking,” Jamie replied.

Choking back the tears, I exclaimed, “No, I’m not. It’s late, and I have no time to get another one.”

“Relax, I will take care of everything,” he replied.

And that’s just what he did. He showed up with two bottles of champagne, a box of cannoli, and the tree stand. He was adorably dressed in a red and green holiday sweater. He was a lifesaver. Not only did he fix the tree and help me serve throughout, he had everyone in tears of laughter with his dry sense of humor. Even my best friend, Anne, who is normally very depressed about being single during the holiday season, was in the best of spirits. Other than his high-pitched feminine-sounding voice and nervous twitch tugging on his right earlobe, I found him quite charming.

The following day Anne called me to thank me for the great evening at my party. I was about to use this as an opportunity to ask her what she thought about Jamie. No sooner did I get the words out of my mouth, than Anne told me that her initial impression was extremely positive. She thought that Jamie could be a prime example of the new “metrosexual”—a straight man who is in touch with his feminine side. She expressed that during the evening she had spent a fair bit of time talking with him. As Anne spoke about her work in the fashion industry, Jamie shared his knowledge regarding a variety of fabrics and an in-depth knowledge of design.

“What man knows what taffeta is?” Anne blurted.

“I know Jamie was married before, so perhaps his wife wore taffeta all the time,” I joked.

“Oh, that’s right. Come to think of it, Jamie mentioned that his soon-to-be-ex-wife owns a small boutique in Greenwich,” Anne retorted.

“That explains his great attention to detail. It’s a nice change to find a straight guy with fashion sense,” I added.

“Do you think this could be serious?” Anne questioned.

“He’s not only handsome, stylish, and funny, but intelligent as well,” I giddily exclaimed.

Noticing my fondness for Jamie, Anne’s last words rang over and over in my mind: “Although he appears wonderful on the surface, you know that you’re a romantic, Trish. Don’t let the magic of Christmas cloud your judgment.”

During the following week, Jamie and I talked for several hours on the phone. He wanted to return the favor and did, so I found myself agreeing to his invitation to a New Year’s Eve party being held at his home in Stamford. He shared this house with his brother and mother. This was another red flag. I was definitely out of my environment. Although the house looked old and somewhat stately from the road, it was overgrown with what appeared to be ancient trees, bushes, and ivy. Even the driveway looked decrepit and unkempt. What soothed my anxiety were the many cars in the long driveway leading to the house.

I decided to park my car at the bottom of the driveway, with the nose of the car facing the street. What I saw when I walked through the door reminded me of the ancient house from the old sitcom The Munsters. Instead of a fire-breathing dragon coming out of the staircase, the staircase was covered with cats. I could hear voices coming from the back of the house. I decided to join the party with Jamie. There were a few close family friends in an enormous great room that jutted out into the woods behind the house. He introduced me to his brother, Larry, who appeared somber and unmoved. It was only then that I realized my third mistake (red flag). During our initial conversation, Larry insisted on discussing his present infantile fetish involving diapers, pacifiers, and teething toys. It was apparent to me that Larry had severe emotional issues. At first I thought he was joking, but I turned to Jamie when Larry was in the bathroom and asked, “Is he for real?” Jamie said that he took after his mother, who is a paranoid schizophrenic restricted to her room upstairs on the third floor of the house. You would think this would be another red flag for me, but it actually intrigued me. I felt sorry for Jamie for having had such an unstable childhood. The house was the embodiment of a past turbulent life. I inquired whether his father was in the picture and what he was doing. Jamie explained that his dad, a psychiatrist, had left his mother and family for another woman and was living with her and her children in Costa Rica.