“Do you do that all the time?” asked Callie, laughing when she saw him coming towards her with a silver coin in his eye socket.
“Astonish me,” said a deadpan Lorenzo with his hand out.
“I already saw this,” said Callie. “You pop a quarter out of your eye into your hand.”
Lorenzo looked forlorn and turned to Jess. “Astonish me.”
“What?” said Jess, looking at Callie for help.
“Humor him. Say something to surprise him. Our car is going to be here any second,” said Callie.
Jess bit her lip. “I won a gold medal in gymnastics at the Olympics.”
Instantly, the quarter in Lorenzo’s eye popped out and flew into his hand. A second quarter remained in his eye. When Callie saw that new twist, she laughed.
“Hey, Renzo, your car is here,” a few of Lorenzo’s friends shouted. The birthday boy scampered across the street and waved goodbye to the two women and got into a waiting car with Patrick. A moment later, the Lyft Callie and Jess had ordered pulled up and they jumped in. Both cars pulled up to the next intersection next to each other at a red light. Lorenzo peered out and waved to Callie and Jess through the glass while popping another quarter from his eye as his car turned left and Jess and Callie’s went right.
After dropping Lorenzo off at his apartment, Patrick rode the elevator up to his place on the twelfth floor. Opening his front door he walked directly to the phone to check his messages. The red light was blinking and his pulse quickened.
I knew she would call back.
He pushed the play button and held his breath.
“Hi, Paddy, it’s your mother. I’m checking in on you. You know you could call once in a while to see if Mother is still breathing. Heard there was a blackout in the city. Wanted to make sure you were all right. Love you. Call me tomorrow.”
Disappointed, Patrick convinced himself the Mystery Woman would probably call him the next day. Exhausted, he climbed into bed but only tossed and turned. His mind kept replaying the incredible conversation he had with a total stranger. He had to find her—no matter what.
11
In the morning, Callie woke up tired and groggy. Her place was a mess—the usual state of affairs. Her large studio apartment on the third floor of a six-floor walk-up had white walls and was decorated with an eclectic mix of old furniture donated by her parents, friends and relatives. She was going for “beach chic cheap” and had artfully scattered shells, sea glass and pictures of the ocean around the room as well as a few treasures she had found at thrift shops and flea markets. She got up, brushed her teeth and put her Murphy bed back into its place on the wall. Sitting on her blue, green and white print couch, she pulled out her notes along with the previous night’s survey results. She shook her head in amazement as she read through all the papers.
They liked all the same things. They thought exactly alike about politics, vacations, friendships, even sushi—they would both only eat tuna. In her whole life she had never felt so connected to a man with the exception of her father. No one had ever made her feel like she absolutely belonged with them—until yesterday.
Something about him reminded her of her father. He had the same sense of humor and laughed at her jokes at just the right moment, like her dad always did. Somehow, she knew this Mystery Man, as she had begun to call him, would never disappoint her. She had to find him, but how?
Still in her pajamas, she combed through her notes and was making a list when Jess buzzed from downstairs. A minute later there was a knock on her door.
“Anything yet?” Jess said as she entered and threw her bag onto Callie’s kitchen table.
“Nothing,” said Callie, pouring Jess a cup of coffee and another one for herself. “I even phoned one of the call centers in Montana this morning and talked to the tech director and asked if there was any way possible to trace a number.”
“And?”
Callie shook her head. “George was right. The calls are randomly dialed by big computers out west. There’s no record and absolutely no way to find it.”
“I kind of thought that. I’m so sorry.”
“Jess, the only way I’m going to find him is if I figure out who he is,” said Callie. “I made a list of everything he and I talked about.”
The two women sat at the table and pored over a sheet of bullet points Callie had created. The heading said, “Mystery Man (MM).”
“This is what I know,” said Callie. “He’s thirty-four and single.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“He didn’t mention one, so I don’t think so,” Callie replied.
“But you don’t know for sure.”
“We talked about everything in the world. If he had a girlfriend, it would have come up,” said Callie. “I know he’s tall and extremely handsome.”
“How do you know he’s tall?”
“He played basketball in college and hits his head on things all the time.”
“How do you know he’s handsome?”
“I just know.”
“That’s not a fact. That’s your opinion based on nothing.”
Callie squinted her eyes at her friend and crossed out handsome. “May I continue?” said Callie. “He had a beagle named Sadie and in college, he was on the rowing team. If he’s a lawyer, then he went to law school.”
“Duh.”
“You’re not helping,” said Callie.
“Keep going,” replied Jess. “Maybe we can find him through his law school?”
“He works for a personal injury law firm and he’s into politics,” said Callie. “He supports Ben Huston’s run for the Senate and feels the same way about campaign finance reform and congressional term limits that I do.”
“How romantic,” said Jess.
“Can I finish?”
Jess nodded.
“He bikes and hikes,” said Callie.
“Then, he must own a bike.”
“Yes,” said Callie, making a note about bike ownership on her paper. “He likes pizza, Indian food and sushi in that order and speaks Spanish badly.”
“There’s no excuse for butchering the Spanish language,” said Jess, standing up. “El español es un idioma hermoso.”
Callie stared at her friend and waited for her to sit before she continued. “He likes jazz but occasionally dips into Kanye, John Coltrane, and Earth Wind and Fire. He said his favorite places in the world were Prague and Thailand. I’ve always wanted to go to Prague. He told me Prague was magical.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Thailand,” said Jess, wistfully looking off into the distance. “I love all that Buddhism stuff: it’s so Zen.”
“Jess, focus. Here’s something else,” said Callie, looking at her notes. “He’s a coffee freak and makes a run to Starbucks every day between three and four.”
“Honestly,” said Jess, letting out a breath, “you’ve got nothing.”
“But I know we were meant to find each other,” said Callie. “We connected on so many levels.”
“Like what?”
“He loves pizza. I love pizza. One of his favorite countries is Thailand and I adore Thai food. He loves Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, I live for Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.”
“Eww. They turn your fingers red,” said Jess, scrunching up her face. “I don’t know why you eat those things.”
“He planned a birthday party for his college roommate and I once planned an engagement party for my college roommate,” said Callie, enthusiasm building. “He speaks Spanish badly and my Spanish is worse than horrible, in fact I only know ten words and they’re all food words!”
“That’s your idea of a connection? You both know how to order a cerveza at a Mexican restaurant?”
Callie hung her head. “I’ve got to find him, Jess. I know I’m right about this.”
Jess gave her friend a sympathetic but dubious look as the two reviewed Callie’s slap-shot list and attempted to distill it down into something usable.
“He’s
athletic, well-educated and has traveled frequently outside of the United States.”
“So, he must have a passport,” said Jess. “Maybe we can track him down through the U.S. Passport Office?”
“They won’t give out personal information about people.”
“I’m just riffing,” said Jess, holding up her palms. “Not all my ideas are going to be winners.”
“Focus,” said Callie.
“He’s a lawyer, right?” said Jess, getting serious. “Maybe you can find him through the American Bar Association.”
“What am I going to say to them? ‘Excuse me, I’m looking for a lawyer who likes pizza, Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and hip-hop?’”
“Maybe you could hang around the courthouse and look for tall guys with red fingers,” said Jess, chuckling.
Callie stared at her best friend. “Seriously, that’s all you’ve got?”
Jess wrinkled her nose. “What about the bicycle piece?” she said. “If he’s in Manhattan, there’s only so many places you can ride a bike without getting killed. Maybe he’s a member of a cycling club.”
“There must be hundreds of those. I don’t even know for sure if he lives in New York City,” said Callie, coming to grips with the futility of the situation. “He could live in New Jersey and commute into the city.”
The two friends read through the list when Callie finally broke their silence. “I’m never going to find him, am I?”
“Don’t be that girl,” warned Jess, waving a finger. “Nobody likes a quitter. Remember, he could be looking for you, too.”
“You’re right! If we’re both looking for each other that changes the odds.”
“Still, not knowing what he looks like is challenging,” said Jess. “You could be sitting next to him on a bus and not even know it.”
“I’d know it,” said Callie with complete conviction. “I’d feel it.”
“If you had such a visceral connection to him, he probably did to you, too,” said Jess. “Think about it, he stayed on the phone with you for hours on a Friday night—on Valentine’s weekend.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“If he wasn’t interested, he would have gotten off the phone much sooner. Guys hate talking on the phone,” said Jess.
“Exactly,” said Callie, nodding enthusiastically.
“We need to harness the power of social media. Let’s post something on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.”
“That will make me look totally desperate, plus I don’t know his name. How can we do a search without a name?”
Jess tapped her head again with her index finger. “Leave it to mama,” she said as she sat down at Callie’s computer. “I’ll tweet it to the world but I’ll make the posts come from me like I’m helping out a friend. You need a little viral action to move things along.” Puzzled, Callie watched as Jess posted a tweet.
“Now you’re on Twitter,” Jess announced, turning the laptop so Callie could see her handiwork.
I need your help. BFF was doing phone survey and had incredible 3 hour conver with man on Feb 13. Total connection. While he was asking her out—power failed, call dropped. She has no way to find him or he her. He’s NYC personal injury attorney, played hoops in school, likes beagles and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. If you think you know him, message me. #mrright #theone #ValentinesDay
“Now what do we do?” said Callie.
“First, we pray to the gods of social media for their support,” said Jess. “Then, we wait until it goes viral.”
They put similar posts on Facebook and posted it to Instagram stories.
Over the next few days, their posts attracted a fair amount of attention and were shared and retweeted hundreds of times offering plenty of sympathy and encouragement. Still, no male person or name emerged in response to their plea. By Thursday of that week, it was apparent social media wasn’t going to help. Between survey calls at work, she and Jess plotted their next steps.
“Nobody responded on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram,” said Callie. “It’s hopeless.”
“Don’t be so negative. Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Jess. “This coming weekend, it’s supposed to be warm. We’ll go check out some bike clubs and ride around and look for him.”
“We don’t have bikes.”
“Duh. We’ll get some.”
“You’re a good friend,” said Callie, squeezing Jess’s arm.
“I know.”
12
The Fussy Virgin Guide:
“Life Intentions”
One has to know where one is going or you’ll never get there. That’s why it’s so important to articulate your life’s intentions. Here are mine:
1. I want to meet someone and eventually get married.
2. I do not want to “swipe” my way into a relationship through an app or some faceless online program. I want to meet someone playing volleyball in the park or over coffee at work or at a concert listening to music. I want my heart to race when I see him but I’m not jumping into bed with him. Despite the title of my book, I’m not technically a virgin in the true sense of the word. But, after a few years in New York, I decided to zip everything up and hit the refresh button. Now, I’m officially a virgin again. Yes, it can be that easy.
3. A career that stimulates me. I want to make a difference in the world so when I die, I’ll know I didn’t waste a single minute.
4. Become a seriously good and accomplished writer. (You can swap out “writer” for whatever your particular dream is. You may want to become a seriously good plumber or a seriously good accountant.) Follow your dream and if it’s icing cupcakes that look like mini panoramas of the Alps—go for it.
5. Be excellent. Give a hundred percent to friendships, relationships and work and expect nothing less in return. If you’re into crime, be an excellent criminal. Don’t bump off a gas station or a convenience store, go big—do a heist at Tiffany or the Museum of Modern Art.
6. Happiness is important. Having lots of things doesn’t make one happy. I love a fantastic pair of shoes or a designer bag as much as anyone, but it’s the relationships and your experiences that truly matter.
My person is out there somewhere and so is yours.
13
Sitting in his living room the morning after his phone call with Callie, Patrick downed two cups of strong black coffee and compiled a list of anything he could remember from his phone conversation with his Mystery Woman. They had covered so much ground and he was angry with himself for not writing any of it down when it was fresh in his mind.
She said she loved John Coltrane’s music same as me. She likes to bike, like me. She has no political party affiliation but has a lot of political opinions. She thinks there should be term limits for Congress, supports Campaign Finance Reform and Congressman Huston for Senate.
Patrick looked over his list to see if he had forgotten anything. He furrowed his brow, willing his brain to retrieve one more piece of identifiable information. He remembered something else and smiled.
She likes to be right.
He wrote that down and looked at his half-baked dossier and sighed. Based on the piecemeal he had in front of him, if she didn’t call him, there was no way he would find her.
He ran his fingers through his hair. The small clock on his bookcase told him it was almost noon and he still hadn’t heard from her. He pondered the cruel joke of it all—he had never connected with a woman like that before and now he might never find her.
His door buzzer sounded. Confused, Patrick grabbed for his landline.
“Hello, hello,” he said. The door buzzer sounded again and Patrick realized it hadn’t been the phone ringing. He walked over to the intercom near the front door.
“It’s me,” said Lorenzo. “Buzz me in.”
Patrick pushed the button on the intercom.
A minute later, Lorenzo was standing in his doorway. “Last night was a lot of fun, thanks for throwing my party.” Entering, he made himself
at home.
“Yeah, it was great,” said Patrick with only a modicum of enthusiasm.
“Let me guess,” said his old friend, “you never heard from that woman.”
“Nope.”
“Give it a little time, it’s only twelve thirty. She could be on the west coast. It’s only nine thirty there.”
“I’ve put together a list of everything I could remember about her,” said Patrick, showing his friend what he had been working on.
“She’s twenty-nine,” said Patrick, “was a journalism major and tried to row in school but was too short for rowing, so that has to mean she’s under five-feet-five. So, we know for sure she’s short.”
“Okay, that’s one hard clue,” said Lorenzo as he scrounged around Patrick’s refrigerator.
“She’s a modern art junkie and does telemarketing to pay her bills but she’s really a writer,” Patrick continued. “She listens to ragtime when she writes because it makes her happy. She’s written a novel and is trying to get it published and is currently working on a guide for young women. It was called A Fussy Virgin Guide to Happiness or something along those lines.”
“She’s a writer, that’s cool. Don’t know if I’m down with the fussy virgin part, whatever that means, but we can talk about that later. Score!” said Lorenzo when he found a piece of fried chicken in the back of the fridge and took a bite.
“That chicken is probably six weeks old,” said Patrick. Lorenzo gagged and spit it out into his hand.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“She loves Christmas, pizza, homemade soup and…Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.”
“That’s your love connection? Cheetos?”
Patrick ignored his friend. “She speaks Spanish badly and you know my Spanish only goes as far as ordering a burrito,” said Patrick. “That’s another way we’re in sync.”
The Fussy Virgin Page 5