My Dream Man

by Marie Solka

  “Hey honey. It’s going good. How are things with you?”

  “Fine. I’m just wondering if you talked to Dad?”

  There was a long silence. Was he around? Was it a bad time?

  “Yeah, we talked,” she finally said. I heard a door close. “He says she’s just a friend.” She paused. “I have to take his word for it Sam. He is my husband after all. And unless I can prove something happened I can’t crucify the guy.”

  I felt uncomfortable having this conversation with her. I didn’t know how to respond.

  “I do have one good piece of news though. Your father’s boss took him to breakfast the other day. She was really pleased with his performance last year, and she gave him a raise.”

  His boss. The breakfast. All at once I felt my muscles relax. I’d forgotten my dad’s boss was a woman.

  “That’s great news. You guys should go out and celebrate.”

  “We are. Tomorrow night,” she said.

  She sounded happy. That was what I liked to hear. After chatting for a little while longer, I hung up, satisfied that all was right with the world again. At least in my parents’ world. Mine was still a big fat question mark. Luckily I’d be seeing Mr. Varo again tomorrow.

  Or maybe not so lucky, because when I showed up, Greg wasn’t there. Nor was he the week after that. When I inquired about how he was doing, Mr. Varo would just repeat he was working late, that he was obsessed with some big project.

  So much for my being “destined” to be there the day he was home sick.

  I met Val and Genevieve at a dance club on Saturday night. Val’s plan for pulling me out of my apparently obvious depression. The place was classy, she said, so I wore something new that Tabby helped me find. A form-fitting dress with heels, something I’d probably only wear once or twice. I just didn’t care for the club scene much.

  After a few cocktails, Val convinced me to hit the dance floor. I really didn’t have a choice since she and Gen practically dragged me out there. I liked to dance, but not in front of crowds. I’d always been the type to jam out at home.

  As my hips swayed to the pulsing beat, I felt someone brush against me. I spun on my heel, thinking it was Gen goofing around. It was Brian.

  Seeing him immediately killed my buzz. I stopped dancing. “Hey. How’ve you been?” I asked, trying to keep it casual. I hadn’t seen him since graduation. It’s not like our break up was bad, it’s just I saw no reason to keep in touch.

  “Pretty good,” he said. “You look beautiful Sam. Life must be treating you well.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “I’ve been doing all right.” He looked the same – same model-good looks, same confidence, same generic charm.

  “So are you dating anyone?” he asked. Just came right out with it. Best not to waste time, I guessed.

  “Yes,” I lied. “And you?”

  “No. Not right now. There was this girl who broke my heart and I never got over her,” he teased.

  I laughed. That was a load of BS. I knew he’d dated several hot girls after we broke up. And he knew that I knew.

  “You still have the same number?” he asked me.

  “Yes,” I said.

  He leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s keep in touch. We’re adults, right?”

  “Sure,” I said, smiling. I had no intention of calling him.

  Brian moved along and Valerie and Genevieve suggested we go to the ladies room.

  “What are the chances Sam?” said Val as she reapplied her lipstick. “I haven’t seen him in ages.”

  “Me neither.”

  “He looked good!” She said it like he was a pastry she wanted to devour.

  I smiled. “Looks aren’t everything.”

  “True.” Val agreed. Then she sighed. “Why don’t you just call Greg, Sam? Ask him out?”

  I shrugged. “I figure if he likes me and he’s interested he’ll call me, or make a point of being there when I come to visit.”

  Genevieve had drank too much and started vomiting in her stall, turning our attention from love life woes to real life drama. After we helped her get cleaned up, we left.

  “Don’t call him,” Mrs. Myszkowski warned after we discussed the matter. I had a banging hangover and her words echoed in my skull.

  I slipped the pulse oximeter off her finger and logged her number. “Why? What’s the big deal? My friends thought it might be a good idea…”

  She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Because you’ll ruin everything. That’s why.” She shook her head in disgust. “Look,” she said. “He likes you. That’s obvious.”

  “But he hasn’t called. He could’ve gotten my number from his dad. It’s not like we’re strangers. And he hasn’t been around when I’ve visited.”

  “You kids today,” she groaned. “You’re so impatient.”

  I frowned. Mostly because I knew she was right. “Well what do you suggest?”

  She took hold of my hand and squeezed it. Then she looked me in the eye. “You wait. If he likes you, which I think he does, he’ll start missing you. Then he’ll find a way to see you again. Trust me.”

  Mrs. Myszkowski exuded confidence. She had a surprising air of authority for a little old lady in a wheelchair. I suppose at her age she had wisdom on her side. All my friends and I had were trails of broken relationships.

  The next weekend Tabby and I went shopping for some things she needed for school, and I treated her to lunch afterward. As she sipped her Coke she said, “I kind of wish I hadn’t chosen a school a few hours away. I could’ve gone to the community college nearby.”

  “At least it’s not out of state. Then I’d miss you dropping by unannounced, filling me in on the latest gossip. Now that would have been sad.”

  She smiled. “We’ll see each other plenty. I’ll be back for long weekends and holidays.”

  I smiled, but I still felt sad. “Have you heard any more from Jack?”

  Tabby shrugged. “Nope. Just that one time when I stopped by. I’m over him.”

  She didn’t look like she was over him, but I didn’t press the conversation. Some things were best left alone.

  “Did you ever hear from that guy you liked? What was his name, Craig?”

  “Greg,” I corrected. “And no, I haven’t heard from him. He hasn’t been around. His dad says he’s working on a big project. I guess he’s some kind of workaholic.”

  “Why don’t you give him a call?” she asked.

  “Can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mrs. Myszkowski told me not to. She said I’d ruin things by being impatient.”

  Tabby rolled her eyes. “She’s one of your patients, right? The crazy smoker lady?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “And you’re going to listen to her over your wise younger sister?”

  I hated to say it, but yes. I trusted Mrs. Myszkowski’s advice over anyone else’s. She’d snagged the guy she wanted back in the day. All my little sis had done was hook up with a jackass. “I’m just gonna play it by ear,” I told her. “If it’s meant to be it will be.”

  I wanted to believe my own words, but doubt kept getting in the way. If only I could stop hoping and wishing and let it go, not let my mind wander to the dream. If only I could flip a switch and stop fantasizing about his kiss, his scent, his hand reaching out to hold mine.

  If only it was that easy.

  That evening, I decided the best thing to do was to distract myself with a movie. I thought if I got immersed in a story it would help me forget. It worked for a while too, until the love scene where the couple walked hand in hand on the beach. Instead of watching them, I found myself replacing the images on the screen with Greg and me. Then I’d drift off and miss a full ten minutes.

  Frustrated, I turned the movie off and channel surfed. I settled on an episode of International House Hunters. The couple had relocated from Cincinnati, Ohio to a charming town in the French countryside. After they’d selected their
house and did some minor remodeling, the scene shifted to the two of them getting cozy in a nearby café.

  Before I knew it I was picturing Greg and me at the café. He was saying something funny and I was laughing, trying not to spill the wine I’d been sipping.

  I was hopeless. The more I tried to stop fantasizing about Greg, the more I thought of him.

  The next morning I woke with a change of heart. I decided it was unhealthy to keep wishing for a relationship with a guy who wasn’t interested. I decided to give up on Greg and go about my business the way I’d done before meeting him. Maybe take on a few more patients to stay busy in an attempt to push him out of my mind.

  A half an hour later my phone rang. It was Mr. Varo. He never called on Sunday. “This is Sam,” I answered, worried he was about to give me bad news.

  “Hi Sam. This is Greg Varo.”

  I was in shock. I couldn’t speak.

  “Um. . . I hope it’s okay that I’m calling. I know you didn’t give me your number.” He sounded nervous, unsure.

  “Of course it’s okay,” I said. “How’ve you been?”

  “I’m better. Took a while, but now I’m feeling one hundred percent.”

  The phone trembled in my hand. “That’s good to hear,” I said, sounding professional. I wished I’d said something better.

  “Anyway, the reason I’m calling is to see if you’d like to go out to dinner with me some time? I mean, if you don’t have a boyfriend,” he added.

  I steadied myself by leaning on the kitchen counter. “I’d love to.” I stifled a happy squeal. “Um…when?” I said in my best impersonation of someone who was perfectly calm and collected.

  “How’s this Friday? Seven-o-clock?”

  “Sure,” I said, then gave him my address. I hung up and collapsed into a kitchen chair.

  Maybe it was just a matter of mentally letting go. Or maybe this was my reward for not giving in and calling him. All I knew is I’d pulled a Mrs. Myszkowski, and it felt pretty cool.

  Chapter 15

  Friday night was all I could think about for the rest of the week. I picked out a great outfit, planned how I’d style my hair, settled on a nail polish color. I wondered if I should buy a new bra and panty set, then dismissed the idea. Then I exercised my woman’s prerogative and changed my mind. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared, just in case.

  I poked around Victoria’s Secret but didn’t see anything that appealed to me. I ended up checking Nordstrom, and it was there that I struck gold. There were so many choices it made me dizzy. Granted, some of the stuff was pricey, but I could afford it. Besides, I wanted to look my best for my dream man.

  After browsing I bought a couple different sets and went home. I felt bad Tabby wasn’t along since I knew how much she loved shopping, but this wasn’t the type of thing you did with your little sister. I mean, we’d jumped rope together. I’d helped her with homework. It didn’t feel right to ask her which lingerie made me look sexiest.

  On the drive home, I remembered something my mom had said about the last time she’d ordered lingerie from a catalog. She was so disappointed when it arrived. I had asked her if it was bad quality, and she said no. She had liked how it looked on the model, but on her, well, it just wasn’t the same.

  My mom looked great for her age. Not many forty-seven-year-olds were as slim as she was. But I knew exactly what she meant when she said aging was a bitch. I saw that firsthand with my patients.

  On Tuesday I saw Mr. Varo again. And once again I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to look nice in case Greg was home, but when I got there he was still at work.

  “How are you feeling this week Michael?” He didn’t seem to be in great spirits.

  “Oh. You know. My blood sugar is a little higher than it should be, and I’m having some issues with my foot.”

  I took off his sock and noticed a wound. “I’ll clean that and apply a medicated bandage to help it heal.”

  Mr. Varo nodded. He was unusually quiet as I went about my business. Once I got him fixed up I asked, “You’re sticking to the diet, right?”

  He looked sheepish all of a sudden. “Mostly.”

  I frowned. “You know I can’t help much unless you’re committed to doing your part. You want to live to see your grandkids someday, right? To be able to play with them?”

  He brightened at the mention of offspring. “Of course. Any chance you’re gonna take care of that for me?”

  I grinned. “How about Greg and I go on a date first? See if he even likes me.”

  “Oh, he likes you,” Mr. Varo said.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “He asked me for your number,” he stated, like that meant we were going to ride off into the sunset together.

  “He could’ve just been being nice since I helped out when he was sick.”

  Mr. Varo shook his head. “I know my son Sam. He usually walks around here with his head in the clouds, muttering to himself like a madman about data and robots. But he’s been different lately. He’s been bringing you up all the time. He’ll mention something you said or did when you were here. He’s always talking about you.”

  I sat up straight and beamed. “He talks about me?”

  “Yep.”

  “And here I thought he was just taking me out to be polite.”

  Mr. Varo laughed. “My son would never do that.”

  “Why not?”

  He shook his head and smiled. “Because he would think that’s a waste of time. Greg places more value on gaining knowledge than being polite. He’d rather study than watch TV or socialize. And getting him to do either is almost unheard of. So when he asked for your number, I knew he really liked you.”

  So it wasn’t a mercy dinner. I was glad I bought expensive lingerie.

  Thursday night I did some last minute straightening around the apartment. It wasn’t cluttered. It just wasn’t spotless like Greg’s place. I figured I’d better make sure it looked good in case he came in.

  I scheduled all my patients early on Friday so I could get off at two. I wanted to rest for a while before getting ready to go out to dinner. Mrs. Myszkowski was the final appointment of the day.

  I began checking her blood pressure. “I followed your advice and it worked,” I said. Hmm…her blood pressure seemed a bit low. I typed the numbers into the laptop.

  “You see,” she said, wagging her finger. “I told you. Aren’t you glad you listened?”

  “I am. And I’m really looking forward to tonight.”

  I checked her pulse, which was normal, and logged it into the computer. Maybe the blood pressure reading had been wrong.

  She watched me as I punched in the info. “Everything’s on the computer these days,” she groaned. “What happened to good old fashioned charts?”

  “They went bye-bye. This is more efficient.”

  “Yeah. Until it all gets lost in a black hole somewhere.”

  “Not a big fan of technology, are you?”

  “Nope. Except my microwave. I love my microwave. Popcorn in three minutes or less.”

  I smiled, listening to her lungs. They sounded as good as could be expected for a woman with emphysema. When I finished she had a concerned look on her face. “You know you shouldn’t sleep with this boy tonight, right?”

  Ordinarily I’d tell her it was none of her business, but since I’d gotten her involved, I let her continue. “If you do he’s not going to marry you,” she warned.

  “Things have changed Anna. It’s not like the old days.”

  “It’s not, huh? Then maybe men have evolved. I wouldn’t bet on that if I was in Vegas, though. Men have been pretty much the same since the dawn of time.”

  I finished checking her vitals and packed my things. I wanted a real relationship with Greg. I did know of a few friends who’d slept with the guy the first date. All of them were still single.

  I valued Anna’s opinion. Following her advice had been right the first time, and my gut told me to listen to her
.

  “I’ll take things slow,” I assured her. I hoped I’d be able to keep my word. The way Greg made me feel I wasn’t sure I’d be able to say no.

  “Good girl,” she winked. “Keep him wanting and trying. That’s how this works.”

  I smiled. She was quickly becoming the cool grandma you wish you had – the wise and worldly one who knew all the secrets to relationship success and knew exactly when to share them. “I really appreciate your advice,” I said.

  “If you really meant that I’d be smoking a cigarette right now.”

  “You’d only be smoking a cigarette if I didn’t mean it.”

  She coughed up a half-smile. “I think I might like you better if you didn’t like me so much,” she said.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said, offering a sly smile in return. “But in the meanwhile, thanks again.”

  Chapter 16

  When I got home I set the alarm, then climbed in bed to take a nap. After a while, I fell asleep, then drifted into a vivid dream.

  It was a wedding dream that began with me walking down the aisle in a white gown, beaming at friends and family who were seated on both sides of the church. When I reached the preacher he shook his head no. Then the joyful wedding song changed to circus music, and as it did the room began to spin. Mrs. Myszkowski was dressed like a clown, her face painted to match. She pointed at me and said, “If you hadn’t been a tramp this wouldn’t be happening.” Mr. Varo sat in the front row next to a row of life-sized robots, wearing a vacant expression. My mom was alone in the front row on the other side, crying. I got dizzy and was about to faint, but Irene the psychic caught me. She pulled me to my feet and said, “I told you so.”

  I woke up and glanced around, happy to discover I was safe in my bed. The mind sure played games when under stress. Probably too many opinions on what I should or shouldn’t do freaking me out.

  While in the shower I stretched my neck from side to side, letting the tension dissipate. Then when I was done primping I put on my new black lace bra and panties and slipped into the form-fitting dress with heels I’d worn to the dance club. I liked the way I looked. Stylish but sexy.