“Do you?” said Patrick while sending a text to one of his college buddies.
“Of course,” said Callie. “I always vote. No matter what.”
“Me too,” said Patrick.
“Are you registered with a political party?”
“Are you?”
Painfully aware that he might be her only chance to complete the questionnaire and get to O’Toole’s in time, Callie let out a sigh. “No.”
“Me neither,” said Patrick, sitting up and more interested.
“You’re an independent?” said Callie.
“That is correct,” said Patrick, putting his iPhone down to better focus on their conversation.
“Did you vote in the last election?” asked Callie.
“Did you?”
“Of course.”
“So did I.”
Callie made some notations and smiled. This man was exactly the profile she was looking for—an independent, who was a regular voter. He was the swing voter her client wanted to know about. Jackpot! She smiled. She would make it to O’Toole’s and meet Henry after all. She flipped to the second page of the questionnaire. “I need some demographic information,” said Callie in a businesslike tone. “What is your age, marital status and highest level of education completed?”
Silence.
Callie rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’m twenty-nine, single with a B.A. in journalism,” she said robotically.
“That wasn’t so hard. A little quid pro quo is all I’m looking for,” said Patrick. “I’m thirty-four, single, played basketball in college and then went to law school.”
“You’re tall, then.”
“Six-two, but I was the shortest one on my team,” he said.
“I always wanted to be tall,” said Callie wistfully. “I figure if you’re tall, you can eat more.”
Patrick chuckled. “It’s not as great as you’d think. You know how many times a week I hit my head on something?”
Callie giggled and Patrick laughed easily along with her. After a moment, she composed herself. “You’re a lawyer?”
“Guilty.”
“What kind of law do you practice?”
The man paused for a moment. “Personal injury.”
“You’re an ambulance chaser?”
“I prefer to say that I help people who’ve been hurt get their proper restitution.”
“Where I come from, they’re called ambulance chasers.”
“I can assure you I have never once chased an ambulance. But, I have given my card to people I’ve seen trip and fall on the sidewalk. Trust me, I have a lot of grateful clients,” said Patrick.
“That’s what you went to law school for?” said Callie.
There was a long pause before Patrick answered. “That sounded a bit judgmental. If you must know, I went to law school because I wanted to help people. I had this crazy idea about helping the poor, the people who often get shafted and eaten up by the system. People who can’t afford a lawyer and end up in jail because they didn’t have the money or the right representation. In my first job, that’s exactly what I did and I loved it. Unfortunately, I made next to nothing, worked ridiculous hours and could barely afford the rent on my studio apartment. My student loans were crushing me. I ran into an old friend from law school at a dinner. He was wearing an Armani suit, driving a Porsche and had recently bought a ski house in Vermont. I was dressed in a cheap suit from the Men’s Warehouse Labor Day sale and my transportation of choice was the New York City subway. There was an opening at his law firm, he hooked me up and I took the job to pay off my debts. And, that’s how I became an ambulance chaser as you called it.”
“I didn’t mean to sound judgie. I’m sorry. I guess sometimes, we all have to do things we don’t like so we have the time and money to do the things we really want to do,” said Callie, looking around the almost empty bullpen of Ariom Marketing.
“Apology accepted.”
“You think you’ll ever go back to the other work?”
“Don’t know. I’ve gotten pretty used to having nice things and money in my pocket.”
Another moment of silence.
“Let’s get back to my questions,” said Callie. “In your opinion, what do you think is the single biggest problem in our political process?”
Silence.
“Now that we’re friends, let’s take our conversation up a few notches,” said Patrick, enjoying himself. “On the count of three, we both say what we think, at the same time.”
This is ridiculous, thought Callie as she picked up her vibrating phone. Jess had texted a picture of herself standing next to a seriously cute guy.
Henry’s here. Hello?
“Okay,” said Patrick. “Ready? The single biggest problem with Washington, on the count of three. One, two, three…”
“Term limits,” they both blurted out simultaneously.
“Did you say ‘term limits’?” asked an incredulous Callie.
“I did. Is that what you said?” said Patrick, equally surprised.
“Of course! Having people working in our government for decades breeds corruption and cronyism and screws up the whole country.”
“Exactly,” said Patrick. “We’ve got people in Congress for forty years. They grow their power base and owe donors and lobbyists favors all at the taxpayer’s expense.”
“After a couple of terms,” said Callie, following his lead, “politicians no longer look out for their constituents. They’re only focused on how they can get re-elected.”
“I completely agree,” said Patrick. “It wasn’t what our founders had envisioned. I’m sure of that.”
Maybe he isn’t so creepy, thought Callie. “What do you think about all the money in politics?”
“That’s easy,” he said. “This country needs significant campaign finance reform or we’re doomed. There’s way too much money in politics and the campaigns go on for months and years. The politicians have lost sight of the average Joe.”
“You couldn’t be more right,” said Callie enthusiastically. “So many of our elected representatives don’t work for the people anymore. They spend half their time raising money to get themselves re-elected.”
“Follow the money trail,” said Patrick, getting louder and more animated.
“Absolutely!” said Callie. I should get back to my survey, but I really truly don’t want to.
6
For nearly two hours, the phone conversation between Callie and Patrick ebbed and flowed effortlessly as they moved from politics to favorite vacations and guilty-secret junk foods. They both loved the beach and sushi. He listened to hip-hop. She loved French fries. He adored jazz, she liked rock and country. His favorite thing on a sunny Saturday afternoon was to ride his bicycle, hers was volunteering at an animal shelter or anything to do with dogs.
“Biggest vice?” asked Callie, kicking off her shoes and leaning back in her desk chair.
“I’ve got a few but I think my friends would agree I have a little caffeine problem,” he said.
Callie giggled. He’s kind of nice.
“I’ve been trying to cut back on the coffee but the truth is, I can’t pass a Starbucks without picking up a latte or a cold brew,” he said. “In addition to several hits of caffeine in the morning and another one at lunch, I usually do an afternoon pick-me-up coffee run between three and four every day.”
“There are worse things. Let me ask you something, if you could spend a day doing anything in the world, what would you do?” she asked, touching up her nail polish with the bottle of Pink Revenge she kept in her top desk drawer.
“That’s a provocative question.”
“It’s the writer in me.”
“That’s right, I almost forgot. You told me you were a writer when we first started talking. So, you’re not a professional pollster?”
“I’m trying to be a writer,” said Callie. “I wrote a novel and now I’m working on a lifestyle guide, sort of a handbook for young women. Oth
er than that, I’ve written a few articles for small magazines but for now, telemarketing pays the bills—until I win the Nobel Prize for literature or the lottery.”
“Nobel? Nice. Go big or go home, I like that. Tell me more about your writing.”
Callie described her first novel, how she came up with the story and all the rejections she had gotten. “Nobody was interested. So, I’ve put my novel aside and am writing something completely different—a guide for young single woman. It’s the project taking up most of my time now,” Callie said as she opened the jar of peanut butter she kept in her lower desk drawer. She scooped some up with a pretzel and popped it into her mouth.
“What’s the name of your guide?” said Patrick.
“The working title is The Fussy Virgin…a guide to happily ever after.”
“That’s quite a title. Should I assume that you are a fussy virgin?” asked Patrick, laughing.
There was a moment of awkward silence.
“Remember our deal, we both have to answer questions truthfully,” he said, chuckling.
“Not technically…I am fussy and I believe I can help young women navigate through the romance quagmire. It’s so complicated for our generation. Our parents had it so much easier.”
“Why do you think you have all the answers on relationships?”
“I’ve studied it for a long time and I’m convinced that being very particular—or fussy—has a lot to do with one’s ultimate success rate.”
“But you said you were single. If you have all the answers, why are you single?”
“It won’t be for long. I have a plan and I know I’m right about it.”
“I get the feeling you like to be right.”
“Don’t you?” asked Callie.
“I guess,” said Patrick, “but I hate arguing more than I like to be right. When the other person is locked into a position, I’ll agree with them and move on.”
“Even if they’re wrong?”
“I don’t see the point in unnecessary confrontation,” said Patrick. “I don’t like to argue, I do enough of that in court.”
“Do you do that often?” said Callie, putting her peanut butter jar down.
“What?”
“Agree with people to avoid confrontation when you know in your heart they’re wrong?”
“If the other person won’t let go of it. I let them have a win so we can move on.”
“Does everyone do that?” asked Callie, eyes bugging out while thinking of the thousands of arguments she thought she had won over the years.
“Pretty much.”
“That’s not true,” said Callie.
“Okay.”
“Are you agreeing with me on purpose?” asked Callie.
“You’ll never know, will you?”
There was a moment of silence as Callie planned her next move. “I don’t only care about finding my life partner. I’m deeply concerned about a lot of things like the environment,” she said defensively. “I want to help protect the rainforests and coral reefs. I think Americans deserve better healthcare. I believe in feeding the homeless, saving the dolphins, and funding the arts.”
“You’re a busy woman,” Patrick said. “Me, I just want to have some fun. You only go around once in this life. I keep it light, don’t take things too seriously.”
“You have to take things seriously when it’s something important.”
“You’re right,” he said.
“You’re agreeing on purpose, aren’t you?”
Patrick remained quiet as five long seconds passed.
“You think I’m too rigid?” Callie blurted out.
“Not at all,” he replied, laughing. “You sound smart, and have very definite, well thought out opinions and high standards. Nothing wrong with that.”
Callie felt herself blush. Who is he? After another long pause, Callie cleared her throat. “I do have high standards. Take my writing for example, I’ve tried to workshop it at several writers’ groups but it’s so hard to find a good one,” she said. “Some writers are so critical and competitive. I had to develop a special test to see if a writing group is comprised of good, honest people.”
“What’s your test?”
Callie shared the story of the writing group encounter she had earlier that day.
“Did you look back at them when you left the room,” said Patrick.
“I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
They both laughed until there was another moment of dead air.
“Sadie,” said Patrick.
“Sadie?”
“Before, you asked me what was the one thing I loved the most when I was a kid,” he said. “It was my dog, she was a beagle named Sadie.”
“Button,” said Callie. “I had a beagle, too. Her name was Button.”
“As in, cute as a…?”
Callie laughed. “No, but that’s what everyone thought. When I was a teenager, I rowed on my high school crew team. In rowing, a button is the wide collar on the oar that keeps it from slipping through…”
“…the oarlock,” Patrick said, finishing her sentence. “I rowed in college.”
Who is this man? thought Callie. “To be honest, I was too short for crew. I’m only five-foot-three. My arms were too short, didn’t have enough wingspan. So, I became the coxswain. I preferred that because then, I was in charge of the whole boat.”
“Being in charge sounds like it would be right up your alley,” said Patrick. “When you’re out on the water, the coxswain is the boss.”
Callie glanced down at her vibrating phone again. It was ten thirty and there were more than a dozen texts and pictures from Jess posing with different people, everyone holding a margarita. Each caption said “Where are you???” Callie put her noisy phone inside her desk drawer and shut it.
“If you know so much about love, tell me why you’re twenty-nine and not with someone?” asked Patrick.
“I’m taking my time. Why are you thirty-four and single?”
“If you asked my mother, she’d tell you I needed to grow up and take life more seriously.”
“You don’t think life is serious?”
“When my dad was forty-seven he had a heart attack and died,” said Patrick. “You never know when your time is up. I make good times my priority and keep everything neat and uncomplicated.”
“You can’t go through life thinking you’re going to die tomorrow. If you only scratch the surface, you never get down to the good stuff,” said Callie.
“Have you been talking to my mother?”
Callie let out a hearty laugh and Patrick laughed along with her.
“What about you?” he said. “Given how focused and determined you are, why are you still alone?”
“That’s personal, but if you must know, I haven’t found the right person yet,” said Callie, swallowing. “Some of my friends have suggested that my expectations may be too high.”
“If you take yourself too seriously, you might miss the ride and that can be the best part,” said Patrick.
“I read this quote once that said people come into your life in three ways—for a season, a reason or a lifetime and it’s our job to figure out which is which,” said Callie. “Some people are only meant to be summer friends. Some only meant to get you through a particular time. Not every friend or lover is supposed to be for a lifetime. If you keep season and reason around too long, you’ll take time away from your lifetime people. That’s why it’s so important to know who fits where.”
“I don’t know why, but that actually makes sense,” said Patrick.
“Really? Or are you saying that so you don’t have to argue?”
He began to laugh softly. Soon his laughter got louder until it reached a crescendo and faded into a quiet chuckle. “You’re rather remarkable,” said Patrick softly.
Did he just say I’m remarkable? Who are you? “Thank you,” she said, trying to compose herself and remain professional. “Gettin
g back to my political questionnaire. Number 27—what is your opinion of the independent candidate, Ben Huston, and his bid for Senate in New York State?”
“Huston? Love him. He’s the real deal,” said Patrick without hesitation.
“He doesn’t take any corporate money,” said Callie. “Did you ever hear him speak? He’s so inspiring. I think he’s one of the few politicians who’s in it for the right reasons.”
“Me too.”
Callie took a moment. Is he really agreeing with me or is he placating me?
“I agree for real,” the man said, reading her mind and laughing again. “Huston wants to go to the Senate to make changes, not to further his career.”
“Exactly.”
“Did you read his book?” asked Patrick. “He wants to bring Americans together. We could use that.”
“His book was amazing. I bought it the day it came out,” said Callie.
“So did I.”
Callie felt the hair on the back of her neck go up. He might be the one.
“I hate to say this but…” said Patrick as his iPhone buzzed. “I’m extremely late for my best friend’s birthday party and I organized it. The whole time we’ve been talking my phone has been blown up. I was enjoying our conversation so much, I didn’t want it to end.”
“Me too,” said Callie, her pulse quickening.
“Hey, this might seem weird and a little bit stalker,” said Patrick, “so don’t take this the wrong way. I have no idea where you’re located. You could be in California or Nebraska for all I know. But, if you’re anywhere near New York City or ever come to New York, would you want to meet for coffee or lunch or…
“I’d love to,” said Callie without hesitating. “As a matter of fact, I actually live in New—”
7
The lights on the ceiling in Callie’s office flickered twice and then everything went dark. Every phone console went dead and the giant room was filled with dark silence—until somebody screamed. “NOOOOO!”
It was Callie.
“Nooo!” screamed Callie a second time, banging on her phone console with both hands.
The Fussy Virgin Page 3