The Cooked Seed (37 page)

People have asked me how I met Lloyd Lofthouse and married him. I answer, “From the Yellow Pages.” But people don’t believe me. They say, “What a great sense of humor you have, Anchee Min!” I wasn’t being funny. I was telling the truth.

In 1999 I moved to a neighborhood where Lauryann could attend a better public school. At the time she was a first grader, soon to start second grade, and I was forty-two years old. I had come to accept the reality that no man found me attractive enough to approach me. In the five years since my divorce, I had thought a lot about the failure of my marriage and believed I understood my role in it. I had asked myself questions and read self-help books. I believed that I could now make better choices and be a better partner, though it seemed that there was no longer going to be a chance to prove this.

I told myself that it was not a disgrace to be in my situation. It would only be a disgrace if I didn’t make an effort to dig myself out of it. So I kept trying, but without luck. I continued to dread the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, because I wanted to cook for more than just Lauryann and myself.

It wasn’t that I didn’t meet men. I met colorful characters: authors, journalists, publishers, and college academics, but I was seen by these men as the writer Anchee Min, not a single woman lonely for affection. I presented myself as “interesting” and “fascinating.” People became animated when they spoke to
Anchee Min.

I didn’t feel secure revealing my true self. Often, when I did, it came out wrong because language was still a hurdle. For example, one woman who was escorting me on a book tour had a Ph.D. in human sexuality. While driving, she discussed the subject with great passion. Afterward, she asked my opinion on women’s sexual liberation.

I told her that I didn’t know what to say, because for seven years my experience with sex had been with a videotape instead of a man.
“It’s not that I don’t want sex,” I said flatly, “but an opportunity has not presented itself.”

The Ph.D. became visibly disturbed as if I had invaded her personal space. For the rest of the trip, she remained silent. I didn’t understand what I had said to offend her. I should have known better. People paid me to be inspiring, to stand on a pedestal. I wasn’t supposed to disappoint them by showing that I was just a flawed and weak human being.

Later, I realized she hadn’t meant to ask about my sex life.

What I learned from my failed marriage to Qigu was that I didn’t want to live like a frog at the bottom of a well. I knew that the sky was not the size of the well’s opening. I craved sunlight, spring, and rain.

If someone had told me twenty years ago that I would become a bestselling author in America and around the world, I would never have believed it. All I knew then was that I could barely understand my own utility bills. Why should I rob myself of the chance of finding love? Why should I bury myself at the age of forty-two? But how would I find a suitable man who would love me and whom I would love back? How could I let the world know that I existed and was interested and available?

It was then that I thought of the Yellow Pages, the phone book. If the Yellow Pages had helped me locate an electrician, a plumber, a refrigerator, a stove, and a garbage disposal, why not a man through a dating service? I must not be the only one in this world who was lonely and desperate for companionship. Was there another soul out there who shared the same frustration and hope? Another human being who had much to offer, just like me?

The thought of advertising myself depressed me. Despite all my changes, I was still a Chinese woman at my core. I stood in front of a mirror and gave myself an appraisal. What I saw matched a Chinatown herb doctor’s observation of me. He wrote: “
The patient’s skin color looks like preserved vegetable; her pulse is weak. She has leaky Chi (internal breath).
”

It took me three weeks to work up the courage to call the dating service that I found in the Yellow Pages. I composed a script starting with,
“Hello, my name is Angie, and I am calling to get information for a girlfriend of mine.” When asked my girlfriend’s name, my tongue got stuck. I was not prepared to be asked my girlfriend’s phone number either.

The person on the other end was kind and patient. She said that she understood it wasn’t easy. “I’m Robin, and I’m here for you whenever you’re ready,” she said. Eventually she made me comfortable enough to admit that there was no girlfriend. “It’s me who is interested. And yes, I’d like an appointment.”

Robin was a charming middle-aged lady with a broad smile and great energy. She received me at the dating office. It was half past five in the afternoon, and her staff members were closing for the day.

Robin opened the door and gave me a hug. “I’m so excited that you made it!”

“Why?” I was suspicious of her enthusiasm.

“Because you are a super-attractive woman! I want your business. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for with us. We need women like you.”

“Well, thank you, but I know the truth about myself.”

“No, you don’t,” Robin said. “You’ll be surprised how much you don’t know about yourself, and how much you can achieve with what you’ve got.”

“I am looking for an average man.”

“Average men are what we’ve got!” Robin pulled down the blinds to block the setting sun. “Our clients are as average as they can be.”

“What kind of people are they?”

“Well, they are schoolteachers, mechanics, engineers, government workers, and accountants. Is that average enough for you? Many of these are decent men with jobs that allow limited social time. We have men who are divorcés and others who are struggling as single parents. You know what that’s like.”

“Yes, I do.”

Robin smiled. “Haven’t you heard that ‘love is lovelier the second time around’? Well, Frank Sinatra sang that song, and he was a genius.”

To show good faith, Robin offered me a discount. After I signed up, she revealed her “exciting list” of clients. But I was disappointed. The list was not as promising as what she had described it to be. The men who appeared interesting and good-looking were either “unavailable” or were in a “time away” with another member. The ones left were unattractive, to say the least.

“Have you selected anyone?” Robin asked when I finished looking through the files. When she saw my expression, she said, “Oh, I’m sorry. Don’t feel bad. It’s only your first day. There will be other opportunities.”

I suggested to Robin that I bring my own photos. The photos the dating agency shot of me were worse than the one on my driver’s license. Robin gave me a firm no.

“It is our agency’s policy not to allow clients to bring their own photos. People do anything to make themselves appear attractive. In the past, we had folks who brought glamorous shots touched up with an airbrush. It looked nothing like the actual person. And it backfired.”

“But I look absolutely unattractive in your photo,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to date me if I were a man.”

“Our business is based on reputation and word of mouth,” Robin insisted. “We must present people as they are.”

A few days later, the dating agency called and reported that two men had left me “invitations.” With excitement, I went in. I sat down with the inviters’ profiles. To my greatest disappointment, these were men in their seventies, one with obviously false front teeth. I told Robin that I wanted to cancel my membership.

I thought I must have had less market value than I’d imagined. If I had ever had self-esteem issues before, they were about to be revived. I had written in my application that I preferred men “between forty and fifty years in age,” but grandpas had approached me anyway. I found myself reeling from the shock.

Robin said that she would let me quit if I promised to try for one more week. I agreed. The next day Robin called saying that she had a “super match” for me. I told her that it would be a waste of time if the super match was a seventy-year-old.

Robin said, “He is not seventy. That’s for sure. But he does not exactly match the age you described in your application. Are you willing to be a little flexible? I assume you are?”

“How old is he?”

“Fifty-two.”

“What is his name? What does he do for a living?”

“Why don’t you come in, and we can talk?” Before I answered, she hung up.

I didn’t bother until a week later when Lauryann went on a two-day school trip and I was alone. I figured that my strained eyes needed a rest from writing anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to check out the “super match.”

Robin was taking a coffee break with the receptionist outside her office building when I pulled into the parking lot. She waved at me and cried joyfully, “Anchee Min, today is your lucky day!”

His name was Lloyd Lofthouse, a former US Marine, a Vietnam vet, and an English teacher. “Lloyd has been calling to make sure we passed you his invitation,” Robin said almost breathlessly. “We told him that we already had, but he said he hasn’t heard from you. He called in and checked with us three times today already. He wanted to see if you left him any message. Unfortunately, I had to tell him that you had not responded. I told him that it’s in your hands, and there’s nothing more we could do. Anyway, Lloyd is six foot four. A handsome guy. He’s been teaching English for twenty-five years. What I meant by a ‘super match’ is that he is extremely interested in you! Wait—I forgot to tell you that he’s a writer, too. I can see you two discussing the art of writing together!”

“No writer, no artist, please. I said I wanted an average man.”

“Well, Lloyd is an average man who happens to love writing. He admires and appreciates what you do.”

I thought of all the profiles I had checked. No one had appealed to me. I must have crossed Lloyd off already.

“Is this Lloyd Lofthouse a new member?” I asked.

“No, Lloyd has been with us for two years. He hasn’t been lucky in finding anyone to his liking. His membership is expiring, and he has already notified us that he will not renew. To tell you the truth, he came
in today to sign off the membership. God bless him—he has discovered you!”

“I think I already passed him.”

“Do me a favor, Anchee, go and check out Lloyd Lofthouse one last time. Maybe you missed him. It happens. You never know, the love song you heard on the radio on your way here might have put you in a better mood. The song might have influenced your brain chemistry. Maybe you had a good sleep last night. I can see that you are cheerful today.”

I shook my head. “Thank you for being sweet, Robin, but—”

“Trust me, human beings are strange creatures,” Robin continued. “Lloyd deserves a chance. He is a serious member, and I like him personally. He paid for two years, over six thousand dollars. A lot of money for a man like him. He means business. He wants to find love. He has called and called regarding you. The man is making his best effort. Would you give him credit for that—for trying so hard?”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “But I have to go now. I’ll take it slow. Like you said, it’s only my first chance.”

“But it’s
his
last chance! Lloyd is leaving the service. I wish there was more I could do for him. Since you are already here, it wouldn’t hurt to take a final look.”

I located Lloyd Lofthouse in the members photo book. I had been right—I had passed him. He was a plain-looking man with bottle-thick glasses and a grin on his face. He was obviously awkward posing for the camera. His expression reminded me of a Halloween pumpkin. Many years later, after I became his wife, I learned that Lloyd was “photophobic.” He would tense up in front of a camera. It was the one thing he would never do well. Unless he was unaware of the camera, in every family photo he posed for, the Halloween-pumpkin grin was there. The more Lauryann and I tried to get him to relax, the stiffer he would become. It was so hopeless that he would run the moment he saw a camera aimed in his direction.

Lloyd must have believed that his hairstyle was attractive. Heavily
gelled, his hair was pasted flat over his skull and appeared so thin that he looked as if he was balding. He was dressed in a dark-blue three-piece suit with a rainbow-striped tie. He reminded me of a car salesman.

I turned over the page and read his personal information. To my surprise, he had divorced twice! He must be a “habitual walker,” a term I had come across in a relationship advice book. For the question “Is it okay if your partner smokes?” he wrote a capital-letter “NO!!!” A man of strong will and opinion, this Lloyd must be. I also sensed that he could be extreme in his views.

Lloyd’s self-introduction was straightforward and clear. He certainly wrote well. He described himself as both an introvert and an extrovert. For “introvert,” he explained that he was a “lover of books” and “enjoyed quiet time by himself.” For “extrovert,” he mentioned that he enjoyed the company of friends. If his friends had one word to describe him, it was
loyal
. For his “passion,” he wrote, “A commitment to a healthy lifestyle.” For “hobby,” he wrote “hiking” and “movies.”

What he was looking for in a woman sounded peculiar. While other men put down “reasonably good-looking, a lady who enjoys companionship, romantic evenings, and candlelight dinners,” Lloyd wrote, “A woman who is health conscious and who would welcome (or at least accept) vegetarianism, and who is, or has been, working toward keeping herself in good physical shape.”

When asked the preference of a personality type, where other men wrote “kind and caring” or “easygoing and fun-loving,” Lloyd wrote, “A strong sense of family and personal responsibility.” I wondered why he had underlined “personal responsibility.” What had happened to him that moved him to underline that phrase?

Although I wasn’t attracted to Lloyd’s appearance, his personal statement intrigued me. I was impressed by this unyielding character. It was obvious that Lloyd Lofthouse was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and that he wasn’t shy about making that known.

I thought,
Too bad he has that awful Halloween-pumpkin grin.
As I was leaving, Robin asked me if I had watched Lloyd’s video.