“Let’s
go left-handed then,” she challenged, putting her left elbow on the table.
“I’ll beat you either way.”
“I’m
not really into arm wrestling. Maybe we could do something that might not lead
to physical injury.”
“Oh,
being a little catty, are we?” she said, pulling her arm back and flicking out
her curled fingers like a fighting feline. “Please don’t get sarcastic with me,
Pete, because I don’t have the patience for it.”
Peter
wished he was a magician who could disappear.
“All
right, if you want to look like a wimp in front of me, that’s your choice.” She
stood and gestured for him to rise. “Let’s go. I have something I want to do.”
“Oh?”
he said unenthusiastically. “What are you thinking?”
“Paint
ball.”
“Paint
ball?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah,
it’s the bomb.”
She
grabbed him by the arm and led him out of the mall. As luck would have it,
Bubba’s Kill Zone was only two miles away and Heidi insisted on a power walk.
“Good for the cardiovascular system!” she exclaimed, pumping her arms like an
Amazonian hurrying back to a battlefield because she heard there might be one
man still alive.
By
the time they got to Bubba’s, Peter was panting. He walked through the door
covered with sweat. Heidi looked unfazed, even refreshed. She told Peter to
rent his equipment, then took her gear and walked through the back door into
the battleground. A sign above the entrance ominously read—
TAKE NO PRISONERS!
Peter
followed tentatively, swallowing hard. To his surprise, when he entered the
Kill Zone, it looked like World War Three, but Heidizilla was nowhere to be
seen. There were battered concrete walls, heaps of tires, trenches, but no
Heidi. Paint was splattered everywhere, including red paint that resembled
blood, but no Heidi. Suddenly Peter saw a flash and something hit him square in
the head, exploding on his face shield.
“Hide,
dummy!” Heidi called from a hidden location. “You’re mine, sucka!”
A
volley of paint balls flew through the air and nearly decapitated him, one of
them whacking him on the shoulder. Fearing a psycho had him in her crosshairs,
Peter leaped behind cover, his heart pounding at the thought of the she-devil
stalking him. Minutes later, he heard a no-nonsense voice.
“Drop
your weapon!” she ordered from behind. “You’ve been outflanked, soldier!”
Peter
looked back to see Ramboina pointing her gun at him. He dropped his weapon and
raised his hands. “You win,” he told her.
For
no reason, she suddenly shot him at close range, her eyes wild with excitement.
The ball struck him on the chest and stung as much as a very hard slap.
“Beg
for mercy!” she demanded.
Peter
turned and walked back into Bubba’s, laying his gear on the counter. Heidi came
in after him, her eyes still hot with excitement. He could tell she wanted to
finish him off, but Bubba allowed no executions inside the shop. Heidi
reconciled herself to that fact, shook her head at the lack of sport Peter had
provided, then took off her equipment.
This
isn’t a date, he thought. It’s a hostage taking.
“Let’s
go back to the mall,” Heidi said with frustration. “You know, Pete, this really
isn’t what I was hoping for at all. I was looking for a fit guy who enjoys fun
things. To tell you the truth, you’ve been a dead fish. I hate to be critical,
but I have to be honest. My patience is wearing thin. Are you going to liven
up, or what?”
He
looked at her like a man who had climbed out of a car wreck. “We’re not quite
on the same page, are we?”
“Take
me home,” she said when they reached the mall.
“Sure
thing,” he answered thankfully.
As
he was driving her, she turned to him. “Maybe I’ve been impatient. Sometimes I
overwhelm men and seem to bring out the wimp in them.”
Peter
looked straight ahead and didn’t say a word. When they got to her place, she
insisted he walk her to the door, though it was Peter who felt more like the
damsel in distress. Once at the door, she wouldn’t relent until he came in for
a moment. Feeling discretion was the better part of valor, he decided not to
run for fear it might trigger a predatory response.
“Try
my fruit juice,” she said, slipping off her shoes and walking into the bedroom.
“It’s my own special blend. In the fridge, blue pitcher. The glasses are in the
cupboard next to the stove.”
“All
right,” he said, wanting to be friendly. He walked into the kitchen but didn’t
pour a drink for fear it might be spiked. “Well, Heidi, I better be going,” he
called out. “It was lovely meeting you.”
Just
as he walked out of the kitchen, he saw Heidi standing at the bedroom door
wearing a tight, leopard print suit with a tail curved upward at the back. It
looked ridiculous. Peter stopped in his tracks. She stared at him like a big
cat in the jungle, her eyes gleaming.
“What
do you think?” she asked in a low purr. Before he could answer, she continued,
“I don’t like men, you know. I think they’re all a pain in the butt and it
wouldn’t bother me if they all got rounded up and sent to prison.” She moved
toward him. “But you can’t kiss women, can you.” She looked at his mouth and
licked her lips.
“Yes,
it was very nice to meet you,” Peter said, trying to slowly shuffle past her.
“Do
you find me attractive?”
“Yes,
of course,” he responded in the tone of someone hoping to avoid being mugged.
Heidi
smiled coyly. “I don’t want a relationship. I’m just too busy. My thoughts
aren’t long-term.”
“Not
interested,” Peter said forcefully.
Heidi
scowled at him. “What’s wrong?” she snapped. “Does my size intimidate you?
Never seen a strong woman before?”
“I
hardly know you,” he said.
“You’re
a wimp.”
“I
have to go now.”
“Maybe
next time they’ll send me a real man,” she called as he hurried away.
Peter
rushed to the door, opened it without looking back, and walked as fast as he
could to his truck. As soon as he got home, he called the Forevermore
Matchmaking Service.
“Hello,”
came Latesha’s sweet, soft voice.
“Hello,
this is Peter Elsworth. I’m one of your clients.”
“Yes,
Peter, so nice of you to call. How did your date work out?”
“Do
you have a couple minutes?”
“Of
course.”
“It
didn’t work out,” Peter said. “In all honesty, it was a disaster.”
“I’m
sorry,” Latesha replied strangely. “All we can do is put two people together.
Sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t. Love isn’t a science.”
“I
understand that,” he conceded, “but we weren’t the least bit compatible.”
“Like
I said, love isn’t a science. We have the best technology in the world at our
disposal, but who can explain love and compatibility? It’s beyond human
understanding. All we can do is try our best.”
“Do
you have much free time?” Peter asked awkwardly, his voice cracking.
“No,
not much at all,” she answered, sounding surprised by the question.
“What
do you do if you have free time?” he queried.
Latesha
laughed nervously.
“I’d
like to try another date,” Peter suddenly said. “Is that possible?”
Latesha
was not anticipating a second date after hearing about the first.
“I’ll
pay another hundred dollars, but hopefully this time I’ll find someone a little
less outgoing.”
“All
right,” Latesha said. “I thought that might have been a problem after reading
Heidi’s profile, but I can assure you the next person will not be so
aggressive.”
“I’ll
put the check in the mail tonight.”
“I’ll
call you.”
Minutes
later she did phone him. “I’ve arranged a date for you with a woman named Jo
Jo. This one will be better,” she assured him, glancing at Oprah who sat
yawning on the floor. “Our top expert is quite confident.”
Couldn’t
be any worse, Peter thought.
*
* * *
The
next day, Peter met Jo Jo at a downtown coffee house. She was a frail girl with
swollen, red eyes. Instead of punching him on the arm as Heidi might have done,
she held out her soft, fragile hand and allowed him to lightly clasp her
fingers. Her hand was almost weightless and was so thin she reminded him of a
ghost. When he sat down opposite her, she looked at him with great expectation,
as if he carried the secret to her future happiness. He didn’t know what to
say. There was no magnetism, no attraction, nothing at all on his part.
“Would
you like to do anything in particular?” he offered, more out of compassion than
interest.
“Can
you take me to a movie?” she asked.
“Certainly.”
The
movie she chose was a quintessential chick flick, a romantic comedy where the
two leads stumble across each other and end up living happily ever after. Jo Jo
alternately sobbed and wailed through the whole thing.
If
this woman cries any more, Peter thought, feeling trapped,
she’s going to be flirting with dehydration. She shed so many
tears and used so many tissues that by Peter’s calculations she could have
saved half a dozen trees by skipping the film.
“I’m
all right,” she assured him after the lights came on. “It’s just that I haven’t
felt right since my boyfriend left me.”
“Oh,
I’m sorry,” Peter consoled. “Didn’t work out?”
She
wrapped her arm around his biceps as they walked toward his truck. “He said I
was too moody. He was right, of course. I’ve always cried a lot. Sometimes I’ll
cry the whole weekend and hardly be able to stop. I can’t remember the last
time I was happy. When people are around, I just want to curl up in a ball and
hide. You know what I mean? After my boyfriend died in that horrible accident,
I didn’t even go to the funeral. I was still mad at him.”
“Ooo-kay,”
Peter muttered warily. “How did he die?”
Jo
Jo looked at him with vacant eyes. “His house burned down. Terrible thing. He
never made it out. They found a can of gasoline.” She took a deep breath. “Mind
you, if he hadn’t cheated on me with that tramp, I would have felt a lot worse.
But you know how it is. I was glad in an awful kind of way.”
“A
can of gasoline?” Peter stammered as he passed the poster for an upcoming
horror flick that showed a crazed woman holding a dripping knife.
Jo
Jo ignored him. “Don’t you just love late summer?” she asked laughingly, as if
he had told an incredibly funny joke. She started skipping like a school girl,
throwing her arms in the air. “Summer reminds me of white puppy dogs and
butterflies and purple pink dolphins!”
“Yes,”
Peter said, his eyes shifting from side to side. “I know exactly what you
mean.”
“Are
you enjoying yourself?”
“Tremendously.”
“Good.
I’ve been so depressed since my boyfriend’s death. It’s nice to see that I can
still bring happiness into other people’s lives.”
Peter
forced a smile and opened the door for her. From there it was a race to
transport her home as quickly as possible without getting stopped by the cops.
“I’ve
always been a crybaby,” she said, talking into space. “I suppose it started
when I was six. I had this dog named Pooch and one day I opened the door for
some reason I can’t remember, maybe it was summer and it was hot, or Dad might
have been coming in the driveway. He was late a lot, you know. I never felt he
was truly there for me. He was emotionally distant. In a way, I suppose my Aunt
Mildred had a touch of that, too. At least that’s what my cousin Annie told me.
But she could stretch the truth. My word, you never knew if what she was saying
was true or some fantasy she created. I guess that’s understandable, though,
because her father drank heavily.”
Ten
minutes later, Peter stopped in front of her apartment building and quickly
went round to open her door. “Nice meeting you,” he said, helping her out of
the truck.
“Are
you coming in?” she asked.
“I
can’t,” Peter replied.
“Why?”
Jo Jo questioned with a slighted look. “Do you have an emergency?”
“An
appointment,” he said, “with my,” his mind froze for a moment, “with my coach.”
“Coach?”
“Yes,
my coach,” he stammered. “We’re working on some things.”
Jo
Jo didn’t seem interested in his athletic prowess. “Listen, Paul,” she said.
”Peter,”
he corrected.
“What?”
“My
name is Peter, not Paul.”
“Oh,”
she responded, laughing and squeezing his arm, “how foolish of me. My boyfriend
was Paul.” She burst into tears. “His father was Paul, too, so he gave him that
name. I never liked it as well as Luke. Luke is his brother. He had a hard
life. Do you want me to tell you about it?”
“I
have to go,” Peter insisted.
Jo
Jo wrote her phone number on a piece of paper. “Listen, Peter, I opened my soul
for you today. I feel we’ve shared something special. I hope you’re not the
kind of guy who bleeds a woman dry of all her secrets and then disappears into
the woodwork.”
“No,
your secrets are safe with me,” he pledged, then added, “I have to go.”
Without
promising to call, Peter made good his retreat. During it, he thought of Heidi
and Jo Jo, but most of all he thought of Latesha.
“What
kind of service are they running there?” he asked Dr. Phil when he got home,
picking up the phone. “I’d have a better chance by picking someone off the
sidewalk. Latesha’s experts must put pictures on a dart board and give you
whoever they hit.”
He
called her.
“Hi,”
Latesha said warmly. “How was your date with Jo Jo?”
“I
was just wondering about the methods you use,” Peter said with furrowed brows.
“Nothing personal, but I think your computer and experts may need a little
overhauling.”