Authors: Cupideros
“Lots of eligible men go to this Lover’s Dance. They have over thirteen hundred members. Some from the wealthiest income brackets.”
“Be honest, Olivia; is this your plan or Cynthia’s? Because whatever Cynthia did worked. And I don’t intend to do whatever Cynthia did.”
“You’re quitting the bet?”
“No. I always see my word through to the end.” I argued.
“Why not just come and have a good time with me then? You don’t have to dance with anyone. Just sit and drink a virgin pina colada.”
“You’re on.” I hung up the phone. I checked several other messages in my list. Half were from Cynthia and two unknowns. Two from previous customers.
How can I run as successful catering business trying to find a man?
.
On the other hand, each new man I meet wasn’t hatched from an egg.
They have a mom, daughter (ugh) or niece or aunt of marriage age. I need to take an extra supply of business cards.
I walked with a spring in my step back inside the small studio apartment.
Shawn showed me where the camera would be located.
PR Man walked me around and lifted the curtains. “The stuffed potted violet flower vase; the television set has a camera facing the entire room. Everything is monitored. So you’ll be safe. There is an alarm and besides I’m going stay with you for the first few times, Megan.”
“At least if I’m going to play a hooker, I’ll be a safe one.”
Both men laughed.
“You are hardly a hooker; although there is an element of sleaze in going out to trying and find a man it seems.”
“I noticed,” I sat my purse down on the table. I dared not sit down. I didn’t want the two men to get the wrong idea. If I had a huge wedding cake on the table, that’d be different. “Olivia Swanson, the woman who dragged me into this insane bet, lined up a Tuesday night Lover’s Dance for me. I cringe thinking of the slobs and desperado men I’ll meet there.”
“I attend those occasionally,” PR Man said.
“You do?”
“They’re fun. Long as you don’t get your hopes up too high. I mean some of the women are past their prime and other women are too young to marry—”
“I object. You are leading on the female attendees of the Lover’s Dance.” I shook my head and pulled out my cell phone again. It was Cynthia. “Speak of the porn ring leader.” I started to answer and stopped. “I better take her calls in private; just because a woman seeks love doesn’t make her out for sex.”
PR Man and Shawn just looked at each other.
“We never said—”
“You insinuated the old woman was past her prime for marriage; the other women too young to want to marry. That leaves only?” I waited for their response.
“They want to break up a boring night?”
Both men spoke together.
“You know what you meant.”
Shawn gave in. “I find women interesting things, even if I don’t want to marry them.”
PR Man said, “Stop it, Shawn. She knows a canned speech when she hears it. We forgot about the perceptions still held to on women and girls. Occasionally, we break free of our male conditioning to play the field, Megan. That’s why I’m committed to this campaign. I know how to turn them off to even wanting to get in your pants.”
Shawn laughed.
“What if I bet you?” I said, “Shawn you have to consider getting married for a year?”
“No way. That spoils the fun of randomness. I’m a big believer in fate. Every person has one lover out there waiting, pining for him or her.”
“Only one,” PR Man said, incredulously, giving the young man a superior look.
Shawn added, “Maybe two.”
PR Man and I remained quiet.
“Three perhaps, but no more,” Shawn continued.
I offered. “I think the heart and willingness to love create opportunity to find more lovers.”
PR man said, “I disagree. I believe Shawn is right, maybe two ideal lovers. No more.”
“That’s cruel.” I put my cell phone back in my purse. Cynthia finally stopped ringing my phone. “You two only believe in two lovers. Women and girls are told to go out there, in the jungle, swamps and kiss as many frogs as possible.”
Both men laughed.
PR Man said, “I’ve never told any females that, Megan.”
“I may have once, but I was in junior high school.” He pointed to PR Man. “You know how difficult it is finding a girl in junior high?”
“I can’t say,” said PR Man.
In a deft of diplomacy, Shawn checked his watch. “One thing. Why does she call you PR Man when your name is Steve?”
“It’s a long story!” PR Man sighed. “I’ll tell you another day.”
“There isn’t any hanky-panky going on here? Is there?” Shawn’s young ruddy face broke into a wide smile. He wagged his finger back at the two of us.
“Oh, brother,” I voiced.
“Oh brother part two,” PR Man added. “Heck no! That’s why she calls me PR Man to prevent any kind of accidental love stirring between us.” PR Man paused. “Am I right?”
“That is correct,” I said, standing up. “I need to go and check my messages and talk to the wedding barracuda, Cynthia.
“It’s always easier to talk about love when you’re just hitched,” PR Man added.
“I see what the problem is. This bet isn’t of your own making,” said Shawn. “You poor thing.”
“I am going to succeed one day at a time,” I confirmed.
“That’s all it takes to avoid marriage. One day saying no. Then the next and the next. One more thing, I’d keep this room adjacent to the dining room closed. That is a set we just did for a funeral home brochure.” He opened the door and a black coffin, its lid half lifted up, decorated inside in thick white padding was front and center. “Kind of spooky. Unless you are vampire or something.”
I agreed. Now I thought about that. Seeking a date next to the dungeon of death. “That’s not very encouraging for a romantic mood, Shawn.”
“I wouldn’t want you to stumble into it, by accident.”
PR Man gave the room a good looking around. I felt pleased he made sure Count Dracula wasn’t lurking after the two men left.
* * * *
When I left PR man for the day and started driving home. I almost felt lonely. The strangest feeling. I never spent an entire day with one man in such a long time. While he had an unshakeable belief in my winning, I now wondered if I didn’t somehow want marriage after all.
Then I pressed on the gas and drove faster, forcing my attention to the road. Of course I remained supported by the concept of office ethics and client-customer relations. I became the leader in charge. I paid PR Man’s salary. If he violated that contract and tried to be romantic or even allowed it, I’d fire him on the spot.
I pulled into my small parking spot next to my catering business. I saw several rows of flowers at the door like someone died. I became curious. Who died? I got out and closed the car door and went inside my shop from the back, and opened the front door from the inside.
Each bundle of flowers contained a card. Each card was different. Each card expressed its undying love for me. Each signed by a male’s first name only. I was flattered. I had to hold them close to my chest as there were about eight of them. My flattery lasted until I realized, by turning the back of the card over, each and every one was signed by Cynthia Tinderholdt. The “o” in her named transformed into a smiley face.
Cynthia had always wanted to put a smiley face in her name but the letter “a” didn’t work well. Now that she’s married to Vic Tinderholdt she got her wish. The last card read.
“See, Megan. For one tiny, little, wee, drop of a moment, you wanted those cards to be from a man. Someone dedicated to your heart alone. Someone to fill those lonely
nights calling you like a Victorian spinster. You thought about cuddling the flowers to your breasts.”
I immediately dropped all the flowers at my door step.
Only to have a young child about ten years old come riding by on his skate board. “I’ll help you pick them back up Miss.” He dutifully gathered every flower, card, and petal and pushed them back into my arms.
I thanked him, but I wanted to strangle him for being so nice. “You’re such a sweet boy.”
“My mom says sweet boys always find their true love.”
Only if they control what inside their pants, the little future brats. I smiled. “You’re mom must know many nice boys getting married. Here give her one of my cards. I struggled to keep the flowers from tumbling out of my grasps as I handed him my card.
“Golly thanks. I think mom will know someone. Then she can come back here and buy me one of them tall three-tiered cakes.”
I sighed as the confused little boy rode off. If all little boys stayed nice like him, through puberty, college, until old age, the world would turn out much better. I had my doubts but at the moment, I hoped for something positive.
Once inside I trashed every flower; no offense to the Earth. I ripped up every powered pink card. I tossed it all in the trash. Just as my cell phone buzzed again.
“Megan Bedrosian wedding catering and party supplies.”
“Did you feel the love?” Cynthia boasted on the other end.
I decided to whiplash her mind first. “My heart doesn’t allow feelings of romantic love from the same gender.”
“That’s just a teaser. When you go to Olivia’s Lover’s Dance party real men will be there. No phantom flower bearers. You are turned toward that long romantic path up the castle on the hill where Prince Charming awaits you.”
“Even if Prince Charming is at the Lover’s Dance, I can avoid him body, heart and soul.”
“You can’t do that. You promised to give it a try for one year! That’s the bet.”
“I refuse to marry someone else others believe satisfies my love and lust.”
“Oh, come off it Megan. Give in to those loving thoughts of togetherness. Time spent in the presence of male energy, sparkling and crackling desire, and need for you.”
“Why are the men not giving in to our loving thoughts of togetherness?” I said robotically.
“Isn’t that what I just said,” Cynthia laughed a soft giggle.
I hated her giggle. She could turn the whole high school against a person using that well timed girly laugh. “I meant—maybe it is changing. I hope it changes. I want men to stop trying to get in my pants before they find out what my heart, mind and soul contain. Men grow up and stop being boys first and men second, I say to myself.”
Cynthia giggled. You poor feminist. You don’t want to kiss many frogs.”
“Those frogs can kiss other frogs for all I care.”
“You coming to the Lover’s Dance or losing the bet?” Cynthia demanded.
“No way am I letting you two gloat and brag about how I don’t know if marriage is a good thing. I don’t know because I’ve never tried to get married?
“Bring that charming ever-smiling smile of yours Megan. The men love it!”
Now Megan had managed to turn my smile into a man-lure. First my perky boobs. Then my bubble butt. Or my sparkling eyes. Now my smile was the last bastion against being a walking-talking sex lure labeled only a male magnet device.
Chapter Four