The Oracle Rebounds

by Allison van Diepen

  “I don’t have an answer. Did you tell him you saw it?”

  “No. If I tell him I looked at his profile, he’ll think I was checking up on him.”

  “Maybe he’s curious to see what’s out there, but isn’t acting on it. Wait a minute—how long did you say he’s been on there?”

  “He didn’t say, but it sounded like at least a year.”

  “So this isn’t all new to him.”

  “No. And last week we had this conversation about dating other people and he said he’s happy with where we are right now! What should I do?”

  “I’ll be honest with you, Trace. I think your intuition is right about this.”

  She sighs. “I know I’m right. It’s just—I thought he really liked me.”

  “I’m sure he does like you. But he likes other people, too.”

  “Oh, God. This is a nightmare.”

  “It’s not a nightmare. You haven’t slept with him yet, have you?”

  She is silent.

  “Oh. I hope you were careful.”

  “Of course I was careful! Damn it, I want to cry! What the hell is he playing me for? Why would he talk about plans for our future together, and then go and change his picture!”

  “I’ll find out if he’s playing you. I’m going to create a profile that no guy can turn down and see whether he responds.”

  “That’s a bit underhanded.” Tracey sounds reluctant.

  “So what? You want to know the truth, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I guess I do.”

  I log on and create my profile. I make myself a twenty-five-year-old lawyer and model. I post pictures of an obscure model named Amber. There is no doubt that any guy would jump at this profile.

  I find Iced Mocha’s profile and send him a “smile.” This doesn’t cost me any money. Now I’ll wait to see what happens.

  Within minutes, I’m getting instant messages from random guys. I don’t reply to any of them.

  Iced Mocha sends a “smile” back. And suddenly, bling! An instant message.

  IcedMocha: Hi there, Amber. Your profile and pics blew me away. Are you for real?

  I take a couple of minutes to reply. I want to keep him waiting.

  Amber: I’m wondering the same about you. Entertainment lawyer? Went to Brown? So if you’re really who you say you are, what firm do you work for?

  IcedMocha: Douglas and MacKay. My name is James Dawson. You can call up the firm and ask for me, if you want.

  Amber: Sorry if I’m not as generous with my info. My friends have warned me that you can’t always trust guys you meet this way.

  IcedMocha: Your friends are wise. I wouldn’t expect you to divulge any personal information until you’ve met me in person.

  Amber: Are you saying you want to meet?

  IcedMocha: I am. What about Tuesday night around 8? Name the place and time and I’ll be there.

  Amber: Thank you, Mocha. I’ll think about it.

  IcedMocha: Please do. Good night, Amber.

  Amber: Good night.

  I log off. There it is: the proof Tracey was afraid of.

  Poor Tracey. The first time she goes online, she runs into a master player.

  He’s smooth, that’s for sure.

  Well, I’m not finished with him yet!

  I send him an email.

  Hello, James,

  I’ve thought about your proposition, and I suppose I have nothing to lose, and possibly a new friend to gain. I will meet you Tuesday night at 8:00 p.m., as you suggested. There’s a new club on Bowery and First called the Onyx. Meet me at the bar. I’ll be coming from a meeting, so it’s possible I could be a few minutes late.

  Cheers,

  Amber

  I click Send. And with that click, I am sending James the player to the raunchiest gay bar in the city, complete with a live drag show starting at 8:00 p.m.

  My work here is done.

  Confused: Hi, Oracle. Are you there?

  Oracle: Yes, I’m here.

  Confused: I have a problem with my boyfriend. It’s so embarrassing I haven’t been able to tell anyone.

  Oracle: You can tell me. What’s the problem?

  Confused: I’ve been going out with this guy for a month. He’s totally amazing. I mean, he’s kind, cute and has really good grades. Honestly, Oracle, I think he might be the guy I’ve been waiting for. But there’s one problem. He has bad breath.

  Oracle: Does he have it all the time, or just sometimes?

  Confused: All the time. It makes me think it might be gum disease or plaque and that grosses me out. I don’t even want to get close to him.

  Oracle: Do you think he knows? Maybe his friends or family would have told him already?

  Confused: I doubt anyone’s told him, because he doesn’t seem to know it’s a problem.

  Oracle: Have you been offering him gum or breath mints?

  Something that might give him a hint?

  Confused: He doesn’t get it. He only takes the mints half the time I offer them.

  Oracle: Do you know if he sees a dentist?

  Confused: I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it. Oracle, I’m so messed up right now. I really care about this guy, but I don’t know how long I can put up with his breath!

  Oracle: The man of your dreams won’t have bad breath. So either this guy will fix his, or you’ll find somebody else. If you really like this guy, I think you should broach the topic. I know it’s the last thing you want to do, but you’ll be doing both of you a favor. Sure, he’ll be embarrassed, but in the end he’ll benefit from your honesty. Then he will either do something about it or not. If he doesn’t, then you know he’s not the guy for you.

  Confused: You’re right. I have to tell him. How do I do that?

  Oracle: You could try something like, “Your breath’s been a little off these days. Have you changed your diet?” If he says no, you can say, “Really? I wonder what it is then. Maybe you should have it checked out.”

  Confused: Oracle, I don’t know if I can do that. He’s very sensitive and he’ll probably get upset.

  Oracle: The alternative is to send him an email.

  Confused: I can see doing that. I’ll do it right now before I chicken out.

  Oracle: Good luck.

  Confused: Thanks, Oracle. You ROCK!

  The following Tuesday night, Amber gets an email from Iced Mocha.

  You set me up, you bitch! That place was disgusting. I’m going to post a warning to all the guys to stay away from you. I bet you’re butt ugly and hate men. Probably because they all hate you!

  I promptly erase Amber’s profile, and just like that, I drop off the site.

  I’m glad that Mocha got a shock, but I still don’t feel like Tracey’s been vindicated. The only good thing that came out of this is that she could jump ship before she became even more involved.

  “I think you should keep looking online,” I tell Tracey the next evening when I visit her apartment, armed with pastries and soy decaf lattes. “Sure, you snagged a loser the first time around, but I’ve looked through a lot of profiles, and there seem to be some genuine guys out there.”

  “Seem to be.” Tracey sips her latte. “Maybe I’m a poor judge of character. Before I meet someone else, I’ll show you their profile.”

  “It’s not your fault, Trace. Mocha’s profile was perfect, especially the part about looking for a long-term relationship with the right woman. The guy’s a classic con man.”

  “I don’t understand guys like that. I’m glad he got manipulated for a change. Good job, sis.”

  We exchange a grin.

  Later, as I’m riding the subway home, I’m wondering how many guys Tracey will have to date before she finds Mr. Right. I suppose that the more she dates, the higher her chance of finding the one for her. I feel a blog brewing. When I get in the door, I run upstairs to my room.

  The More Dates, the Merrier?

  Is the person who goes on fifty dates a year closer to meeting “the on
e” than the person who goes on five? Many singles believe that the answer is yes. The more bets they have on the table, the more likely they are to win.

  Statistically, the Oracle agrees. And yet how can so many people be going on so many dates that are all misses?

  Perhaps it’s the thought that goes into placing the chips on the table that matters. Perhaps two or three well-placed bets are more effective than fifty random ones.

  But how do you place those bets and win?

  That’s the million-dollar question.

  The Oracle wants to know what you think. Which option best describes your philosophy of dating?

  1. The more dates, the better. You’ve got to put yourself out there.

  2. It’s quality not quantity. You shouldn’t have to date a lot to find the one you’re looking for. It’s all about how well you choose who to date.

  I post the poll online, and within two days, I can see that the results are fairly split: sixty percent for number one, forty percent for number two. To me, these results aren’t conclusive.

  Perhaps it’s simply a combination of the two—dating often, and choosing wisely.

  When I hear about the house party on Saturday night, I’m a little reluctant to go. My last house party is one experience I’d like to forget. But, hey, am I going to let that stop me from having a good time? I wouldn’t give Greg the satisfaction.

  Viv is willing to go but, at the last minute, backs out when Sandeep calls her “in crisis.” I take the bus with Amy and Ryan. Sharese is going to meet us there with Zink. Normally Chad would be with us, but he’s on a week-long soccer tour in upstate New York. Amy doesn’t mind. Her primary concern is getting ahold of some alcohol and getting the party started.

  “That’s all you brought?” Amy complains when Ryan reveals the bottle of rye he swiped from his parents’ liquor cabinet. “Didn’t they have a bigger bottle than that? That won’t go far between three people.”

  “This was all I could get. If it’s not enough, you can bum stuff off someone else. I’m sure that won’t be hard.”

  “You’re right…it won’t be.” Amy bats her eyelashes.

  “I won’t be having any,” I say.

  Amy frowns. “Why not?”

  “Don’t feel like it.”

  “Good, more for me!”

  When we get to the party, it’s just after ten. The venue, a Ditmas Avenue town house, has wall-to-wall carpeting and wall-to-wall sweaty bodies. I don’t mind, because I hate walking into parties when there’s hardly anybody there.

  We head straight for the kitchen, where Ryan makes rye and Cokes in plastic cups. I help myself to some O.J. from the fridge. Then we go to the den and squish in with everyone. The music is so loud we can barely talk, but it doesn’t matter because I’m enjoying the eye candy walking by.

  I spot Sharese looking for us and wave her over. “Where’s Zink?”

  “Something came up…a family thing.”

  I can tell she’s lying. Did they have a fight? Whatever it is, she’s not volunteering any information.

  Ryan and Amy don’t seem to notice that anything is wrong. We’re joined by a couple of jocks Amy has attracted. Both are cute and charming and remind me of that loser, Greg, so I keep my distance.

  I discreetly ask Sharese, “Are you okay? Want to find some place to talk?”

  She nods. I follow her into the kitchen, where she pushes some empty beer bottles aside and sits on the counter.

  “Did you have a fight with Zink?”

  “I wish. I did a terrible thing.”

  “What?”

  “I told him I was staying home tonight. I hate lying, but I can’t stand the thought of hanging around with him. I’ve been trying to give him a chance, focus on all the good qualities he has. But I’m not interested in him. I don’t even like him.”

  “That’s not a crime. I guess you’ll have to find a way to break it to him.”

  “How can I do that? I’m the only girlfriend he’s ever had and he’s totally in love with me. The whole church thinks we’re the perfect couple!”

  At that moment, Ryan walks into the kitchen. “Why’d you guys take off on me like that?” He looks at each of us. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m upset because I’m not feeling anything for Zink…except irritation,” Sharese says.

  I nod. “She has to break up with him.”

  Ryan is in shock. “You can’t break up with transplant boy!”

  “I want to, but whenever I try, he goes on about how much he loves me. And then he says he’s scared his medication will stop working and his body will reject his heart.”

  “That’s outright manipulation!” I say. “He can’t guilt you into staying with him!”

  “That’s exactly what he’s been doing. And I’ve let him get away with it.”

  “Give the guy a break,” Ryan says. “You can’t blame him for wanting to hang on to what he has. He’s come so close to losing everything in the past.”

  I glare at him. “You’re just making her feel worse.”

  Sharese turns to me. “See? Everyone thinks I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him. The problem is, I find him more annoying every day!”

  “Maybe there’s a way to get him to dump you,” Ryan suggests.

  “I’ve already tried that. Sometimes I’m a total bitch to him. But he doesn’t seem to care. He’s just happy to be with me.”

  “You’re not doing him any favors if you stay with him out of pity,” I say.

  “I think he’s happy to accept my pity.”

  “Okay, maybe he is, but you have to free yourself from him. It’s not emotionally healthy.”

  “You sound like Oprah,” Ryan says.

  Or the Oracle, I don’t say.

  “I guess the longer I wait,” Sharese admits, “the worse it’ll be when I finally break up with him.”

  “Exactly. I know it’s hard, but it’s the right thing to do.” I give her a hug.

  “Where’s Viv, anyway?” she asks. “She told me she was coming.”

  “One word,” Ryan replies, “Sandeep.”

  “She said he called her really upset about something,” I tell Sharese. “She thought she’d better see him.”

  “Are you serious? He always does that to her. What a drama king. He’s as bad as Zink!”

  “Zink only has one girlfriend, as far as we know,” Ryan says. “I thought Sandeep promised to break up with that girl by now. Didn’t the sister’s wedding already happen?”

  I shrug. “It’s been more than a month. Viv hasn’t said any more about it, and I didn’t want to put her on the spot.”

  “If this goes on much longer, we may have to do an intervention,” Ryan says.

  The Oracle clicks awake. Relationship intervention, huh? I like that idea. If loved ones intervene for drug and alcohol problems, why not for bad relationships? I make a mental note to write a blog on it sometime.

  We go back into the den to chill. Amy is still drinking beer with one of the jocks.

  And Jared is sitting on the couch with Chelsea Yang.

  Our eyes meet. His are very blue and very surprised to see me here.

  My instincts scream retreat! and I back out of the room. Ryan and Sharese, seeing the situation, come with me to the basement, where a bunch of people are drinking and dancing.

  Sharese is beside herself with bitchiness. “What’s he doing here? He never goes to parties!”

  “But Chelsea does,” Ryan says.

  I guess he’d do anything for his new girlfriend. She obviously has more influence over him than I ever did.

  “It’s no big deal, guys. Let’s just dance.”

  They agree, though they seem surprised that I don’t want to engage in a bitch-fest. People are dancing in the cramped space between two couches and a TV. It’s dark and crowded, more a mosh pit than a dance floor. I don’t care. I go wild to the music.

  But my thoughts are chasing me. All of this talk about Sharese feeling
too guilty to dump Zink makes me wonder how long Jared wanted to dump me before he actually did. Was he unhappy for weeks, even months? When I told him I loved him, was he cringing inwardly?

  Damn it, somewhere along the line I stopped playing hard to get and made him the center of my life. That will never happen again. Sure, I will like a guy again. I will love again. But I will never let him know just how much I am devoted to him—unless we’re married, of course.

  We dance for a while, and manage to bum beers off a kid who is too drunk to care. I drink half a beer, get a little buzz going, and pass it off to Ryan. I know my limit.

  Eventually we’re all feeling tired, so Sharese calls her mom for a pick up.

  “Let’s find Amy,” Ryan says.

  We go back to the den, but Amy is nowhere to be found. Jared is still on the couch with Chelsea. I can tell he’s drunk. His eyes are glassy. For the first time, I don’t feel a rush of longing when I see him. He looks rather pitiful.

  I walk up to him. “Have you seen Amy?”

  “I think she went upstairs with that guy.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “They were making out pretty heavy,” Chelsea butts in, “so I told them to get a room.”

  “Why’d you do that?” Ryan demands. “She was drunk, and she has a boyfriend!”

  “Amy conveniently forgot about that,” Chelsea says. “She does what she wants to do, and it looks like she wants to do a lot.”

  We don’t bother to reply, and head upstairs to find her. I’ll knock on some bedroom doors if I have to.

  But in the end, we find Amy on the landing on Bill Cohen’s lap, giggling and stroking his face. She gives a big smile. “What’s up, guys?”

  “My mom’s coming to pick us up,” Sharese says. “That includes you.”