Kismetology

by Jaimie Admans

  Mum's favourite flowers are peonies, and after searching for way too long over something so minute, I have finally found a florist online that sells bunches of them. I tell him to stop by my house on his way to get Mum the next night and pick up the bunch I will have delivered during the day. This is a good guy, and he is not going to get away.

  She’ll be so impressed by the peonies that she’ll give him a chance.

  "Yes," she says when he drops her off on my doorstep later that night.

  I don’t believe it. Score!

  "Yes?"

  "Yes, yes, yes. Nick is great."

  Yes, yes, yes. Nick is great. I replay the words over in my head, just to make sure I’ve heard them correctly. "So you had a nice time?"

  "I had a great time. We went to Dine Dee-Vine, you know, my favourite restaurant, and then he took me to see a show, this thing with lots of ice skating, and it was just fantastic, and I’m seeing him again Saturday night."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  I still can’t believe my ears. A second date. An actual second date. And just forty-eight hours from now. A second date. I mean, I knew he was good, but even I wasn’t convinced he was that good. And I did briefly wonder if the peonies might have been overkill, but obviously my mother is just as shallow as I always thought she was. Even Dan is looking impressed.

  Mum is excited about Saturday night, but I think it’s safe to say that I am even more excited. What if this is it? What if Nick is The One? Well, The Second One anyway? I briefed Mum about Dan’s "being open to love the second time round" idea, but I think she thought I’d lost my mind. Maybe I have. I’m just really pleased that I have made a match. Me. I have created success.

  "We’re going to eat and see a ballet," Mum is saying on the phone. "What should I wear?"

  "Wear anything. He likes you, full stop. You don’t need to package yourself up and pretend to be something you’re not. Just go as you."

  "I just shrugged, Mac, but you can’t see me. We should get one of those video phones."

  Yes. So you can see me banging my head against a wall. Repeatedly.

  "It’s over," Mum says, arriving home from her date that evening. Yes, I’d been so excited about it that I’d agreed to babysit Baby. Or should that be Baby sit?

  "Over?" I ask, hoping to god and all in heaven that she is talking about the date and not the relationship. "The date is over, but you’ll see him again tomorrow, right?" I try hopefully.

  "No, he’s not for me, Mac."

  "Not for you? Not for you? He’s perfect. He’s great. He’s like Saint Nick."

  "No, Mackenzie. It’s just not going to work."

  Not going to work? "But he bought you peonies. I don’t know who the fuck buys peonies but he did. He bought the peonies and it’s not going to work?"

  She sighs.

  "Why not? Why is it not going to work?"

  "There’s just no chemistry."

  "There was chemistry there the other night."

  "Not tonight. Just nothing, Mac. I won’t be seeing him again."

  "But why?" I ask, pitifully. Why, oh why, oh why? "Did he do something? Did he try something?"

  "No, no. He was the perfect gentleman."

  "Yes, I know. Perfect. So why not good enough for you?"

  "You don’t need to get angry with me, Mackenzie. It’s not my fault that you decided to find me a nice guy and then couldn’t deliver on the promise."

  "Don’t give up," I warn her. "I’ll find you someone before your fiftieth."

  "Could you please not say that word around me?"

  "Fine," I say, stomping to the door. "I’ll find you someone before you turn into a half century." I storm out and slam the door behind me.

  "Not going to work," I repeat to myself in a rage as I stomp home. Not going to work, then fine.

  It’s time to get serious. Er, seriouser.

  CHAPTER 21

  Okay then, clients in work say try online dating, Dan says try online dating, Jenni says that her cousin has been dating a guy for two years who she met online. Guess how I’m spending Saturday morning? That’s right, you got it. I’m filling out my profile on Cupid-Waits.com. And paying stupid money for a subscription. This had better pay off or I’m throwing in the towel and leaving the country.

  I’m not really sure what to write in my online ad. I put a photo of my mum and me together in. It seems a little weird to put a picture of just her in, when I’m the one doing this, and there’s no way I’d just put a picture of myself in, so I settle on one of the two of us. But the words are proving difficult. I have a little more space to explain myself on here, not just the twenty-five word limit of the personal ads in the newspaper. I want it to sound normal—not like my mother wants to date twenty-seven-year olds or guys who pay for dinner in one penny pieces. I draft it out in my notebook for ages, kind of wishing Dan wasn’t working so I could check it off with him and get some ideas back. But Dan is in the restaurant, as usual, which I know I shouldn’t complain about but I can’t help it sometimes. Besides, I think Dan is getting a bit tired of me and my dating.

  I add in Mum's hobbies and interests first, and then the likes and dislikes—one word answers are easy.

  Eventually, my ad reads something like this:

  Hi, I’m Mackenzie, and this may seem like a strange request, but I’m looking for a guy to date my mother. She’s friendly, bubbly and vivacious. She loves animals, walking and swimming and teaches yoga. Eleanor is forty-nine years old, and I’d like her to meet a genuine man of the age forty-five to sixty. If you fit the bill, please contact me for more details and a potential meeting.

  I’m worried that I still sound too businesslike, but really, what other way is there to deal with men? They need it laid out in front of them, like a business proposition. I briefly wonder if we wouldn’t all be better off we approached love like we would a business transaction. Maybe I should continue with my "job interview dates" rather than trying to be friendly and make useless conversations with men who make reptiles seem like attractive company.

  I can’t decide whether I should search the site for suitable men myself, or if I should wait on some responses to my own profile. I think I’ll wait. I mean, I suppose I should get the hang of the whole thing first. I’m not even sure how you respond to profiles you like. I think you email through the site, so you don’t have to give them your real email address in case they’re creeps or spam fiends.

  If waiting is the way to go, then I don’t have to wait long. That very night there is a message when I log in to the site. It is from BigDaddy123.

  "Hi Mackenzie. I’m Chip. I’m fifty-one, a lawyer, and an animal lover. You mother sounds lovely, and I would love to arrange a meeting. Check out my profile and see if you think I sound good."

  I check the profile, and honestly, although his username could be better, Chip doesn’t sound bad or good. I decide that this is probably a good thing, and think I should give him a chance. His photo looks attractive enough. Not that I’m focusing on looks, but looks are looks. And it’s good that men on here have photographs, unlike the ones in the newspaper. I mean, at least I can tell if a guy is the age he says he is. Unless he’s posted a picture of George Clooney or his grandpa or something. I email Chip back and tell him to be at Belisana the next night.

  The first thought that hits me is that maybe I should have been tipped off by his name. Seriously, who is really called Chip these days? Apart from a teacup in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. The second is the white suit. White. He looks like something out of Saturday Night Fever, but nowhere near as good looking as the young John Travolta.

  "Hello," he says, not getting up when I walk over to him. "I’m Chip." He winks at me. Winks. Not shakes hands. Not stands up. Winks. He has on an orange shirt, underneath the white suit of course, no tie, and I briefly wonder if he is maybe on his way to a fancy dress party or something. I’m not sure which would be preferable—the fact that he might actually dress like this,
or the fact that he squeezed me in to his tight schedule (hopefully not as tight as his pants) on his way somewhere else. Either one, I am not impressed.

  I sit down and try to make conversation with him. At least, I would try, but so far he is engrossed in the newspaper that he is reading, holding it up in front of his face so that I can’t see him above the tie-less neck. I look around, thinking that maybe I am on some kind of candid camera show, and Dan has sent me this guy as a joke. Where is Dom Joly when you need him?

  Eventually Chip makes a big show of folding the newspaper up and setting it down on the table, huffing and puffing as he goes, as if I have interrupted something vital and interesting that he was doing. I suppose this is the part of the date where I should tip a jug of water, or better yet, the old faithful red wine, over his white suit and leave the restaurant, but the truth is that I’ve come straight from work, and I’m starving. I want to eat. I suppose I could abandon Chip, and go and snag something from Dan in the kitchen, but I’m not supposed to do that. I know as well as Dan does that non-staff aren't meant to be in the kitchen, even though I do go in there on occasion. Like to escape a really bad date. Like this one.

  Chip grins at me. "Does your mother look like you?"

  I have no idea whether this should be taken as a compliment or a pervy remark, but I say, "Not really, no."

  "Shame."

  Creep.

  "So, you’re a lawyer?" I say brightly. Too brightly. I wonder if he’ll notice. Where the hell is Holly with our orders?

  "I am." Obviously he didn’t notice that I was way too sprightly to be serious. I wonder if this conversation will lead any further.

  Obviously not.

  "What field do you work in?"

  "Environmental."

  "What does that involve?"

  "Nothing much."

  Jesus Christ. Has this guy ever heard of conversation? You know, you say one thing, and then the other person says something back and expands on it. One word answers do not a conversation make.

  "So, are you going anywhere nice tonight?"

  "I’m sorry?"

  "Are you going anywhere nice tonight?" I repeat. "Dressed like that, I mean. I thought you might be going somewhere."

  "Why? Do you wanna go somewhere with me, baby?"

  "Ugh."

  "What? You don’t like Chip’s clothing choices?"

  "Dude, you’re wearing a white suit and an orange shirt. You’re seriously telling me you’re not going on to a fancy dress party?"

  At least he has the decency to look offended.

  "Why do you want to insult me like that?" He asks. A look of hurt comes over his face, and I briefly consider that maybe I went too far. But seriously, look at this guy. His skin is as thick as the soles of his platform boots.

  "I’m sorry," I say. "But you’re meant to be on a date with me. You’re meant to impress me so that I set you up with my mother, who, on the internet, you seemed to think was your type. So far you’ve been rude, inattentive, and a complete and utter pervert. Why should I be worried about offending you? When I came in here, you winked at me—winked, mind you—refused to look at me because you were so engrossed in your reading, and answered all my attempts at conversation with one worded grunts. Seriously, I hope you are offended. Maybe you could look in the mirror before leaving the house next time."

  "You bitches are crazy." He gets up to leave.

  "Buy trousers a size bigger next time!" I call after him.

  CHAPTER 22

  When I get home, I log in to Cupid-Waits.com and consider cancelling my subscription. If men like Chip are the best the internet has to offer then it can go and offer them to someone else. Someone who likes The BeeGees, for instance.

  There are three more messages in my inbox on the site. If curiosity killed the cat then it’s definitely gotten the better of me. I can’t stop myself from checking them.

  Message number one:

  TO: Kenzie1983

  FROM: Mindassa69

  "Fancy a threesome?"

  Ugh! I don’t even dignify that one with a response.

  Second message:

  TO: Kenzie1983

  FROM: PoolShark23

  "Which one is you and which one is your mother?" I a) assume he means in the photograph, and b) hope that the answer should be obvious. He doesn’t deserve a response either.

  Third message:

  TO: Kenzie1983

  FROM: IPullYou20

  "Your mother isn’t even involved here, is she? I reckon you’ve lopped a few years off your age, and are really looking for a date for yourself! Doesn’t matter though. I’ll date you." Um, yeah, because that’s a far more likely scenario.

  Fourth message:

  TO: Kenzie1983

  FROM: OldBaz

  "Hi, I’m Barry. If you are for real, then I think it is a lovely thing you are doing for your mother. She sounds perfect for me. Check my profile and see what you think. It would be great to hear from you, Mackenzie. Take care, Barry. xxx."

  There is something about Barry’s message that reads as very awkward. I think he might be nervous. But I check out his profile anyway. He sounds fairly decent. He lists DIY as a hobby, and says that he loves his cats. There’s something very masculine about a guy who can admit to being a cat person. His photo is nice as well. He has a big smile and nice looking blue eyes. He lists himself as being six foot three, which unquestionably counts as tall, and his hair, although thinning on top, is most definitely blond. Undeniably my mum’s type.

  I send Barry a quick reply, and he emails back agreeing to meet in Belisana tomorrow night. I think he sounds promising. Put it this way, he didn’t ask for a threesome, so he already has a head start on any other takers.

  When I arrive at Belisana, I am pleased to see that Barry looks just like the photo he has posted on the website. And, unlike certain previous dates, he is not wearing Seventies clothing. In fact, he looks quite normal, and I am hopeful before I even reach the table.

  "Mackenzie?" Barry asks, standing up when I arrive.

  "You must be Barry."

  He shakes my hand and comes around to pull my chair out for me. Excellent. This one is off to a flying start, but I still can’t help checking under his chair for a bag of two pence pieces.

  I can see Barry looking me over, so I look up and smile at him.

  "You have a lovely smile," he says.

  Usually I would take this as a pervy remark and get my glass of red wine poised and ready to throw, but the way he says it sounds so genuine that it actually makes me like him. Or maybe I’m just sorely in need of a compliment.

  "I’ve never eaten here before," Barry is saying. "But it’s nice and cosy. Any recommendations on the food?"

  "I hear the Grilled Lemon Sole is nice."

  I wonder if I should take up some kind of advertising for Dan. Be, like, some sort of salesperson for him. The amount of men that I seem to be bringing here, I could offer to help Dan out, and earn some of the free food I’ve been eating, by pushing his Special of the Day or whatever. Dan could just give me the name of some food that he wants to shift, and I’ll recommend it to all of my pseudo dates. What better form of advertising is there than that? I’ll definitely bring it up with him at home later.

  "So, have you ever been married, Barry?" I ask, trying not to sound too much like I’m conducting a job interview.

  "Once," he says. "We got divorced ten years ago. I’ve been on a few dates, but there’s really been no one since my ex-wife."

  "Can I ask why you split up?"

  "She wanted children, I didn’t. She was thirty-seven and time was pushing on, and I just couldn’t imagine being a father. We argued over it and eventually we split up."

  I nod like I understand.

  "How about your mother?"

  "Yes. She was married to my father for ten years, and then he just upped and left. She hasn’t really dated anyone since."

  "How come you’re the one setting her up?"

  I
shrug. "I don’t know really. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. I’d just moved out and she was lonely on her own, so my boyfriend and I had the crazy idea of finding her some male company."

  "That’s very sweet. I think it’s a very nice thing to do."

  "Thank you," I say. "I have had my doubts."

  "If I had a daughter, I’d be honoured to think of her doing something like that for me. I bet you’ve met some right numbskulls."

  "Oh, you can say that again," I laugh.

  When we finish our meal, he gets as far as calling a waitress over to pay the bill before I stop him. "It’s on the house," I admit.

  "It is? Why?"

  "My boyfriend kind of works here."

  "He does? What does he do?"

  "He’s the chef."

  "Oh well, thank goodness I didn’t criticise the food then."

  I smile at him.

  "You’re sure it’s on the house? I don’t mind paying at all, for both of us."

  "Nope, totally free."

  "Ah, I get it." He winks at me cheekily. "You were sussing me out, checking if I was going to offer to pay."

  "I may have been," I admit. "But you passed the test with flying colours."

  "That’s good," he says. "So, do I pass the date test? Do I get to meet Eleanor?"

  "You most certainly do."

  CHAPTER 23

  I do have one idea about my next date. Even though it didn’t work out so well with Saint Nick, the flowers worked. A bunch of peonies got a second date. And it’s not like buying a bunch of peonies is that difficult. If a date isn’t the absolute perfect man, the answer is simple. I just have to make him into one. And Barry can be moulded and shaped until he becomes The One Number Two for my mother.