Men of the Year

by Colleen McMillan

  May

  Pirate Paul and Rule Number Twelve: All’s well that ends well, even dating.

  Finally, the time has come. It’s the first of May and that means I have one more man to meet and possibly toss or keep. You might think I’m callous, but after the year I’ve had, this last guy is more like the last roadblock before my exit than the restaurant at the top of the exit.

  The girls are sad, Keeley especially. They were hoping that I would find someone to be with, or at least go on more than two dates. They abandoned their you-have-to-go-on-at-least- two-dates-with-each-guy rule a while back. This was wise, considering the cannon fodder they set me up with. Each man taught me something, and each one exhibited a habit I know to watch for. In short, I learned some things. Alicia will be so proud. In truth, I enjoyed the process, at least a little. I’m friends with Tristan and have fond memories of lost Dan and had a lot of good food along the way. The scar is finally fading from my chin, and although my knees will never feel the same, I’m glad I fell that cold night in March, otherwise Mateo might have kept me fooled for a long time. I know how I must have appeared to my friends and family after Pete left me when I watched helplessly as Logan trampled a mini-golf course. I apologized to them all, but they forgave me. After all, my heart was broken. I guess I knew better than Logan how long it takes to get over someone.

  I’m most happy about how the Pete situation panned out. He got a head full of beer bottle, and I got a heart full of closure. Most men fear the word “closure,” and I’m not a big advocate of it either, unless the relationship you had was long and intense. It’s necessary to move on. Otherwise, we get stuck back where we were, no matter how many miles you run or how much back-breaking work you do.

  How’s that for an ending, ladies? Because this is the end of the dating journal. I won’t write about the last date, because it doesn’t really matter. What matters is the journey…

  Yeah right. Fooled you. No more what I learned nonsense. Of course, I have to tell about Pirate Paul and my birthday party and all that followed. You guys know most of it, but I think there are still some surprises up my sleeve for the ending. Watch that last step, it’s a killer.

  Keeley emails me the last information I get in this little game. She’ll miss picking out men for me and says she might give the online thing a try, since she can’t seem to connect with anyone through normal dating. I tell her that she’s being ridiculous, but she says, “It’s not as easy as you’d think. I get asked out a lot, but there’s never any deep connection. All they do is look at my boobs and talk about how beautiful I am and lie about having a yacht.” If those are the worst things men have done to her, I’d like to set her up with some of the distinguished bachelors she unleashed on me.

  She offers to come along on my last date, not as a chaperone, but to hide out at the bar armed with a cell phone plan. It’s simple. If the date looks like it’s going badly, your friend, who is either watching at the bar or poised at home waiting ten minutes in to call, dials you up and says there’s an emergency. If the date itself is cause for an ambulance, you bail, saying someone’s in the hospital or that your friend’s goldfish died. The perfect getaway. Many people use the “back-up plan,” so don’t be offended if your date’s phone happens to ring once. If he or she stays, you know you’re doing well, if they leave, better luck next time, and remember not to wear the Dr. Seuss necktie.

  I say “sure,” as I know she’s dying to watch me in action. What the hell.

  We get to the bar early so Keeley can get positioned. She sits at the bar and orders a glass of chardonnay. “Ready?” she asks. She wears a black sheath dress, dark glasses, and a trench coat.

  “What’s with the spy getup?”

  “I’m being inconspicuous.”

  “You’re anything but. Take off the coat and the glasses. You look like the world’s worst CIA agent.”

  “Damn, I was going for Audrey Hepburn meets FBI.” I shake my head and return to the host station.

  “Hi,” I say to the well-dressed hostess. She smiles and welcomes me to the bar, exactly as she did when Keeley and I walked in. “There will be two of us. A man named Paul will be joining me.”

  “Wonderful. And your name?”

  “Cassandra.

  “That’s pretty! I wish my name was pretty like that.”

  “Thank you…” I think. “Can I sit anywhere?”

  “I’ll show you in.” She grabs the drink menu and walks into the seating area. High-top tables and booths sit in semi-darkness, the better not to see your date. “Is this fine?” She puts me at a booth where Keeley can see in the mirror behind the bar. Keeley gives me a blatant thumbs-up, and I giggle. “Oh, it’s wonderful. Thank you.”

  She’s about as covert as a unicorn.

  I’m apprehensive about this date, mainly because it’s the last, or second to last if this one works. I have worse luck on second dates, or maybe it just feels unfortunate because those guys fooled me on the first date only to show a true color on the second. It’s because people can’t be themselves on first dates. They’re job interviews: you dress nicely, prepare questions and answers for the other person, and hide the deep-rooted neuroses waiting to spring. I’ve never been this unnerved by an interview. I’m good at those. It’s these personalized meetings I can’t seem to master.

  Keeley grins in the mirror above the bar and looks at her watch. She puts up five fingers. He has five minutes to be on time. If he’s late, maybe I can have a get out of jail free card. I don’t think the girls would let me get away with it. They’d have one more surprise in the wings if Paul doesn’t work out.

  I wonder about Paul, more than I’ve pondered the previous men. Keeley told me that he’s tall, likes surfing, and acts in children’s theater productions. He likes the beach and kids. Not much to go on. And most men consider themselves tall, except maybe Danny Devito.

  The server brings me water with lemon while I wait and makes a few wine suggestions. I’m thinking pinot grigio if there’s a good one, but I can’t bring myself to look at the wine list. I think I need to size Paul up before I consider ordering.

  Right at nine o’clock, the door opens and lets a nice May night breeze into the bar. The potted plants rustle in the wind, and I smell fresh grass. What a pleasant scent. I look over to the door and know that the man who walked in has to be my date. With my luck, who else could he be?

  Paul stands at the host station, very tall, so Keeley wasn’t lying there. He is handsome, like a young Denzel Washington with gorgeous skin and a big smile. I can’t see anything wrong with him…beside the fact that he’s dressed head to toe in a pirate costume. That’s right. A pirate. Knee high leather boots, a ruffled white shirt, tight leather pants, a bandana, and a fake sword strapped at his waist. All he needs is a parrot and an eye patch and the illusion will be complete. The hostess beams as he asks if Cassandra is in the bar. She sniggers and leads him over. Despite the getup, Paul appears at ease, almost confident in his historically inaccurate exterior. He looks like he just stepped off a Treasure Island cover. Or off the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland.

  I catch Keeley’s eye in the mirror, and her expression is unreadable. Paul has rendered her unconscious. I’m glad Lindsey didn’t want to come. She would have fallen off her barstool laughing and blew our cover. I mouth, “I’m going to kill you,” before Paul reaches the table.

  When he strides over, I stand and hold out my hand, trying not to stare.

  “You must be Cassandra,” he says, voice deep and musical. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you. Your profile is very popular.”

  Flushing, I say, “I’ve had quite a year.” I don’t know what else to say without asking about the costume. Maybe if I ask about surfing. “It must be difficult surfing in Minnesota.” Jeez. What an idiot.

  “Nigh impossible,” he says and smiles. His smile is compelling, if only it could distract from the fake sword. “I would rather attempt it in California or Australia.”
We sit down, he pulls the chair out for me.

  “I’ve always wanted to go to Australia,” I say, hoping this might get him started on a nice long monologue. Where did the server go? I need a big drink. I wonder if they have those bottle-size wine glasses.

  “Before we get into that, I’d like to explain my clothing.” Oh no. He wants to explain. It’s none of my business how he gets his kicks or how he developed this style. “I’m in a production of The Swiss Family Robinson for the children’s theater. Rehearsal went way over, and I didn’t want to be late. I apologize. This isn’t the look I was going for when I thought about our date.” Whew! He’s not weird! It’s for his job.

  “I was wondering.”

  “I know. So was the cab driver.” I laugh and find that it’s not fake. Perfect! I kind of like him. I just wish the ruffles on his shirt weren’t so ostentatious.

  “It does look a bit odd.”

  “You think so? I thought the pirate look was making a comeback.”

  “According to whom? Pirate Monthly?” I smile.

  “Guess I haven’t caught up on the back issues.”

  We have a lovely evening. The server suggests a great pinot grigio for me, and Paul sips cabernet while we chat about traveling, where he dreams of surfing, and where I want to live eventually. He’s surprised when I say Venice and mentions that it’s sinking.

  “I know,” I say. “That’s why I need to move there sooner than later then move back when the water inches toward my first-floor window.”

  I lose track of Keeley while we talk, and I’m not shocked when I notice she’s no longer sitting at the bar when I hazard a gaze. She must have caught on that Paul and I are having a fine time. Three hours pass, and I’m more tired than I realized. I’ve never talked this long to a man who wasn’t a friend or ex-fiancé.

  “It’s getting pretty late,” I say. “I really should go.”

  “We have been sitting here awhile. I’m sure our waiter would like it if we left.”

  “Nah. It’s not busy. I’m sure he’s been taking bets with the kitchen staff about how long the date would last.”

  “Because I look ridiculous?”

  “Yup,” I say. “I don’t think any other pirate has had such good fortune.”

  “Before we go, I have one thing to ask you.”

  I look at the black book and see the astronomical check. The wine was more expensive than I remembered from a few hours ago. “What is it?”

  “Did your friend at the bar approve?” Shit.

  “Friend?” How can I explain Keeley? Is he guessing, or did he spot her right away.

  “The blonde. She left two hours ago.”

  “Um. Uh…”

  “It’s fine,” he says and grabs my hand. I look into his eyes, and they’re gleaming with repressed laughter. “I’m pretty observant. And she is an absolute failure as a spy.”

  “How did you know?”

  “She couldn’t keep her eyes off us for an hour, and when she left, she stared me down. Not the best coconspirator I’ve ever seen, but not the worst.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Like I said, it’s fine. My cell phone went off in my pocket and I didn’t have to answer it.”

  Well, at least if I got caught, it’s nice to know he had the same back-up plan.

  “He invited himself on our next girls’ night,” I say, and Alicia holds back a chuckle. “It’s not funny! He totally knew Keeley was watching us. I’m surprised she didn’t have binoculars to match her trench coat.”

  “She wore a trench coat?” asks Alicia who rubs her belly.

  “Oh yeah. The government recruitment squad will be knocking on her door anytime soon.”

  Alicia’s house is quiet, serene. Not what I’m used to. Brian took the kids out for lunch, knowing Alicia needed some time off her feet. She’s getting bigger, but Alicia isn’t one to gain a lot of weight when she’s pregnant. She’s had three dry-runs, so she knows what to eat. We sit in her living room, decaffeinated iced teas in hand. He husband made it for us! What men do for their pregnant wives.

  “You getting enough exercise?”

  “Chasing three kids does wonders for stamina.”

  “Three kids and one husband.”

  “Actually,” she says and rubs her nose making it pink, “Brian has been so attentive. He knew how worried I was about this baby, so he’s picked up the slack. Much better than with the last one.”

  “The last one has a name.”

  “I know, but there’s too many to remember all the names.” We laugh, and she starts coughing. “Sorry. This one’s giving me seasonal allergies. Never had problems before, but the doctor said the pollen count is ridiculously high this spring.”

  “You can get allergies from being pregnant?”

  “Sure. I’m glad it wasn’t something worse, like gestational diabetes. A friend from work had that, and she was miserable for nine months. I can handle a few sneezes and a runny nose.”

  “I was wondering how my secret party plans are going?”

  “You’re terrible. And it’s impossible to keep a secret from you.”

  “It’s hard to keep it a secret when my mom and dad call constantly asking what food I would prefer and if I’m still fighting with Justin. How they knew Justin and I were on the outs I’ll never know.”

  She sips her tea and lets her eyes wander before answering, “It’s going to be phenomenal, the party of the year!”

  “That’s what everyone’s friends say about thirtieth birthdays.”

  “And mine better be just as good, missy.”

  “Your birthday isn’t for another seven months! Give me some time to plan.”

  “Fine. Anyway, we’re inviting everyone: your boss, colleagues, some author Kelly wants you to meet—”

  “What!?”

  “Oh crap. Now that was a secret. Kelly’s going to kill me.” She gets up, struggling for a moment. “Damn balance is shot! They never tell you that you become less coordinated with every pregnancy.”

  “Don’t change the subject! What author?” I race after her retreating form. She ducks into the kitchen and hums a little tune, ignoring me. “Don’t be coy with me! I can read you like a book and edit you after I’m done!”

  “Forget what I said. It’s nothing to worry about.”

  “No more bombshells! I can’t take it!”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.” I pout and fold my arms across my chest. “Don’t be so immature. It wouldn’t be a great party unless we put something over on you.”

  “The next thing I know you’ll have invited Pete to my party.”

  “You’re being dramatic.” She dumps the rest of her tea into the sink. “We only invited the guys you dated this year.”

  “If you weren’t pregnant, I’d strangle you.”

  “I made a mistake,” says Keeley. We sit outside her apartment on the deck, the sun hitting our skin. I’ve layered on the SPF fifty, but Keeley’s trying to tan. She laughs when I rub lotion everywhere. “What?” I ask, “I don’t want to look like I bathed in ketchup before my party.” We lay on rubbery plastic lawn chairs, a pail of summer shandys in between. I mention my upcoming date with Paul, and she doesn’t answer. After a few minutes of me talking about the date and how he caught her, she said, “I made a mistake.”

  “With what?” I wonder if it’s about her job. I hope she didn’t get fired or something. The economy isn’t the greatest. “Do you need help?”

  “It’s nothing like that.” She raises her chair’s back and looks at me, a serious expression on her face. She looks guilty.

  “What’s wrong?” She’s worrying me. Please don’t let it be her family. They live so far away. I’d hate for her to leave. The last time there was a family emergency, she was gone for a month. .

  “It’s terrible, and I never thought I’d be the kind of person to do something like this.” I pull my chair up and face her. She’s near crying, which happens often but is never pleasant. “You kno
w how I was talking about going online like we did for you?”

  “Yeah, vaguely.”

  “Well, I’ve been on the same website for about three months. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

  “Is that all? I thought someone died or something.”

  “It’s worse.”

  “What could be worse? Lindsey told me about Kelly and how I had the promotion all along, if that’s what this is about.”

  “Alicia picked Paul for you, last month.”

  “Okay.” She keeps pausing. I have no idea where this is going.

  “I hadn’t seen his profile, I just got the details from Alicia. The problem is, I went out on a date with him. Before you did. That’s why I bolted so fast.”

  “You knew who I was meeting that night?” I’m very confused. What does she mean?

  “No! And I didn’t think he noticed me until you mentioned he caught me staring.”

  “How could he not? When did you go on this date?”

  “The week before.”

  “And you didn’t think a guy you met named Paul, who works at the children’s theater, could possibly be the same man meeting me?”

  “That isn’t on his profile, and we didn’t talk about it. Alicia must have gotten it out of him when she set up your date.” She starts crying, and she puts her face in her hand. She shakes and sobs and I’m not sure what to say.

  “It’s okay, honey. You didn’t do it maliciously.”

  “No, but that didn’t stop me from agreeing to a second date!”

  “What?” A second date? But didn’t Paul set us up for a second date? I recall our last conversation at the bar, and he mentioned coming to our next girls’ night, but was that because he knew Keeley would be there? Thinking on it, I can’t remember if he said it was a second date or just a fun get-together. He picked her. He chose Keeley.

  “I know! But I really like him, and I was so shocked to see him, especially in a pirate outfit. I didn’t recognize him at first. He said he was seeing other people but that he thought we might have something. I’ve been emailing him for as long as I’ve been on the website. I was afraid to meet him at first, so we’ve been talking online.”