“Are you kidding? Everyone likes saying that.”
“Only if it makes them feel better.”
“When has it not? I love telling my brother ‘I told you so’ when his model girlfriends turn out to have less personality than turnips.”
We lay off the personal talk for the rest of the meeting, and we don’t devolve into a fistfight. The girls would be proud. I don’t think Justin and I are back to normal, we certainly won’t be having any friendly lunches soon, but it’s a start in the right direction. Maybe he’ll find a way to forgive me. If he can’t, I’m going to have to find another attractive straight man for Kevin to eyeball over coffee; he says he’s going into withdrawal.
Forget about me, ladies. We need to find Kevin a man instead.
I let Mateo choose our next rendezvous, because my last pick didn’t turn out as well as one would hope. I wonder if the mini-golf manager wound up with a putter up his ass.
Mateo elects for a quiet drink at a small wine bar. I’ve never heard of the place, and it must be chic, because Mateo tells me to dress up. Since I can’t find any miraculous Dolce in my closet, I decide on a knee-length emerald dress, which is flowy and elegant. Black pumps and jewelry complete the outfit, and I grab my Spanish-inspired black lace shawl before leaving. It’s chilly out again but still not below zero. I hop in my car and blast the heat, deluding myself that some of the hot air will remain inside while we have drinks.
I’ve become so accustomed to these dates that I don’t sweat anymore, and I recall with fond remembrance the incident with the pads under my armpits. That was embarrassing. Have I become so old hat with dating that I’ve become numb? I felt so blasé about meeting Mateo. Now I can’t recall the spark from our first date without measuring it against the other men I’ve met this year. Is this what Keeley and Lindsey feel like when a guy takes them out? Do they calculate in their heads whether the man stands up next to the other guys they’ve dated, and if so, is there a moment when they say, “this isn’t going to work,” and write off an entire evening? I don’t want that to happen to me. I want my meeting with Mateo to feel fresh, not bogged down by preconceived notions and prejudices from past bad dates.
I pull into a ritzy St. Paul neighborhood and try to find a parking space, which is impossible. I don’t want to pay for a ramp, so I drive around until I find a spot. It’s far from the wine bar, but at least it’s free. I trot down the sidewalk, afraid to be late. I know it’s okay for the woman to be a few minutes late, but I couldn’t stand it if it happened. I gave myself a lot of time but did not account for parking, so I pick up speed. As I near the corner where the bar sits, I fail to notice the large crack in the sidewalk. Triumphant that I’m on time, I take the fateful step and my heel slides into the crevasse but not back out. It sticks, and I fly forward as if a bowling ball is stuck to my hand. My foot leaves the shoe and I sprawl on the concrete. Mortified, I lie on my stomach and don’t notice the pain until my embarrassment-haze passes. Someone runs up to my prone form and asks if I’m okay. I hear laughter in the voice and my cheeks flush.
“You’re bleeding!” yells the voice. A sympathetic murmur floats over me, and I feel an aching flash in my knee, palms, and chin. I touch my chin and my fingers come away scarlet. My hands and right knee are a wreck; blood pools and dribbles down my wrists and toward my expensive shoe. I wrench it off and see that I lost the other to the sidewalk canyon. It’s huge! How did I not notice that?
“Somebody go inside and get some ice!” shouts the helpful voice, and I look up. It’s a gorgeous woman dressed in a Burberry trench and silky trousers. “Are you feeling well? What happened?”
“I fell,” I mumble, and I swear I feel a loose tooth. I clutch my mouth and try to stand, but my knee gives, and I stumble down again, wincing.
“We saw you fall. Manny went inside to fetch ice and bandages.”
“My date,” I say, knowing I’m definitely late.
“Is he in the bar?”
“The wine bar.”
“I’ll have Manny go get him when he comes back. What’s his name?”
“Mateo,” I say and sit down on the dirty ground. I hope I didn’t sprain anything, because as the adrenaline wears off, I’m feeling sorer. There’s something about an intense accident that befuddles the brain. Your body knows it can’t deal with the combined pain and humiliation, so it shuts down for a while, waiting for you to get a grip.
My body doesn’t give me much time.
The full moon stares at me from the cloudy night sky, and I wish I had a gun, because I’d shoot it, I’m so pissed at myself. If I paid for a parking garage, this would not have happened. The woman presses a napkin with ice against my knee and takes my hand to hold it in place. She must be concerned for her coat’s welfare. No need to get a stranger’s blood on it.
I don’t follow her conversation with Manny but recognize Mateo’s voice, nervous and concerned, hovering above me.
“Hello,” I say, and I must look atrocious, because he recoils and covers his eyes. “Do I look that bad?”
“I don’ like blood,” he says, and moves away. “I’m sorry.” He practically races down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. I shrug and look up at the woman and her date, Manny, a robust older man. He shakes his head and watches Mateo’s hasty progress down the block.
“I hope that’s not your boyfriend, miss. He’s a bloody coward.” Manny’s British accent tickles my ears and I smile. “No. Just a promising second date.”
“My dear,” Manny says, and pulls me to my feet, the stylish woman holding my shoes beside him, “I can’t believe you even went on a first date with that man.”
“Blame my evil friends.”
“At least your shoe isn’t irreparable,” says the woman.
Email: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected] from [email protected]
Ladies, I have come to the conclusion that this experiment is flawed. I don’t think my worst enemy could have found me more horrible men. I’m writing because I don’t feel like talking to any of you, and because I’m taking painkillers for my mangled knee. The shoes are fine, but my dress was ruined. Even my fabulous dry cleaner said it was a lost cause. You owe me ninety dollars for the dress and five million for my lost dignity.
Your former friend,
Cassie
April
Horror Movie Howard and Rule Number Eleven: Didn’t you understand the rules? No back-outsies.
Email: [email protected] to [email protected]
We’ve given you a week to cool down and heal, but now it’s back to business. You only have two months to go, and I won’t let you quit without a fight. Most guys are jerks. There. I said it. It’s not easy finding a good guy out there, but I know you won’t find one moping in your apartment or hiding behind Kevin. He told me you threatened to hand out his number to the ugly drag queens at the Gay Nineties if he made you call us. And Justin won’t return Keeley’s calls. Apparently, he doesn’t believe in what we’re doing.
It’s April, and the snow is melting. It’s time for renewal and hope springs eternal and all that literary crap you like. We worked really hard on this project, and we did it for you. It’s time for you to get back in gear and finish what you started.
Was that motivational enough for you?
When I eventually answer Alicia, she sends another smug email about how well she knows me and the information for the next guy. It feels like I’ve been on a speed-dating session. No one else could’ve had this many dates in less than a year. Except maybe Keeley.
Despite Kevin’s betrayal, I forgive him and invite him to the next textbook session. Justin and I have been getting along, so Kevin figured it was time to accompany us on a lunch date.
They don’t lie about April showers, which, in Minnesota, can easily morph into April blizzards. Today, the rain falls with a cold wind from the west, and our umbrellas attempt escape. When my umbrella gives in to the g
usts and buckles, Justin offers his, and we run for the coffee shop. Kevin holds the door.
“Damn,” I say. “That was my favorite umbrella.”
“You have more than one?” asks Justin, and Kevin and I stare at him.
“Didn’t anyone tell you? Women love accessories almost as much as me.”
We order very hot drinks and squeeze access water from our clothes over the garbage cans. My hair must look amazing. I flatten it.
We sit, and Kevin takes the seat next to me, Justin across from us. “It’s nice to see you two working together,” Kevin says and sets down his hot tea.
Justin gets out the material for the math book. This will be arduous. We both hate math more than the recently arrived Canadian geese. Besides freezing rain, there’s nothing more horrible than the returning feathered hordes. The bastards shit all over everything. It’s not like we meant to pave over your old migration grounds! Don’t chase me and hiss at me! I’m not stalking you! I wish a competent hunter would come and clear the sidewalks, because the geese are more meddlesome than my girlfriends. And Kevin. Combined.
“So, how did Carly fare on the last project?” I ask.
“Not well, from what she said,” answers Kevin. He’ll talk to anyone in the office so long as gossip is involved. “And she absolutely hates that you two got the textbook deal.”
“We’re better than she is,” Justin says.
“When will it be finished?” Kevin asks.
“Probably by May,” I say. “We have four books to cover.”
“It would have gone faster if we split the workload,” says Justin, winking.
“But then we wouldn’t have come up with the clever English book table of contents.”
Kevin reaches for the first math book chapter and Justin slaps his hand. He rubs it and scowls. “What the fuck?”
“You’ll mess it up. Chapter one was a bitch.”
“So are you.”
“Any idea on who’s getting the promotion next month?” I inquire, knowing Kevin might have some insight. He knows the office secrets better than anyone.
“That info’s off limits. But guess what’s not?”
“I give up,” I say.
“I hate guessing,” says Justin. Kevin isn’t bothered by our lack of fun. He kneads his hands together and grins, sure his news will derail any thoughts of promotions and arithmetic.
“I’ve got a boyfriend.” Justin’s and my mouths drop. Sir Perpetually Single is no longer singular?
“What?” asks Justin who pushes aside the next chapter we’re covering.
“Yes, Boy and Girl, this dazzling gent is no longer on the market.”
“Since when?” Kevin said he would never settle down because there were too many great gay men in the Cities to meet and possibly have sex with. What the hell happened?
“Since March. His name is Philip, and he’s from Portugal.”
“It figures you’d meet someone foreign,” I say.
“I can’t picture you sitting for a family portrait, buddy,” says Justin. The coffee shop air glitters from the rain outside, and it reflects in Kevin’s eyes, making them sparkle. No one has made his eyes sparkle before.
“He’s not really foreign. He was born in New York.”
“Then why did you say he’s from Portugal?”
“He was working there for his law firm before transferring here.”
“Why in God’s name would you move to Minnesota after living in Europe?” I ask. I know if moved I would never come back unless it was for Christmas and I might even make my family fly to my European paradise. Some of my dates are trans-global too, yet they keep coming back to Minnesota.
“He’s retiring.”
“How old is he?” asks Justin, and I lean closer to Kevin. A world traveler and he’s older! Kevin only dates younger men!
“Fifty-four. He’s made a lot of money, so after a few cases here that need tidying up, he’s finished with lawyering.”
“That’s not a word, babe,” I say and look at Justin, who grins.
“It is now. He wants me to move in with him, but I’m not sure. I’ve been independent my whole life. I made my dog make appointments for affection.”
“That poor thing,” I say.
“Do you think it’s a good idea?”
“You’ve only known him for a month!” I say, but Justin shakes his head and says, “Time doesn’t matter, sometimes. If it’s right, you’ll know.”
Kevin nods but looks skeptical. “I think it’s right, and we’ve had such a great time. But do you think it makes me cheap?”
“Like a trophy boyfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“Not at all,” I say. “Not if you have feelings for him and treat each other with respect.”
“Respect and I haven’t been speaking,” he says, and I know what he means. Kevin isn’t known for his long-lasting relationships. Maybe he’s afraid that he’ll get bored and want to move on, only to find that his fabulous apartment has already been reoccupied.
“It’ll be worth it if you love him,” says Justin. Where did Justin come up with all this lovey-dovey crap? He’s good at it. Maybe Kelly should let him handle the romance novels from now on.
“That settles it. I’m telling him yes.”
“Can I call him King Philip of Portugal?” I ask, rubbing my hands together and raising my eyebrows.
“No.”
We have a miniature celebration, and I wonder how someone like Kevin can meet someone and agree to live with him in only a month, and it’s taken me many failed dates and one cataclysmic break-up to end up here. I’m still alone, only now I feel worse than when I started the dating journey. I don’t think this is what the girls had in mind when they sat around concocting the plan.
I’m only a little jealous of Kevin. Maybe ten percent jealous.
“Jealousy is healthy,” says Lindsey as we walk into the gym, ready to do some weight training. She’s on a dumbbell kick and asked me to come along. I have the feeling she’s been obsessing over some buff bodybuilder and that’s what keeps her coming back. I hope I’m not left doing bicep curls while she flirts with a spandex Adonis.
“I feel terrible. I should be happy for him.”
“Why? That fucker’s taken another eligible man off the market.”
“Philip of Portugal is gay, Linds. He was never on our market.”
“I have a theory that all gay men are waiting for the right woman to turn them straight.”
“I hope you’re joking. And have you met Kevin? Breasts scare him. He actually covers his eyes at movies when they come onscreen.”
“Imagine what Showgirls must have been like for him.”
Lindsey leads me into the weight room, and I was right: there are at least a dozen hot guys in here, and they’re all in various degrees of sweatiness. Why would Lindsey want to meet guys here? I don’t feel particularly stunning after a workout, and she perspires more than I do.
“Who’s the guy?” I ask and drape my towel around my neck.
“What guy? Do you see a guy?”
“They’re everywhere.”
“Honey, these are gym guys. They’re only here to work out. It’s nearly impossible to hit on one.”
“They’re skittish?”
“Young colts that need to be broken,” she says and sighs. “But they resist the process. I’ve been coming here all winter and have yet to get laid by one of these men.”
She’s right. When two relatively good-looking women enter a room full of men, you’d think one or two of them would look up appreciatively. Nada. Nothing. Zip. They’re all glued to their machines and weights, oblivious to Lindsey’s abs and my incredulity.
We prepare to do Lindsey’s prepared set list, and I notice no other women are in the weight room. “Where are all the women?”
“Not many in here,” she says. “They stick to the track mostly.”
“So why do you come here?”
“Lifting weights is almost
like yoga. It’s relaxing once you get into it.”
We do three sets of every exercise, and Lindsey is considerably stronger than me. She uses twenties and I’m stuck with tens, and I have to switch to eights near the end. She powers through every exercise fluidly, and I admire her arms.
Glistening, we head for the showers and then to the sauna. We’re the only people inside, and it’s nice to hang with Lindsey without the other two girls. We rarely get time together.
“How does it feel to know you only have two months of dating left?” she asks.
“I wish everyone would change the subject. It’s almost over, so that’s a plus.”
“Alicia warned me you’d be difficult.”
“You guys are lucky I’m even finishing. Alicia’s guilt trip email saw to that.”
“It’s not like we made you do this, you know.” I gape at her, and she covers her face with a towel. “Hot in here.”
“You blackmailed me! What do you mean you didn’t make me? Kelly hinted that I wouldn’t get promoted if I didn’t do it.”
“You’ll get the promotion no matter what.”
“How do you know?” I huff and hiss and throw my extra towel at her. “You don’t work there. You weren’t there when she sat me down and humiliated me.”
“We sat down with Kelly and explained your little predicament.”
“Which predicament would that be? The one where I’m about to lose my job or the fact that I can’t find a boyfriend?”
“Don’t get sassy.” She takes the towel off her face. “We told her our plan, and she fell in love with the idea, said it should be a movie. She was going to promote you no matter what, but she was going to put you through the ringer about the romance novels too, so we had nothing to do with her plans. She paired her efforts with ours and the rest is history.”
“You’ve been playing me? I didn’t need to agree to the dating thing because Kelly would have given me the job anyway?”
“Yup.”
“You tricked me.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I could’ve forgone the dating and only had to deal with the stupid romance novels? “I wish I had something else to throw at you.”
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