The Wonderous Dating Game

by J. M. Mason

  I decided to not make an issue of the fluttery feeling in my tummy, because of my past experiences with the men I’ve met so far. I may have a gastric problem that needs to be seen by a physician.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Henry, I’m Stella. You chose me from the catalog.”

  “Catalog?”

  “Oh, I guess they call it the Profile Book, I call it a catalog of men to date.”

  “Yeh, whatever. I was going to call you this evening to see if you’d like to go out for a drink or somethin’.”

  “I’m sorry. I get so excited,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too desperate. “I couldn’t wait to meet you. This is almost like Christmas for me.” Damnit, did I really say that? “How about a cup of coffee? If we don’t click, then we won’t be out the cost of dinner and a movie.”

  He made no sound at the other end of the line after the words that fell out of my mouth like a waterfall stopped, and silence ensued. I began to think he’d hung up, and I started to put the phone back on the cradle when his voice came back on the line.

  “Do you know where the Grill and Dine is?”

  “There are two, which one do you mean?” I asked.

  “The one downtown would be centrally located.”

  This statement made me uneasy. Did he know where I lived? It would be easy to find my address. My name is listed in the phonebook, along with Salty, the name I gave my imaginary cat. I wanted the listing to look like I was married, so I wouldn’t get strange calls that I read happened to single women if their name is listed without a male name.

  “That would be fine,” I said, wondering if I’d made the best decision, but I forced away any doubts, and continued, “When would you like to meet? And how’ll we know each other?”

  “I drive a silver pickup. Do you know how to tell the difference between one model from another?” he asked.

  “Not unless the name is clearly spelled out on the back of the vehicle. I drive a little blue car. I can meet you in an hour if that’s good for you.”

  “Figures, you wouldn’t know one from another,” He said. Was that a touch of attitude I just heard in his voice? “OK. Sounds good. See you in a little while.”

  My heart was racing, and it occurred to me that I needed to have my heart evaluated when the doctor checks out my stomach. The mental aspect of my being was in doubt, and I may need to have my head examined, as well, when I found I was so excited to meet a rude sounding stranger in a public place for coffee. These facts suddenly struck me as absurdly ridiculous.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  After freshening my makeup and taming my unruly hair, I got into my car and drove to the Grill and Dine. I noticed a silver pickup truck pulling into the parking lot in front of me.

  A man that was disheveled, wearing a baseball cap in need of a proper washing and several days’ worth of stubble on his face, stepped out of the small, silver pickup. He stood with his legs spread, hands in his pockets, a scowl on his face as he looked toward me. I couldn’t see his eyes, because they were behind his sunglasses.

  The only thing that matched his photograph was his blonde hair. In the photo, he had a broad smile on his face with blue eyes that looked like they sparkled. I would have to wait to see his eyes when he removed his dark glasses, and I’d have to wait to see the smile when he felt he had something that made him happy. The hair began to rise on the back of my neck, and chills wiggled down my spine.

  I was surprised by my reaction, and I felt guilty. There was nothing in his demeanor to cause such a strong feeling unless you want to count the stiff stance as a reason to feel fear. He reminded me of Mom when she was angry with me. She put her hands on her hips and gave me the evil eye before I was punished for wrongdoing.

  “Are you my date?” I asked.

  “I drove in ahead of you in the silver pickup,” he said with more of the attitude I’d gotten from him on the phone. “That should be a good hint. I’m the one you’re looking for if that’s what you’re asking.” He sized me up like wrestler’s do, and then continued, “My name’s Henry. Let's stick to first names for now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, good idea,” I said. “I’m Stella.” My brows pressed together. “Wait a minute. They gave me your last name when Marge gave me your telephone number. She told me you would receive the same information as I did about you.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s right,” he said, continuing to make me wait for that smile. “I don’t remember names so good. It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  So that explains it. His memory isn’t the greatest with names. That must be the reason why my reaction was so off the wall. It could happen to everyone. But still, something was off.

  “It’s nice to meet you in person, Henry.”

  Time went by quickly as we sat talking and sipping our drinks. I felt comfortable with Henry after the rocky beginning. We discovered each had a sense of humor, which was good, and he finally showed me that smile.

  “I would like to spend more time with you,” Henry said. “You seem passable. Would you like to go out to dinner and a movie, as I planned at the beginning?”

  “I would love that. Would you like to come and pick me up at my apartment?”

  Again, I not only ignored my common sense, I ignored the advice of Marge. My decision to ignore the advice of professionals proved to be stupid.

  “If you’re comfortable for me to pick you up, I’d be happy to come for you at six. Do you like burgers?”

  Even Henry knew I made a stupid decision. I should’ve known that if more than one person tells me that an idea isn’t wise, I would listen, not so with me, I do things my way.

  “Six would be great, and yes, I do like burgers.”

  Henry was right on time. His knock coincided with the big hand clicking into place below the twelve. Promptness is an excellent quality to have in a man. I’d no way of knowing this would be the highlight of the evening.

  He assisted me in his pickup, and we drove to a fast food place; the name doesn’t matter in the least. But it’s an economical place where you can get many burgers for five dollars and a few cents more gets you a small drink and a small order of French fries.

  I ordered the whole meal, consisting of a burger, fries, and a drink. I ate one burger of the five he ordered, drank my soda; however, I couldn’t eat all the fries, they tasted like they were cooked in dirty grease, and when they cooled, they were limp and unappetizing.

  When we finished and got up to leave, Henry picked up the bag of French fries and stuffed them in his front shirt pocket. He unbuttoned his shirt and tucked the two remaining burgers inside his shirt.

  As we walked out to the vehicle, I noticed his brows were tightly bunched toward the middle of his eyes, he looked angry. It wasn’t clear if I’d done something to upset him or he was having a pain in his body somewhere. Maybe, my not completing my meal made him worry about the starving around the world.

  Chapter Thirty

  After he paid for the tickets to the movie, he chose for us to see, he stopped by the snack counter and ordered a cola soft drink, without asking me if I’d like a snack or drink. Maybe, I should’ve made my needs known to him, however from the set of his jaw, I thought better of asking for a drink.

  As we made our way into the theater, located at the end of a long corridor, he kept mumbling to himself. It was somewhat creepy hearing his voice discussing something with someone I didn’t see. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, which was a good thing. Unfortunately, he began to talk louder, and I was able to hear every word, along with all the people in the theater seats.

  Before the movie began, Henry took the fries from his shirt pocket and munched on them as he sat watching the previews of coming attractions. It was as if I wasn’t sitting beside him.

  Again, he sounded like he was arguing with someone I couldn’t see. I nearly jumped out of my seat when he turned to me and spoke loudly.

  “We can share this drink. I know you weren’t
hungry because you didn’t finish the meal, I bought you.”

  I despise sharing anything that touches someone else’s lips. Don’t give me the argument that I kiss, so why not share food and drinks. To me, this is vastly different. I never shared my drinks with my sons, let alone a stranger.

  “We just ate, so I don’t think we need any popcorn or candy, if you get hungry, there are a few fries left and two burgers, and you can sip my drink when you need to.”

  Because of his opinion of the cost of food, it made me wonder if he would’ve thought the cost of a cup of ice was not cost-effective, had I asked for a cup in which to put water. After all there was a water fountain in the hallway by the bathrooms.

  “I’ve spent so much money on this date. I better get my money’s worth out of this woman. She must think I’m made of money to leave all that good food on her plate.”

  Does he think I’m deaf? What was my price to be paid for this date? And the most crucial point, who in the hell is he getting his advice from?

  I never found the answer to the questions that flopped around in my head. The movie took forever to end. It was difficult to follow the film because I was spending my time listening to the whispered rants about me not paying my way.

  “It’s typical of women not to pay their fair share, always taking advantage of the man in every situation, forcing the man to get a second job to pay for her every want and need. It’s time for women to get out and work for men.”

  It was hard to know if I needed to run for my life and use the money that I carried for a taxi to get out of there — running made me think of what Grandpa said about running from a wild animal and how the animal was more likely to attack and tear out my guts. I didn’t want that, so I remained in my seat.

  After the movie ended, Henry grabbed me by the elbow, quick-stepped me to his pick-up truck, helped me into the seat, got in on the driver’s side, and silently drove me back to my apartment. I was thankful that he didn’t speak. This man scared the living daylights out of me, not taking my own car and meeting him was a great mistake. To top it off, no one knew I was with this man, I just lived in the moment and forgot to let one of my sons know where I was going for the evening.

  When we arrived at my apartment parking lot, he didn’t wait for me to undo my seat belt before he opened the passenger’s door, he must have run around the truck to get to me. He grabbed me by my right arm just as the seatbelt released and pulled me to the ground, where I swayed, and feared that I would fall to the gravel in the driveway. It was apparent the date was over.

  To my surprise, he walked me quickly to my front door, when we reached my door, he looked at me with his eyebrows furrowed. The anger was palpable and very apparent on his face by the set of his jaw, the muscles below his ears were jumping wildly.

  “Goodnight,” Henry said. When Henry turned to leave, I heard him say in that snarky tone of voice of his, “Unbelievable. She got it all, and I got shit.”

  My evil mind flitted to the gutter as my anger flared. I wanted to yell at him as he walked away after I threw a rock at his retreating back and flew both birds. I thought instead. “If you want a load of shit, I know where you can get as much as you would like. Shame on me for not knowing you were into shit. Would you like it fresh or well-ripened, mister?”

  Too bad that I’m a coward and only thought about finding a pile of manure for him. To this day, I don’t know what he felt was his money’s worth on our date, or what he meant when he did all the work on the date, and I did nothing. We never saw each other again to my delight and relief.

  The date was over, and I can’t say that I was sorry for it failing. There wasn’t a goodnight kiss, nor an F- you when he left me standing in front of my door. I wondered what he wanted from me that he didn’t get, and I thanked my lucky stars he didn’t push his way into my home.

  His drastic mood changes should’ve been a bell angrily clanging in my ear, but it was like my inner ears were stuffed full of cotton of desperation. I blocked out all the signs and symptoms of a troubled man that showed me a relationship with him would crash on the rocks of time. I actively chose to ignore my intuition, which is never a wise move. Therefore, the evening went from bad to worse and caused me deep fear.

  For some reason, I felt guilty because I was disappointed in the way he treated me after he paid for the movie tickets. His body language made me feel like a two-bit whore that Grandpa Bill told me about when I was a teenage girl when I went to him to discuss a girl who took my boyfriend while I was cheering my heart out at a school football game.

  While I shook my pom-poms, she slithered up to him and nibbled on his earlobe. Grandpa told me that my reaction to the snake taking my boyfriend was like a man waiting for change from a quarter paid to a two-bit whore.

  By the time Grandpa explained what it was to be a two-bit whore, what a bit was and why it was so important the man waited for change, I didn’t understand one word of what he said and how it pertained to me and the girl who stole my boyfriend right from under my nose. Maybe he was telling me the woman wasn’t worthy of my time. Just like Henry wasn’t worth the guilt I felt for his actions toward me.

  Being disrespected wasn’t something I wanted in a man or relationship with anyone. I’d already experienced disrespect in my life with a man who felt I was too old for him. I certainly didn’t need a repeat of my marriage. I wondered if he was the kind of man that needed to be reported to Joyous Love Dating Service?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  After trying the dating service several times, I became disappointed in the system. It seemed that the men wanted to tell me what they imagined themselves to be in their minds. Truth didn’t seem to matter to any of them. On the other hand, I was told I was too forthcoming with my personal life in my profile.

  PMS is not fun at any age, and I felt it was important for transparency's sake to let them know I’m a full out bitch once a month right on schedule, just like a werewolf. This may be the reason I drew all the nut cases to date.

  In my opinion, and from what was said in the profiles, I felt they wanted younger women with big boobs, and I fit neither of their criteria. That’s what I get for being in the middle age category. Too old for the men my age and too young for the older men who had passed male menopause.

  My need to have a relationship with someone that enjoyed working for a common goal without a boss was my first goal. Then I wanted someone to age with me so we could sit on the porch in our rocking chairs to watch the sunrises and sunsets together through bleary eyes.

  I was determined to find a partner on my own. There had to be a way to find the truth behind the profile before I agreed to meet them. Maybe Marge had the answers for me. I decided to talk with her to see what she had to say about the issue.

  “I need to discuss the date with Henry,” I said. “His mood swings were coming at me fast and furious, and he scared the living daylights out of me. Have you had any reports about him from other women?”

  “Yes, we have,” Marge answered. “Therefore, I told you to read the profile carefully.”

  “But I didn’t see anything to warn me he was frightening. What did I miss?”

  “We have a code key at the bottom of the inside cover of each profile book to make it easier for the clients to know to be cautious. Did you ever see that?”

  “No, I’ve been just interested in men.”

  Marge quickly put her hand over her mouth and coughed, in my opinion, she laughed at me. Lately, many people were infected with the same cough and held their hands over their mouth when I discuss my dates.

  She picked up one of the profile books and showed me the color-coded key with the meanings written plainly beside each protocol, flipping the page to Henry’s mug shot, she showed me where to find the color-coded box. Sure enough, there it was, the box that warned me and others of his temperament and anger issues.

  I left the dating service without another date because I feared that one of the men, I chose wouldn’t be evaluat
ed by someone before me who cared enough to make the behavior available to those of us who take things at face value.

  Dating is a daunting task for me, without wondering if I would be safe to go out alone with a person I chose. How would I know if I was in the presence of Jack the Ripper when I didn’t know what I wanted in a relationship? Therefore, I decided to lay off the profile book for a few weeks.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Monday morning, Jenny, Jodie, and I discussed the possibility of a night out on the town without a date. Jenny believed it would be fun to pick up men like men pick up women in bars.

  The bells rang loudly in my inner ear and warned me to do something else besides what was being suggested. I never picked up a man in the past; of course, I was married most of the time. So, why would I want to begin now?

  Then my mind flitted to the fact that I wasn’t doing such a great job finding the one fish in the ocean that was mine. Maybe it was a good thing to try something out of my comfort zone. I wasn’t ecstatic about the bar scene; however, it was different.

  After much discussion we decided to go to a biker bar, which brought up warm happy feelings of summer days, when I was a kid, riding my bike down the hill in the summer sunshine and landing on the road skinning my knees, only to get back on the bicycle and do it again until I learned how to keep the bike balanced.

  Biker bar had such a neat ring to it, along with the warm fuzzy feelings. It sounded like it would be an excellent time for us. Jodie heard they were loads of fun and thought it would be a good place to begin our first experience of going the single route. I wished there was another alternative, I’ve never been to a bar in my entire life.

  We compared notes about our knowledge of bikers and what they do when they go out to the bar. After we discussed the matter, it didn’t take us long to agree to go out Friday night to Buster’s Bar downtown. We were convinced we would have a terrific time doing something we’ve only read about in our love novels.