Deja vu All Over Again

by Larry Brill

  “Damned straight there. She’d hate you because it’s none of your bees wax.” Woody scratched a spot on his recliner chair’s arm like a bothersome itch in the vinyl. “Better if I really did know a hit man like Guido. But y’all know the Peckerheads will go up there, hold the guy down for you while you take a Louisville Slugger to his kneecap. If that’d do you right.”

  “No you wouldn’t. But thanks for offering.”

  By their fourth and final shot, the idea sounded better. By their fifth and final final shot, it was awesome, couldn’t miss and settled. Woody stopped on his way to bed, staring at Nate and grinning.

  “What?”

  “I am more impressed with you every day, Bud. First you whack a military dude with a golf club and now this. But I swear, never, ever in my life would I have figured you grow up to be a pimp.”

  “A pimp? Is that what I am? Nah. I’m a love facilitator.”

  “Is there gonna be sex involved?”

  The answer made Nate uncomfortable. “I hope everything’s resolved before it goes that far. That’s the plan. But I can’t rule out sex.”

  “Sure as shit sounds like you’re pimping to me.”

  He waved at his mother stirring a pot on the kitchen stove when he got home a little after noon and ignored her greeting as he headed for his bedroom. Nate flipped the cardboard sign hanging from a hook on the door to the side that said NO TRESPASSING. Not that it mattered; the reverse side said KEEP OUT except that his dad had run a marker through it and scrawled FUCK OFF with a smiley face.

  He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a snack pack of Doritos from under the stash of Playboy magazines. He munched and thought, and spent the afternoon scouring the Internet for advice and tips, adding to everything he had learned when Seth and the Stanford compatibility computer introduced him to digital dating. After a scrumptious dinner of his mother’s eggplant root, kale and tofu stew, Nate set up a new account on Wink Connection.

  Vintage Rascal. He liked that screen name.

  Vintage was a wink to his age and Rascal was an inspired choice because it was the kind of name women were intrigued by, or so he read in research from dating advice sites all afternoon. He was particularly drawn to one advice site by a Dr. Rachel somebody or other. He consulted the yellow pad next to his computer with keywords and hot-button phrases based on all the advice that he planned to put into his Vintage Rascal profile.

  He posted a picture of himself with Festerhaven that Julie had taken after their big softball victory, hoping prospective dates would be lured into learning more. One expert advised surrounding yourself with “beautiful people” in profile pictures, leading prospective dates to feel beautiful by association. He hoped ladies might see Festerhaven as a handsome, fun sidekick, suitable for dating in his own right. The profile? That was all Festerhaven. Nate spun his personality in a way he hoped would attract a Stanford-rated ten, AAA, five-star perfect woman. Then all he had to do was convince the principal to go with a bird in the bush instead of the fiancée in his hand. It was dangerous territory. If it blew up in his face, there could be hell to pay. If Festerhaven behaved the way he should, and couldn’t be tempted, then Nate would give him due credit and walk away without another word.

  He let his imagination run to shape Vintage Rascal. Even though it was supposed to be Nate’s profile, everything was in the mold of Festerhaven. Unreliable mood swings were now part of FesterPrinceCharming’s interesting character. He wasn’t competitive to a fault, just driven to succeed. He wasn’t self-centered, but seldom let others distract him from achieving his goal. He wasn’t oversexed—he was intensely romantic.

  It was so much fiction, the kind of bullshit Nate wrote so beautifully, and he was so engrossed in typing, deleting and editing, he barely heard the first raps on his bedroom door. He lowered the screen on his laptop like a teenager hiding an Internet porn site from view. Shaking loose of such a knee-jerk guilty reflex was hard when you lived with your parents no matter your age. He waved his father into the room.

  Charlie cocked his head, chewed on his upper lip and scratched a spot behind his right ear. He gave Nate a low grunt.

  “We need to have a little talk.”

  Nate nodded. “Sure.”

  “Your mother thought this would be a good idea.”

  “Okay. I won’t blame you. Go on.”

  “Your mother’s a bit concerned about you dating again now.”

  “I don’t know why. It was her idea.”

  “I mean, she’s happy about it, of course, but she thinks we need to get a few things out in the open, in case you find yourself in a situation that, well, that you’re not quite ready for. ’Cause when a boy and a girl, a man and a woman get together, things happen.”

  Nate turned from the desk, knocking a stack of essay papers to the floor, and sat up wide-eyed. “You mean sex?” He laughed so hard he started choking.

  “You’re not making this any easier.”

  Nate wiped a tear from his eye. If nothing good came out of his return home and the remainder of the school year to come, this one moment was worth it. “I can’t help it. Don’t you think I’m a little old for the birds and the bees talk? You missed out on that a long, long time ago.”

  “Do you mind? Let me finish. I’ve got things to do.”

  Nate apologized again.

  “Look, sooner or later you’re going to be alone with a girl and you’re going to want to do it. You know what I’m talking about. We’ve all been there. But it isn’t anything to be afraid of, not really. I want you to know how to handle it when the time comes. You can avoid a lot of embarrassment if you know what to do and do it right. Understand?”

  So that was the point of The Big Talk. It was the Trojan Talk. Condoms. V.D. and all manners of The Clap. Oh, poor Charlie, Nate thought.

  “I… Oh, hell. Here.”

  His father pulled a folded brochure from his back pocket and flipped it onto the bed. It landed upside down in front of Nate. “I want you to read that. And then if you have any questions, you can come to me and your mom. We’ll answer them for you, okay?”

  Nate bottled up his laughter until after Charlie shuffled from the bedroom and closed the door with a definitive thump. He was touched as much as he was amused to think his parents were so concerned about his sex life. He kept chuckling right up to the point he took the brochure and opened it.

  Viagra. The little blue pill for erectile dysfunction.

  Get a free trial today.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Scourge of the Vintage Rascal

  It only took one look at Nicolette DuBois—a.k.a. Foxy Banker on WinkConnection.com—and Nate knew it was love at first sight. Just the sound of her name as it rolled off his tongue set his imagination soaring. It was a name right out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. If Nicolette was half as good-looking as her profile picture, well, he couldn’t wait to see her in person.

  He loved the way she’d posed; a sharp navy business suit, arms crossed in a self-confident but casual way, with half-frame glasses perched at the tip of her nose and a pirate’s smile. Nicolette had straight hair the color of light honey cut in a bob that was longer on her right side, and she winked at Nate from the computer screen, suggesting she would be all business in the boardroom with generous benefits in bed. Her online name was Foxy Banker because she managed a midtown Bank of America branch. Most of all, she was going to walk in the door any minute.

  Tall, forty-five, divorced with no kids, Nicolette was a doer. She was still athletic after being an all-star hitter on the University of Santa Cruz volleyball team. Go Banana Slugs! She loved to sail the bay after getting a modest-sized sailboat in a major-sized divorce settlement from her dot-commer husband. She renamed it My Husband’s Dowry. She had a yellow lab named Bonkers, and she loved to flirt in an unapologetic yet eloquent way. He prayed Festerhaven was going to love her. It was tricky setting up someone with a blind date when they had no clue they were being set up.

 
; “I sure hope this one works out,” Festerhaven said. “What are you? Oh-for-four now? Not even a second date.” They sat on stools at a tall table inside the Almaden Lodge Bar. The fireplace was crackling even though the day had been mild. Nate tried to avoid the accusing gaze of the deer head mounted on the wall. Lanterns, antique snowshoes and poles dressed the pine walls. It was a yuppie ski lodge in the heart of the city.

  “I have good vibes about this one,” Nate replied. No way in hell he was going to tell FesterFace he had given a tryout to three other women who missed the first cut before suggesting that he join Nate to meet an online date. The worst was Samantha. She admitted her profile picture was a bit dated—Nate guessed by about fifteen years. Her hair was mostly platinum on one side, Julie-dark on the other, and she had a voice that was nasal and menacing. She could very well be a Disney cartoon villain. What in the world was Stanford thinking? He had plugged in all the traits that made him love Julie, and it had spit out Cruella de Vil, without the 101 Dalmatians.

  So over the weeks he refined his search for Festerhaven’s soul mate by siphoning information from him a few drips at a time and tweaking the profile. He tried to avoid being obvious while he learned about his taste in music, politics, books, movies, food and what he did in his downtime that didn’t involve sports, his background and family and philosophy on life. Nate added every tidbit to the Stanford matchmaking program, or the VLM—Virtual Love Machine—as Nate had come to think of it. He spun it all into the Wink profile, improving it with every pass, to the point that he could see himself falling in love with the rascal if either of them had been the opposite sex. He was most interested in what FesterRascal wanted in his perfect mate. She was nothing like Julie.

  Beyoncé’s body. Greta Van Susteren’s brain. Sara Palin’s politics. Oprah’s money and Betty White’s sense of humor.

  “Betty White?”

  “Just got a soft spot in my heart for The Golden Girls. What can I say?”

  It was a damned tall order, but Nate added the details as he mined them over the weeks and began arranging dates. Then, ping! He found Foxy Banker and they hit it off. Just as he had for Seth, he exchanged notes and winks with Nicolette, using Festerhaven’s personality traits to woo the lady.

  Festerhaven was surprisingly eager when he talked him into coming along on dates as his wingman in a mission to find Miss Right. Nate told him he wanted backup, a way to avoid being stuck alone with a loser, or an expert opinion to validate his good fortune before discreetly disappearing for the remainder of the night.

  “I think you’re setting the bar too high,” Festerhaven said as he sipped scotch. “The first two were definite losers, but the last couple of gals? I’d have been all over them if it had been me. Like Stacey, the hot nurse, on that last date? I got along with her great.”

  Well, duh. That’s the point, doofus! The fix was in, and while Nate worried that he might wise up, FesterEgo was too full of himself to see that he had much more in common with each date than Nate. If Foxy Banker was the one, all he had to do was step back and let Stanford’s cupid algorithms take over. Stanford gave her a whopping nine-point-one. To Nate’s way of thinking, that was soul-mate territory.

  “The problem,” Festerhaven said, “is you’re out of your league. None of them seem like your type.”

  “Really? And what is my type?”

  Festerhaven squinted at the ceiling of the bar. “I’d say a librarian. These gals you’re shooting for, they’d break you down. Me? I could take them on and savor the challenge. Yeah, naughty and not too bright.”

  “Then help me out, here. That’s not at all like Julie. I still don’t see what you see in her.”

  “Low maintenance. I come and go as I please. She’s fun enough. And there are times when being on autopilot with someone isn’t so bad. Maybe you don’t want to meatloaf every night, but they don’t call it comfort food for nothing.” It was a cringe-worthy answer, but Nate thought it was par for the course. Maybe he should get it over with and rat out Festerhaven come hell or highwater.

  “But you said your ideal woman would be kid-free. That’s not Julie.”

  “Ah, but you see, the daughter took care of that problem, didn’t she? Moving to live with the cows, the gophers and rednecks in Texas. And what is it with you anyway?”

  “Huh?” Nate could almost hear the trophy deer head on the wall clicking its tongue at him. Maybe they should move to that table on the other side of the room.

  “You’re likable on most days, but when you get out on these dates, you turn into a schlump. If you were my wingman instead of the other way around, I’d be getting second dates every time. And from there, who knows?”

  Have another drink. Festerhaven was talking fast and loose tonight, more than Nate had ever seen before, and just delivered a big fat pitch that Nate couldn’t resist. “You’re crazy. So even if you were available, even if we remove Julie from the conversation,” and Jules was never far from Nate’s consideration, “they wouldn’t look twice at you if I wanted to turn on the charm.”

  “Bet?” Festerhaven straightened his shoulders. “Twenty bucks.” It had fallen into his lap; FesterChump couldn’t resist the competition.

  “You’re going to lose this bet,” Nate said. “But let’s say for the sake of argument that you get a date with this Foxy Banker chick. Promise me you’ll take the money but keep your pecker in your pocket.”

  “What do you care?”

  Nate didn’t see anything but curiosity in his face. “I don’t. Not really. But it wouldn’t be fair to Julie. I mean, we go back a long way, and unless you’re thinking about breaking things off with her, play fair. You guys are getting married.”

  “But we’re not there yet.”

  He had that right. It was a smidge of comfort Nate could use to rationalize what he was doing. This could be his last chance to keep them from reaching that point. When Festerhaven saw Nate scowling at him, he crossed his heart, held up two fingers in the Boy Scout sign of honor, hooked his pinky around Nate’s and shook. He did everything except pull out a knife, slice their palms and press their wounds together in a pledge to be blood brothers. “Promise. You can even come along to chaperone.”

  Then Nicolette DuBois walked in. Festerhaven’s head wasn’t the only one in the room she turned. A full-figured short blond with hair down to her waist followed her. Nicolette’s wingman, or wing-woman. He watched FesterFox study Nicolette like a connoisseur admires a fine car. She was a classic Porsche in a room full of minivans.

  “If I don’t get a phone number, I will be sorely disappointed, Evans,” he hissed.

  Her friend was Mary. She had a round face, deep dimples and a pleasant smile, cute enough to hold her own, but side-by-side, she was like an accessory that made Nicolette shine. If the good researchers at Stanford had any say in the matter, his “wingman” would fit Nicolette to a T. So he let Festerhaven have the first shot and offer them stools at the high table, pull his own next to her so that Nate was the odd man out next to Mary.

  He had his role as the typical socially inept but lovable sidekick who fades into the background of the audience’s mind as the hero puts moves on his mark. He even rehearsed it several times. He was taking Woody’s advice to go all Guido and eliminate his competition for Julie’s love, only in a way that didn’t involve breaking kneecaps or cement shoes. The plan was simple even if pulling it off with little or no spilled blood would require the dexterity of a cat juggler. He had found Festerhaven a better match than Julie. Someone he would live happily ever after with if he could only get him to fall hard for Nicolette. He had already written the kind of things he planned to tell Julie when Festerhaven broke off their engagement.

  Damn. There was a stuffed squirrel on the ledge above the bar. He held a large walnut in his paws and stared down at Nate with a tilted head, disapproving and disappointed in him. If Festerhaven played fair and let Julie down easy, Nate was going to be there to help pick up the pieces. Score one for Nate the White
Knight.

  The small talk was amazing to everyone but Nate. What a coincidence. Nicolette and Festerhaven had so much in common. Business professional? Check. Age within an acceptable window? Check. Athletic? Check. And the coup de grâce? She had season tickets to the 49ers.

  Yep. These two were meant for one another.

  Nate’s attention returned to the table just as she grinned at Festerhaven and reached across to give him a fist bump. Festerhaven’s gaze lingered on her before he pulled his eyes away from the cleavage Nicolette exposed as her silk blouse fell away from her neckline. Festerhaven offered to buy any extra ticket for a home game that she might have to unload. Nate watched her watch Festerhaven’s glance dip and dawdle. Score one for the Foxy Banker.

  “So what do you do, Mary, when you’re not hanging out with rascals like us?” Nate asked.

  “I’m a librarian.” Of course.

  And for fun?

  “I like to read,” Mary answered.

  “What a coincidence, he likes to write,” FesterSpoiler said and redirected the conversation by pointing in Nate’s direction.

  “That sounds…creative.” Mary moved closer.

  Nicolette pointed from one to the other. “He’s a creative type, which I never would have guessed based on Nate’s Wink Connection profile. He came across as fun, but in a button-down kind of way. Here we are for our first official Wink-and-Wine, and it turns out you’re the buttoned-down guy, loosely speaking. Totally opposite of what I expected.”

  “Not so buttoned-down. I’d love to see your boat,” Festerhaven told her. “Sailing the bay, that sounds like my kind of water sport. I’ve dreamed of having something small myself, but everybody says yachts can be a lot of work, and who has time when you’re responsible for the future of thousands and thousands of kids?” The dork actually sighed. It was exaggerated but effective.

  Nicolette, Mary and Matchmaker Nate gave Festerhaven a verbal hug. “Aww.”