This Christmas (13 page)

“We all are,” Gwen said, giggling.

“I don’t mean right this second. I mean in general.”

“Oh, yes, definitely,” Gwen said. “The weather is beautiful here in New York, Mom.”

“You sound too obvious, Gwen! Stop talking like a robot.”

“I’ll call you later, Mom. Say ‘hi’ to Dad for me, okay?”

My head fell onto my desk. Tears absorbed into my sleeve and I fell asleep for a moment at my desk.

Soon I was screaming horror-movie cries of terror from the window of a burning building that was not my home. “Help me!” I shouted as flames lunged behind me. The heat wrapped around my body, increasing in temperature as my screams increased in volume. I was certain I was going to die. Finally a man with curly hair and a strong nose appeared on the sidewalk. He wore a tweed jacket and held a yellow legal pad and gold pen. I knew it was Dr. Jay.

“Why so angry, Prudence?” he shouted up to me.

“I’m not Prudence and I am
not
angry!” I cried. “I’m burning alive in here! Help me, Jay!” I wept.

“It’s time to come to terms with who and what you really are,” he answered calmly.

“Are you out of your mind, fuckwit!” I shouted, still weeping. “I’m going to die in here!”

“There never seems to be time, does there, Prudence?” He shook his head with pity and contempt.

I heard the sirens of a fire truck and felt momentary relief. Until I realized that it wasn’t slowing. From the passenger side, a topless firefighter smiled and tipped his hat to me. “No one can hear your screams in space, Prudence!”

Were they all really going to just let me die up here?

My eyes shot open as I heard Reilly speak my name at the door. “Y’okay, hon?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said quicker than the knee reacts to a hammer tap.

“You were crying in your sleep, hon. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m tired. This is how I get when I need sleep,” I explained.

“You must be awfully tired. Why don’t you come to bed?”

As I heard Reilly drift into sleep, I tried to refocus on finding a new guy for Prudence. Dr. Jay was an annoying distraction. I promised myself I would quickly dismiss him.

The next morning, I was stunned to see how many responses Prudence’s profile had generated. I was a bit jealous that between midnight and 8
A.M
., sixty-seven men had made contact with Prudence despite her half-assed attempt at a character profile and mediocre photo. I wondered if I would’ve fared as well.

Sam wrote back to tell me I was a total bitch for thinking his “smile and complete me” line was weak. He was pleased to report that he was getting an overwhelming response to his ad, thank you very much. For a moment, I contemplated writing a fake profile just to see how many responses it would generate. “Breathing, warm body, not ugly, bites only when provoked.”

Chiming in during vampire hours was Randy who liked taking Jell-O baths with women. “I hope this doesn’t come across as perverted or anything weird like that, but I like to be real honest about my preferences, so there are no surprises when we get into things. I definitely like the tangy flavor of the citrus. Lime is my favorite, but some of my lady friends have said the lemon is better. These are merely suggestions.”
Oh, no, Randy, this doesn’t seem weird or perverted in the slightest
.

There was Todd who wrote that I, rather Prudence, was “quite attractive,” but wanted to be sure she had no tattoos. “On someone with whom I am not considering a long-term relationship I could overlook a small, discreetly placed tattoo provided it were a flower or a heart, but would rule out anyone who wore skulls or Chinese writing. I must be up front about the fact that any tattoo on a woman would seriously jeopardize her candidacy as the potential mother of my children.”
The nerve!
Who was campaigning to be the mother of his children?! And why was my tattoo status so important to this guy that it was the very first thing he wanted to discuss? Had his former girlfriend needled, “I’m with asshole!” onto her lower back—in Chinese?

Morton described himself as a “teddy bear,” which invariably means a lot of stuffing.

Peter said he was incredibly masculine despite his penchant for dressing in women’s underwear. His picture was unconvincing. Peter’s harplike ribs protruded above a hairy curtain of stomach, and his panties were so last season.

Omar wore a short top hat and black cape, which made him look like he was either a magician or something out of turn-of-last-century New York.

Tim posed winking at his high-gloss grand piano with the opening line, “I’m a player.”
At least he didn’t write, “Let’s make music.” Scratch that, it was the fourth line
.

Frank said he wanted a chill partner, then went on to describe himself as a “blissful, contemplative psychic who enjoys moonlit walks on the beach and gentle lovemaking.” Translation: Self-important, patchouli-smelling granola boy whose idea of foreplay includes hair brushing and foot massage.

The sex metaphors were endless. Mark said he wanted to navigate his ship into my port. Fred had the key to my lock. And the worst—Larry who said he sees the entire doughnut, not just the hole.

When did people become so nonchalant about sex that they discussed it in introductory e-mails? I pondered the lasciviousness of my peers, wondering if I’d ever passed one of these lonely souls on the streets. I must see the faces of at least a hundred men every day. Most of them appear relatively normal, but among this group were panty-wearing, tattoo-phobic freaks who just want to chill in a tub of lime Jell-O. But look who was talking. Here I was pretending to be my husband’s ex-wife sniping at men on the Internet while trying to find her a new love.

Joey’s response was bizarrely hostile considering we had no interaction. “Get to no me before you judge me, because if your not intristed and you didn’t give me a chance then screw you anyhows! I’m not looking for a goddamn penpal neither so if your not willing to step it up than don’t waste my time. I’m a verry bussy man and I have a lot going for me and if you’re the write girl, I could be the best friggin’ thing that ever happned to you, so how do you know if you don’t even try?”

The phone saved me from responding to another Guido who started his reply to me with “Not for nothin’.”

It was Gwen. “Sarah, she’s fantastic,” she launched.

“Who is?” I asked.

“Who do you think?! Whom did I spend last night with?” Gwen reminded me that she’d been to Prudence’s art show at a gallery in SoHo. “She’s so talented, Sarah. You should see what this woman can do with a few hundred feet of silver wire. It’s exquisite. I bought one myself and one for my parents. By the way, is your editor, Zach, at the
Journal
still single?” She was bouncing from one topic to the next like a game of four-wall handball. “It’s no wonder she hasn’t met anyone since she and Reilly split. There were eighty women and about twenty men at her show—two of them straight. Anyway, I met this gorgeous woman, Perla, who just moved from Miami and she would be
perfect
for Zach. Can I get his number from you?”

“Slow down, Gwen. Tell me about Prudence. When you told her that you know Reilly, did she ask about him? Did she seem interested?”

“I didn’t mention Reilly,” Gwen said. “We were having such fun. This was her first show and I can’t tell you how well her sculptures were received. She completely sold out. She took orders for several more and said she’s going to have to work straight through till Christmas to fill them all. I was so lucky we got there early.”

“Okay, I get it, Gwen. Prudence is a goddamned genius with a spool of wire. But didn’t you even mention Reilly—or me?”

“Sarah, you said they ran into each other at Rockefeller Center just a few days ago. If she wanted to know anything about him, she would’ve just asked him then and there.”

“In front of my son?!” I shouted. “Does this woman have no respect for my marriage?!”

Gwen laughed. “Calm down. Prudence is a doll. She’s not after Reilly, but I do think we should find her a man. Such a beautiful woman going to waste like that.”

“Gwen!” I gasped.

“What?!” she asked.

“A single woman isn’t a waste.
You’re
single! There are a million single women in this city.”

“All of whom would rather be with someone, believe you me.”

“Gwen, I’m sure not all of them want to be with a man,” I said. “Aren’t you happy being single?”

“No,” she answered without pause.

“I was,” I replied.

“Easy to say now that you’re married to Reilly. And easy for Prudence to get all caught up in the excitement of her big art show, but I told her there’s a perfect match for her, and Mr. Right is out there looking for her.”

“You told her that?!” I said, panic-stricken that she’d tipped our hand. “What did she say?”

“She said she’s happy on her own. I told her I had the perfect man for her, but she just laughed. Didn’t even want to hear about him.”

“Who?!”

“What who?” she asked.

“Who’s this perfect man for her?”

“I haven’t met him in person yet, but I have a crystal clear image of him in my mind.”

“Does she know this? I mean, did you tell her that the soul mate you’re going to introduce her to resides only in your imagination? Because she’s going to think you’re crazy, and frankly I do too.”

“It’s not crazy,” Gwen defended. “Now that I’ve met Prudence, I know exactly the type of man she needs. Remember Isaac Franklin?”

“No.”

“The widow,” Gwen reminded me. “The one you and Sophie thought was too old for Prudence?”

“Oh, right, the ninety-year-old marathon runner,” I recalled.

“He’s sixty-three. And it’s biking. Anyway, I set him up with Esther Finley in my building and when I saw her this morning in the elevator, she was nothing but smiles and gratitude. I’m telling you, I think I have a gift for this.”

“Maybe she was just smiling because she was filled with the Christmas spirit,” I suggested.

“She’s Jewish,” Gwen returned, with satisfaction. “So how was your night? Did you meet any nice men after your husband went to sleep?”

Reilly called that afternoon to tell me that he won a set of lift tickets at his office holiday party raffle. “I know you said you didn’t want to ski this year, but how ’bout letting me take Hunter up for a few days and teaching him how to ski?”

“A few days?!”

“We’ll be home before dark on Christmas Eve,” Reilly explained. “Why not, Sarah? Hockey camp ends today. Skiing will help his game.” Realizing that this argument held no appeal for me, he changed tact. “Did you know that half of all business deals are made on the golf course and on the slopes?”

“Really?” I asked.

“No, not really, Sarah. It was a joke. Hunter’s six. What type of deals do you think the kid’s gonna make?”

“Oh,” I said.

“It’ll be
fun
, Sarah,” Reilly said, stressing the word as if to remind me that there is value in recreation. He wasn’t the first person this month to notice that I’d lost my ability to enjoy life.

Though I’d miss my husband and son, the reality was that I wasn’t spending a lot of time with either of them as I wallowed in self-pity and anger. If Reilly thought taking Hunter off to the slopes for a few days was a good way for them to bond, who was I to argue? They’d be back by Christmas Eve and in the three days that they were off, I could screen plenty of potential husbands for Prudence.

“Okay,” I said.

The next morning, I watched Reilly and Hunter’s taxi pull away and checked my watch. I had less than an hour until my coffee date with Ron, thirty-eight-year-old actor. His photo was quite impressive. He had
GQ
bone structure and his brown hair was attractively cut. I’d cast him as a leading man, and with any luck, so would Prudence.

Ron was waiting at a table reading a newspaper. Or, rather, posing as if he were reading a newspaper. “Hey,” he said, looking up and shaking his hair from his eyes. “You must be Prudence’s friend,” he said, standing and kissing my cheek.

“Yes,” I said, smiling at him, though I was disappointed to find that he was about twenty pounds thinner than he looked in his photo. And the
GQ
bone structure in his head shot was actually good lighting used by the photographer. Still, Ron was above average looking and seemed nice enough during our chat online just ten hours earlier.

“Tell me,” he said, in his radio announcer voice, “why is it that women always hide their underwear when they go into the gynecologist’s office? I mean, do you ladies think they don’t know you wear panties?”

What? Was he testing material on me?
I stared blankly, hoping he’d realize I was not amused.

His facial expression was pure anticipation.

It was a standoff.

Finally, after a few moments, he spoke. “My grandfather says women are like toothpaste. As you get farther to the end, you need to squeeze harder, but there’s still good stuff in there,” Ron said, laughing alone. He stopped to gasp from laughing so hard, only to observe that I had “no sense of humor.” Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve had a definite case of the holiday doldrums, but this was not the cause of my antipathy for Ron. Ron was.

“I have a perfectly good sense of humor,” I said, as flatly as I could deliver. “I just haven’t sensed any.”

“Ouch!” he said, pulling his hand from the table as if he’d burnt himself. “You don’t hold back, do ya? S’alright, s’okay, I like that in a woman,” he said, as though he might actually be in a position to judge. It was only after that comment that I laughed.

“I’m sorry,” I began. “I may not have the greatest sense of humor, but I do have a pretty good sense of people. As terrific a guy as you are, I don’t think you and Prudence are going to click.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Why not?” I repeated incredulously. “You just wouldn’t, that’s all.”

“’Cause I can knock off the jokes. What’s she looking for?” Ron asked desperately.

“Ron, this isn’t a casting call. You and Prudence just aren’t going to work, okay?”

“But how do you know for sure?”

For the first time during our coffee, I felt sorry for him. “I just know. Look, it’s not you.”

“Don’t say that!” Ron snapped. “Of course it’s me. You want your friend to find someone nice, you met me, and you decided I’m not the one. How is that
not
me?”

When did everyone in the world get so damned blunt? Didn’t anyone value subtlety, gentility, or even social lying anymore?

“I’m sorry, I think you’re a very nice man, but the combination of you and Prudence together is not going to work. It’s neither you nor her; it’s the coupling that’s wrong.”

“Well, this is fine. I’ve been dumped on the first date before.”
I believe it
. “Even
during
a first date.”
I believe that too
. “But never before a first date, and by the friend, no less,” Ron said, shrugging. He laughed, though it was clear he didn’t find his failure with women at all funny. I stood to leave, realizing that my early dismissal would give me an hour to do a little Christmas shopping before my lunch with Sophie and Gwen. “You’re not leaving, are you?” Ron said, looking up from his brown eyes.

“I’m sorry, Ron. I really need to run along. I have a million things I need to do and I’m already hours behind schedule. It was really a pleasure meeting you, though, and good luck finding someone compatible.” I smiled and began walking away from the table.

“Stuck-up bitch,” I heard him mutter. I hadn’t been called that since Rudy, who, though he was a successful attorney, was always quite cognizant of the fact that he came from far more humble a background than I. I should have had the composure to just ignore Ron’s comment the way I was able to dismiss Rudy’s outbursts, but I was unable to contain my rage.

“Excuse me,” I said, my body snapping back to face him.

“You heard me,” he said defiantly.

I glanced over at the table next to Ron and saw a preschooler coloring his place mat. I decided not to challenge Ron to repeat himself. And yet, I felt physically unable to leave the coffee shop without doing something to defend myself. I’d spent a lifetime doing the whole Katharine Hepburn thing. I knew how to deliver smart one-liners and leave a man disarmed by my coolness. But on this day, I decided to give myself the early Christmas gift of complete emotional freedom. I knew I’d maintained an ounce of sanity because I remember thinking that throwing hot coffee at Ron was definitely crossing the line. So I reached at the closest cold drink I could see; which was the child’s milk; tore off the plastic lid, and drenched Ron in a tidal wave of years of repressed anger. It was so liberating that I picked up the kid’s half-eaten biscotti and threw it at Ron like a dart. I was pleased with my aim.

The little boy was overjoyed with my outburst, but no one else in the place seemed to understand the therapeutic value of splashing an imbecile with milk. Sure, my actions were extreme, but so what?! The man called me a stuck-up bitch. I had reached my limit on how much I could swallow and just walk away from.

“What’s wrong with you?!” the boy’s mother shrieked. A twentysomething came rushing out from behind the counter with a mop.

“He deserved it!” I told her. “He’s an obnoxious jerk.”

I’d hoped she’d take my side, but instead she was annoyed with me. “They’re all obnoxious jerks, lady. Deal with it.”

“You should call the cops,” Ron said, capitalizing on his public approval rating. Instead, Ron’s comment turned the tide.

“What are you going to charge her with, assault with a cookie?” she snapped.

“Biscotti,” the mopping clerk chimed in.

Gwen couldn’t believe what I’d done, but Sophie seemed thoroughly unimpressed with my lactose revolution. “The guy was a jerk,” she said, shrugging. “He had it coming. Good for you, Sarah.” Then she took out a sleek notebook with an abstract design on the cover and continued, as if she heard stories of biscotti pelting every day, “So that guy’s definitely off the list. Who’ve we got next?”

“I met a wonderful man at the ballet last night,” Gwen said.

“Straight?” Sophie asked.

“With his mother,” Gwen explained. “I love this assignment. It gives me an excuse to approach all of these great guys I would’ve only admired from afar.”

“So is he single?” I asked.

Gwen nodded. “He’s going out with Rachel tomorrow night.”

“Rachel?” Sophie asked.

“Rachel, your sister Rachel?” I asked. She confirmed. “What about Prudence?”

“No, no, no, this is Rachel’s future ex-husband, trust me on this one.”

Sophie threw her hands in the air and suggested we just host a party. “We haven’t found a single good one out there. Jennifer went to this speed-dating thing last night and said it felt like she was visiting inmates in prison. They had to face off at these school desks and spend four minutes chatting while in a crowded room. The only thing missing was the glass window between them.” She continued. “I screened this guy this morning who was trying to impress me with all of the deals he was making on his cell phone, until guess what happened?” We waited. “His cell phone rang.”

“What? I don’t understand,” I said.

“He wasn’t really on the phone. It rang because he wasn’t really talking to anyone on the other end. Get it? Big deals were not happening.” Sophie sighed. “I liked him, too. They’re not the most trustworthy lot, are they?”

“Maybe we
should
have a party,” Gwen conceded. “It seems an efficient way to go.”

“First of all, men aren’t going to show up at a party to meet their soul mate. They don’t put as much effort into relationships as we do,” I said. “We all knew that when Prudence said she wasn’t looking for a guy, we’d need to do it for her because he wasn’t going to put out the effort. The lazy bastard is probably at home right now watching some stupid college bowl game.”

Sophie grimaced. “She has a point. Hey, what if we don’t let them in on it? What if we simply bill it as a party with free drinks, sports on big screens, and strippers?! And we can hire dancers who all have short black hair like Prudence and put them in little cages?”

“Have you lost your mind?” I asked. “You want to put dancing naked women who look like Prudence in cages?”

“Yeah, why not?” Sophie asked.

Finally Gwen came to her senses and remembered that we are cut from a different cloth from that of Sophie. “I have to agree with Sarah on this one, Soph,” she said. “Why limit ourselves with dark-haired girls? Let’s mix it up and throw in some blondes and redheads.”

“What?!” I gasped.

“Don’t be so uptight, Sarah,” Gwen chided. “Stripping is very in now. We’re taking a class at the Y next month.”

“We are?” I asked.

“Soph and I are. You’re welcome to join.”

“What type of guy are we trying to attract with strippers?” I asked, hoping to return the conversation to a rational one.

“Guys with dicks,” Sophie said plainly, jotting something in her notepad. “Come on, Sarah. We want to get a lot of guys in. What better way than to promise sports, free booze, and naked women?”

“What about promising them the possibility of meeting the woman they’re going to spend the rest of their lives blissfully in love with?” I asked.

Sophie and Gwen laughed before realizing I was serious. “I’m sorry to laugh,” Gwen said, patting my thigh. “But you’re in a state of marriage-induced delusion. No men are going to come to this party if we’re honest with them. I say we go with the strippers.”

“I say we nix the idea of a party entirely. Let’s stick to our plan and we’ll find a great guy for Prudence.”

That afternoon I was stood up by Bill Tourmaline, a man who said he was really looking forward to meeting me when we spoke on the phone. I wondered if he had an accident on his way to meet me.

When I arrived home it was already dark. The stillness of the apartment was soothing, not lonely as I’d feared it would be. The answering machine light was blinking with a message from Reilly and Hunter, who had arrived safely at their cabin. Hunter said he saw reindeer on the road.

After dinner, I checked my e-mail. As I thought about my day, I laughed at the image of my sole date drenched in milk. My only regret was that Rudy wasn’t alive for me to throw drinks at. The outburst really was like hitting a reset button, one I wished I’d discovered years ago.

I heard the familiar chime of an instant message and saw that it was Dr. Jay. When will technology allow women to throw drinks at their computer screens and have it splash out at the jerk on the other end?

My heart raced with excitement as I typed such rudeness. It was freeing to be so unabashedly blunt. It was nice to finally tell the truth after a lifetime of making excuses, like “I’m not angry,” or “I’m sorry. It’s not you. I’ve just had a hard day.”

I got up and walked around my desk, unable to contain my energy.