Authors: Cupideros
“You really appear younger looking than on that funny bus poster.”
I opened the door. “Thank you for coming, Brad”
After Brad got outside the apartment, he commented on leaving. “You better like dogs.”
I waved the next guy in.
“Hi my name is Bernie “Wheels” Gaston. I work as a nurse.”
“That’s nice. Not many men work in such a caring field.”
“I have two dogs.” He paused. “I like women because they are emotional creatures.”
I rattled my paper. “What exactly do you think about dating a woman after she’s had a death in her family?”
“You had someone die in your family?”
“No not me, per se, but what if that was the situation?”
“Highly unlikely. I mean she’d be grieving so hard. It is hard for her to respond emotionally. I want to hear all her drama and angst.”
“Drama and angst. I’m pretty drama-free,” I lied.
He started laughing. “Not from that fun bus poster ad. You’re a woman full of drama.” His head shook back and forth as he gave a sly smile.
“No. I’m drama-free.” Of course this was a lie. Who can be all drama free? That’s like saying you don’t have a heart. Why else do soap operas and movies do such big business—because people love drama. This whole world is one big drama stage. “I work more than forty hours a week. And the weekends are pretty much gone, mostly attending weddings, but banquets and company dinners as well. All the people around me are in relationships.”
“That’s too bad. I need a woman who will be home after five o’clock.”
“After five o’clock in the morning. I can do that! Things often come up unexpectedly in the catering business—What was your name again?” I said standing up with him. Clearly rejection fit better on the non-dating Megan versus the maybe-trying-to-find-a-date Megan. What is with people wanting things they can’t or shouldn’t have?
I don’t mind getting rejected during the dating process
, I assured myself.
I believed the search for another Frog loomed large whenever dating rejection happened. Yes, that’s what I don’t take well. Looking forward to more Frog Kissing. I think he figured out I wanted to be the one rejecting him. He finally answered.
“Bernie.”
“Bernie, it’s just not going to work out,” I escorted Bernie to the door. I imagined him wheeling around sick people in the hospital. Decent profession. Just not my cup of tea.
* * * *
The next guy’s face seemed like someone who might be holding one of those lost children on milk cartons. His eyes were deep set and wider than usual. His thick, dark eyebrows touched. He wore black leather jacket and pants. I felt the cold wind of divorce blow in.
“I’m Megan, the one-time major frog kisser, who now wants to settle down.”
“Hi, One-Time-Frog Kisser. I’m Hayward Villas. I work in the Mayor’s IT department.”
I laughed. “Strange, a potential serial killer having a sense of humor. Humor is good. And the ways you have that serial killer stare down pat—just awesome. I know a friend in Hollywood searching for a face like yours.”
“My touching eyebrows. I get those from my mom.”
“However, Hayward. I don’t play video games. I’m on the computer and off in a second. I refuse to form relationships with things that constantly prove my inferiority.”
Hayward seemed baffled.
“I’m just joking,” I shrugged. Subconsciously, I looked back at the hidden video camera. At that moment, I received a call. “Steve,” this is my cop ex boyfriend. I have to take this Hayward.” I walked to the back of the room. Hayward just sat there watching me.
* * * *
I whispered, “Forgive me, PR Man, for calling you Steve. I needed to assure my serial killer at the dining table I am a real person and not a potential victim.”
“I’m sending a cop around by your place. He works nearby.”
The police siren sounded from far down the street and grows louder and louder. I watch Hayward carefully. He doesn’t look around, but he begins to sweat. He looked nervous. What would an IT guy from the Mayor’s office have to sweat about hearing police sirens?
I looked outside and the long queue of men began dissipating. One by one, they peeled off nervously like onion layers. Tears almost begin to form in my eyes. Some of the guys rated at least 9.7 on the scale of ten, body wise. They got into their cars and left.
“You’re driving all my potential married men away, PR Man,” I pouted.
“Can’t be legit people. Lot of prostitution happens on the Internet through personal ads these days. Maybe they thought you were a hooker.”
“A hooker. A hooker!” I turned back and Hayward had vanished.
“Okay. My creep vanished. Is he still in the house? No. Wait I see him there in his black leather jackets and pants. He rode a motorcycle here.”
“How many men left? My cop friend should be driving by now.”
I saw a cop car driving by and turning slowly into the coffee shop across the street.
“I see him. He’s going for coffee and donuts.”
“I told him not to approach. We don’t want to alarm any real serious daters.”
“Why not?” I walked back to the dining room table.
“Because you need lots of evidence, you tried to find a date this year.”
“Yeah that’s right. I keep forgetting this is all fake. PR Man this is taking time away from my catering business. I threw one batch of cake mix away to keep this appointment.”
“Couldn’t be helped.”
“I straightened everything out with the Women’s Center. They know you support them and women. I told them you want to remain a single woman, but peculiar circumstances forced you to consider marriage for a year.”
“They bought that?”
“They buy a lot of bogus stories. Woman fell down accidentally hit her eye on her husband’s kneecap. The woman tried to tackle her abusive husband and he dodged out of the way. She rammed her head into the door.”
I sat down for a second. I looked over my list. “Right. They patch people up. Can’t get any more reasonable than that. The bus poster ad is going great. Several men thought I was a slut. Seems the old adage a single woman isn’t a lonely woman still rings true in the minds of men.”
“What you wanted. To try and fail to find a partner for marriage.”
“Only thing is—I’m inadvertently, not purposely—thinking about finding one. It’s really draining, training myself to look for a man to marry. I don’t know how women do it in all those love songs, romance books and movies. I’m not superwoman you know.”
“I’m right here for you. Stay the course. How much more complicated can it get? If Olivia comes up with some kind of Speed Dating tactic, you’ll be prepared for her.”
“I’d hate to Speed Date. Then the men have half a chance of appearing reasonable. Answering these Personal Ads is simply a matter of how to discourage and disqualify them. It’s easy.”
“You better get back to work.”
“I heard a knock at my door.” I hung up the phone.
It was an Arab man. Handsome. He said, “I thought maybe Mr. Serial Killer did you in before the police arrested him.”
“Hayward got arrested?”
“Embezzling funds from the Mayor’s Office,” the police scanner said.” The Arab man pointed to his radio on his waist. “They took him away and towed his motorcycle.”
“Gee, come in Kalil Smith,” I read from his work identification card. “At least we know you’re not a serial killer or anything. What serial killer would wear an identification badge?”
“Nor a terrorist, either.” Kalil joked.
“You’re not a terrorist—I mean, too.”
“No. No course not. I watch Hawaii Five O and Batman and Robin on retro television. How can I be terrorist?”
“I’m interested in finding a man to marry Kalil. I want to ask you a few questions.”
“Go ahead. My English is at first language level.”
“That’s good. Now. You won’t find these questions too difficult. Which would you rather marry? An Iron Lady or a Bastard Girlfriend?”
“What?” Kalil said half laughing.
“You have to choose one or the interview is over.”
“I choose the Bastard Girlfriend.”
“The Bastard Girlfriend or the Spaceship Girl?”
Kalil lowered his head. “Is this how you talked to Hayward?”
“It’s either the Bastard Girlfriend or the Spaceship Girl?”
“Spaceship Girl.”
“Spaceship Girl or She’s Got Legs?”
Kalil kept laughing.
I laughed along with him.
“She’s Got Legs.”
“She’s Got Legs or Pirate Girl?”
“The Pirate Girl.”
“The Pirate Girl or Politically Active Princess?”
“The Pirate Girl.”
“Pirate Girl or Scary Librarian Chick?”
“Pirate Girl.”
“Beautiful Slave Girl or Pirate Girl?”
“Beautiful Slave Girl.”
“All Women Are Lustful Lady or Beautiful Slave Girl?”
“Beautiful Slave Girl.”
“Girly Bruiser or Beautiful Slave Girl?
“Beautiful Slave Girl.”
Kalil smiling dark eyes slowly dimmed.
“Okay. I’m afraid it’s not going to work out between us—? What was your name?”
“Kalil.”
“Right, Kalil. See I’m looking for a guy who’s not afraid of women’s growing power in the world. And—”
“I chose the Beautiful Slave Girl too many times.”
“Yes, you did. But at least you’re an honest man, Kalil. I admire that.”
“Honesty doesn’t win the girl.” He stood up. “Were any of those...girls you, Megan?”
“I wouldn’t fool you, Kalil. The test was fair. I was the Scary Librarian.”
“Oh-o.”
I nodded and walked him to the door. “Thanks for stopping by. If I meet any Beautiful Slave Girls, I’ll send them your way.”
“Thanks.”
I mean what is it with all-these guys wanting to just fuck a woman or girl’s body. Is that all females are good for a lay in the sack?
* * * *
The next guy seemed really young. “Are you even old enough to date?”
“I’m eighteen. My mom lets me date. Long as I bring her home first.”
“Sorry, family dating doesn’t help my image or my business aspirations. Thanks for coming.” I escorted him out feeling guilty that I didn’t call his mom first. She really should know her son departed for home from dating school. Gee.
* * * *
“You are free to answer this question any way you like.” The man had a full red beard. Red spikey hair. All he needed was a ship with full sails. “Women are the weaker sex because _____.”