by Laurie Graff
* * *
“Here’s a switch,” said Jane. “YouthToUseYa. ‘I am really a twenty-five-year-old guy but advertise as forty-five to attract and develop a sexual relationship with a woman in her forties who knows her body and herself. I am a monogamous and sensual lover.’ Hmm... What did you think, Kar?” she asked, having a younger, but not that much younger, younger husband.
“If the answer to where were you when John Lennon was shot is a fetus, it’s not likely,” I said. A twenty-year age difference in any direction had never worked for me. In my twenties when I met men in their forties who liked me just for that, I always felt a little sorry for them.
“So did you actually meet anyone?” asked Brooke.
“Well, two,” I said. “Almost.”
“And?”
“TexasTed, Soho software salesman. Said he had gals chasin’ him like a runaway coyote. We had three dates and one kiss that got cut short after I ran my fingers through his hair and found them glued together! It was a rug. It was embarrassing. It was also sad, because Ted had fallen in love.”
“With you?” asked Brooke.
“With Charlie. He wasn’t into me, but he did want to spend a weekend with my dog. Offered to pick him up and take him round-trip in a cab. Said he’d bring him to Washington Square Park, a few outdoor cafes and then walk him around the city.”
“Nice. Sounds more romantic than the dates you had,” said Fred.
“Who was the almost?” asked Jane.
“Page twenty-two. I’ll read me and Fred you can be—”
“PingPongPoet?” he yelped.
“The back story is that we were supposed to meet at 7:30 and I left him a message at 7:25 on his cell to tell him I was running ten minutes late.”
“How’s this?” asked Fred, changing his voice so PingPongPoet sounded like a nerd in drag.
PingPongPoet: hi
BlueEyes325: Hi.
PingPongPoet: looks like we missed each other last night
BlueEyes325: Seems so.
PingPongPoet: i guess you got there around 8?
BlueEyes325: No!
PingPongPoet: when?
BlueEyes325: My cell phone said 7:47, but it was 7:53 when I called you for the second time. I looked around a few minutes before calling. I had told you if I couldn’t find you I would call, so it was surprising that not only didn’t you have your phone on, you didn’t even leave me a message to tell me you had left when you knew I was on my way.
PingPongPoet: it was on
BlueEyes325: Was it broken?
PingPongPoet: no. the signal didn’t get through
BlueEyes325: But you got my messages?
PingPongPoet: yes
BlueEyes325: And there was no thought to leave a message back for me? Since you heard from me but I never heard from you until just now, it’s my assumption you were a no-show.
PingPongPoet: i was there early and stayed till 7:50
BlueEyes325: That’s doubtful.
PingPongPoet1: what were you late?
BlueEyes325: I don’t understand the question.
PingPongPoet1: why were you late
BlueEyes325: Does it matter since I called to tell you I was on my way?
PingPongPoet: since we are talking about this...there are 2 sides...
BlueEyes325: There always are. So what went on from yours?
PingPongPoet: one is that you were late and one is that I didn’t wait
PingPongPoet: long enough
PingPongPoet: so
BlueEyes325: I didn’t leave you wondering. I called you. Twice. Yes, I was a little later than I said I’d be. The place was pretty far west and it took longer to walk from the subway.
PingPongPoet: you did leave me wondering
BlueEues325: About...?
PingPongPoet: how long for a blind date should a person wait?
PingPongPoet: you could have showed up in an hour.
BlueEyes325: You put yourself in that position by not answering your phone and not giving me any benefit of the doubt. I called and said I was on my way. I would wait half an hour without a call, with one I would know the person was showing up. You had two calls within half an hour. You just weren’t there, were you?
PingPongPoet: you claimed it would be ten minutes late and it could have been an hour.
BlueEyes325: You know what—we’re actually not talking about this at all. I hope your poetry has more insight and depth than this conversation. It’s a waste of my time.
PingPongPoet: right...you waisted my time enough already
BlueEyes325: Good thing we didn’t meet, it would have been a bigger waste of even more. See ya!
PingPongPoet: not likely
* * *
“How romantic,” said Brooke. “He’s horrible.”
“Ten minutes late, fifteen...I’ve dated men who showed up a week later...when I was lucky,” said Fred, as himself, jolted out of character.
“Can you imagine sitting through one of his poetry readings?” asked Brooke. “There’s a night out for someone you’d really want to get back at.”
“What’s with the grammar? That’s telling in itself,” said Jane. “What’s PingPongPoet?”
“His two favorite hobbies,” I said.
“Oh, brother,” said Brooke.
“I actually liked that,” I admitted. “I love Ping-Pong and the poetry thing sounded sensitive and creative for a guy in real estate.”
“His sister probably told him to do that,” said Fred. “He could have been DiverDouchebag, or SkiShmuck, but his sister must have told him that PingPongPoet would get him more dates.”
“More dates to ditch. He was a no-show. He was probably double-booked. Down the block on another J-Spot and if he didn’t like her he’d have left to meet me. I’m lucky I didn’t have to deal with him, but this whole online business is just dreadful, and one big dreadful waste of time.”
“Maybe you’re just culling more material, Little Lulu!” said Fred.
“Who’s Little Lulu?” asked Brooke.
“Remember I told you about the solo show Fred thinks I should do using all my facockta dating stories that have been breaking my heart?”
“Except that it’s not broken, Karrie. It’s still beating, and they’re good stories. Besides, Lulu is the perpetrator, not the victim,” Fred reminded.
“Well, I don’t necessarily think that’s been true,” I said.
“Oh, I know who you mean!” Jane said raising her arm with such enthusiasm the long-sleeved satiny shirt dipped itself into the salsa. “Darn it! If I don’t have Eve spitting up on me I do it myself.’”
“I still don’t get it,” said Brooke.
“Those plays...that German playwright...what’s his name, again?” asked Jane as she reached into her bag and pulled out her cell.
“Wedekind,” said Fred.
“I’m impressed,” said Brooke. “You want me to get you some club soda?” she asked Jane, handing her a napkin.
“I’m impressed I can remember anything above toddler age these days. Dry cleaners tomorrow,” Jane spoke into her cell, leaving a memo on her answering machine without missing a beat as the conversation moved on.
“The Lulu Plays were a series where Lulu was a protagonist that broke her lovers’ hearts. The original femme fatale,” said Fred.
“Right,” I said. “That’s me!”
“But this seemed to hold your interest,” said Jane, pointing to the handout. “You had enough concentration, and desire I may add, to create a cast of characters and edit this little script with the PingPongPutz. Imagine if you turned that energy into Lulu.”
Everyone liked Jane’s remark. I could tell, because they all turned their heads to acknowledge Jane for the good comment before turning back to see what I’d say next. But I was grateful the moment was intercepted when Ryan, MTW’s artistic director, came over and joined us. His wild red hair was held together with a ponytail holder. Ryan, himself, was a holdover from the seven
ties.
“Great show, Freddy,” he said, crouching down to join our circle. “Love that piece. You were great, man. Funny shit, Grennon.” Eloquence wasn’t his strength, but on the overall he had pretty good taste.
“Thanks,” said Fred, simply and humbly. For all Fred’s camp, when it came to his work he was a dedicated actor who appreciated being taken seriously. “Meet the friends, Brooke Morgan and Jane Murphy.” Both women extended their hands to Ryan for a quick shake hello.
“I know both of you,” he said, eyeing my two beautiful women friends. “Those were very cool commercials you did, especially for a middle-American department store,” he told Brooke, leaning in when he spoke. “Always wanted to meet the girl behind that big Spheres smile.”
“How nice of you,” said Brooke, deliberately brushing her blond bang off her face with her left hand while she spoke, allowing the dazzle of her diamond to dampen Ryan’s hope. It did the trick, and Ryan turned his attention to Jane.
“And whatever happened to you on One Breath to Take? One episode you were having Casey’s baby, the next time I tuned in the baby was behind bars for attempted murder of his mother. But he never went to trial and your body has yet to be found.”
“Ryan, you think you have a little too much time on your hands during the day?” I said, not that I had a right to talk with All My Problems!
“Oh, yes, the world of daytime dilemmas,” said Jane. “It got weird but my husband and I had a baby, I mean in real life, so it didn’t really matter.”
“Cool,” said Ryan, turning to me to chat after striking out with both of my friends, having struck out with me a few years earlier. “Bummer about Tummy,” he told me, “but for sure we’ve got you doing the one-act fest in the spring. Putting it together now.” Ryan stood to leave. “Okay, everyone, ciao! Karrie, I’ll call you.” And he was off.
I immediately got up.
“You’re going to tell him you can’t do the one-acts because you’re going to do your own show?” asked Fred.
“I’m going to get more food. Anyone want anything?”
“We want whatever you want, dahling,” said Jane.
And I wanted one person, not a one-person show.
I had to get away from everyone. I could feel their eager eyes upon me. Take the initiative. Grab the bull by the horn. Like this was the ticket. If I had to stand alone in front of an audience dragging my dating stories through the muddy water it was going to feel like I had drowned.
People think being an actress is vulnerable, but you are just the vessel to give life to a character in a story of someone else’s creation. Besides, if you didn’t get the part someone else would. But they wanted me to stand alone on a stage and talk about how I was alone. Talk about vulnerability. It was one thing to do a show about not having a guy if, in real life, you really had one. I not only didn’t have a guy, I didn’t have an acting job either. I knew that was exactly why they wanted me to do the show, but it was also why I didn’t want to do it.
My head felt like it would burst by the time I got home. My anxiety level was climbing. I needed something great to happen. Preferably before I went to sleep. It was twelve-thirty in the morning. From what I could see, there were no auditions in my apartment. I was tired but I couldn’t go to bed. I looked over to the computer.
Oh no. Not now, I thought. It was too late to start with that now. But as bad it was, it was always something. A constant merry-go-round of men, and every time I thought I’d get off another ride was about to begin. I turned on my PC to reenter the Dating Olympics where I had finished last in the Online Competition.
Was I destined to arrive at my romantic future via a link online, or had destiny already gone ahead and enlarged someone’s photo for the big picture? Forty days before a male child was conceived was an announcement of who he was to marry still made, or did someone in heaven just send out an e-mail?
My J-Spot mailbox was filled with three new messages. One from a man whom I would never write back, a second from a man I had not written back and a third. Three’s the charm, they always say. I clicked to open the mail and hoped they were right.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: CONGRATULATIONS: You Hit The Right Spot!
Hi BlueEyes,
Finding myself in my law office working, again, last Sunday I thought it time I got a life.
I am new to dating in cyberspace and while I am finding the whole thing a bit daunting, after seeing your profile I thought maybe I should come here more often!
I’m sure you have many online admirers, but I hope after reading about me we can get in touch and be off.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
Beyond
* * *
As I waited for Beyond’s profile to appear I felt surprised, again, to feel hopeful. The feeling was so nice I only hoped it would not be lost to disappointment in a matter of seconds, and that Beyond would not be beyond my approach.
There he was. A personal injury lawyer who lived on the Upper East Side, divorced, no children, athletic. Loved ethnic food, nature, theater and film and smart, funny women. With dark brown curls at the bottom of a hairline that receded, he wore glasses and seemed smart, like his well-written, witty essays. I didn’t have any hunch of what it would be, but, finally, I had a desire to find out.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: CONGRATULATIONS: You Hit The Right Spot!
Hi there, Beyond!
You have a nice writing style...a definite plus in the world of cyber-dating. And I liked your pictures, too!
Yes, I have an overflow of pursuers, but look forward to just one putting that to a much happier ending.
Write back.
BlueEyes
* * *
After my commercial audition the next day—it was for a new cable company that coaxed you into choosing them by keeping their customers locked in a bullpen in order to prove their rates would not go up—I skipped my workout to rush home to see if Beyond was within my reach.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: CONGRATULATIONS: You Hit The Right Spot!
The Enigmatic BlueEyes,
What will I find beyond those baby blues? I have yet to meet a woman online who has confessed to a bevy of pursuers. Am I probing? I do mean to...you have stirred my imagination.
By the way, I’m Edward Smith. What is your name? Are you comfortable corresponding through your personal e-mail address? If so, I will enclose mine.
Beyond
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: J-Spot
Hi Edward,
As the agent in Tootsie says, “I field offers!” And though I do receive my share of mail, it’s not as much fun as you may think.
While we are both e-intrigued, in-person chemistry is a whole new ball game.
Don’t you agree?
Karrie Kline
PS—Are you, perchance, related to my childhood friend Rachel Smith?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: J-Spot
The Intriguing Ms. Kline,
I think you are lovely, Karrie, and most likely out of my league, but may I call you? You will have to give me your number in order for me to do that...if, of course, you are willing.
Edward
PSS—My grandfather came over from Russia and had lost his birth certificate on the boat. When he arrived at Ellis Island he asked for an American name, hence Smith. But please send Rachel warm regards.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: J-Spot
212-555-4321
* * *
I enjoyed waiting for Edward to call, knowing as I did that it would not be a very long wait.
Nine
Altho
ugh frogs love rain, a factor that stimulates the frog to mate and to breed, torrential downpours should be avoided.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Rain
Turns out I’m not going to get home to change and so I’ll be wearing my lawyer costume, though as I said you shouldn’t hesitate to go as casual as you like.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Rain
Do you think it will stop raining before our date? If not, can we pretend it’s sunny?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Rain
Karrie, I’m certain your smile will provide all the light and warmth I’ll need.
On a less gooey note, I expect the company and the food to be quite good—the restaurant has the highest Zagat rating of Turkish cuisine in the city. However, based on Turkey’s past behavior they might serve us but make us sit in the restaurant next door!
I hate to be cliché, but I can’t resist, so here goes. How will I know you? What will you be wearing?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Rain
I’m not sure. I was going to wear a linen skirt and pumps, but due to the storm I may need to change. Needless to say this is probably TMI...Too Much Information.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Rain
What exactly are pumps while we’re on the subject? I’ve never really understood what sort of shoes qualify as pumps, or where the term comes from. Would it be too much to ask you to come to dinner able to explain that to me?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Rain
Rest assured, I will come prepared!
* * *
Dressed in a silk blouse, plaid pants, black boots, a trench coat and a black beret, I hailed a cab to take me uptown. I enclosed a folded umbrella and folded a printout into my bag about the history of women’s footwear that illustrated dozens of styles, taking in all the possibilities. Doing the same, I rode up Broadway ready to meet my match.