by Tami Anthony
“Oh, I’m retired now,” he says. What a fuckin’ shocker. “What do you do?”
“I’m a freelance paralegal,” I reply. Well, I can’t just tell people that I’m unemployed. What would that look like?
“So I’d better be careful then,” he says jokingly. “You must know a lot of lawyers.”
“Yeah, actually, I do,” I say. I really don’t though, not in this area anyway. “So, where do you live?”
“I live in Springfield.”
“Oh that’s nice,” I say.
“And I own a house in Florida,” he says. Well, that figures. That’s where all the senior citizens migrate.
“Great.”
“And I have three children, all grown up with families of their own,” he tells me. He’s a nice guy, a very nice elderly guy, but I must cut the losses where I can as soon as I can. This would never work out.
“I’m sorry, Howard,” I say. “I just want to be straightforward with you. We could never go out past this point.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, because you’re old enough to be my father, that’s why,” I say. “Maybe even older than him.”
“Well, I always say that age is a number,” he tells me. “Once I take the Viagra, it’s like I’m twenty years old again.” His leathery skin up against my body? His saggy balls banging against my youthful vagina? I think I just threw up in my mouth. “But, maybe you’re right,” he says. “It would be a little weird.”
“Yeah, just a little bit,” I agree.
“I have to say though that you look a lot like my daughter.” OK, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is the official and final deal breaker for me. There is obviously some mental work that needs to be done with this old geezer. Ring bell, ring! I think to myself. Ring bell, ring!
Chapter Twelve
Speed dating is a dupe and a rip-off. For just fifty dollars you can meet fifteen potential mates who end up being fifteen potential losers and you can sit with these fifteen potential losers for five torturous minutes each and develop fifteen different types of migraines in only one night. All in all, I’ve wasted 75 minutes of my life with people that I don’t know that I do not necessarily like. But, on the positive side, I was able to meet and mingle with two potential suitors (or subjects if you are looking at it from a scientific perspective) at the restaurant’s bar after my 75 minutes of Hell. So maybe it wasn’t such a fluke after all, but then again, maybe not.
“Hey, Leslee,” Karen says as she walks into the kitchen with a stack of pastry boxes. She grins at me as I depressingly gorge on my pathetic bowl of cereal. “Look, it’s cake!” she says excitedly. “Lots and lots of wedding cake to taste. I’m so greedy!”
“Great,” I say unenthusiastically.
“Not only is it cake, but it’s free cake,” she says as she pulls out a fork from the drawer. “I swear the best word in the world is ‘free.’” She pulls open a box and begins to stuff her face. “I went to all the best bakeries in Philadelphia and they gave me free samples so I can see exactly what cake I want at my wedding.”
“Awesome,” I reply. “Just friggin’ awesome.”
“So, how’d your speed dating experiment go?” she asks.
“Inconclusive and unresponsive.”
“Oh,” she says. “That sucks.”
“Yeah, it kinda does, but I should’ve realized that speed dating wasn’t the best idea in the first place,” I tell her. “You can’t have a quality date in five minutes’ time.”
“Well then that’s your conclusion,” she says through a mouthful of food. “Duh!”
“It was like this speed dating nightmare,” I tell her. “There were all sorts of men from the sleazy, slimy types to the perverted pedophiles …”
Karen laughs. “How do you know they were pedos? Did they have a sex offender list at the door?”
“You know what I’m talking about, the funny looking guys with the creepy eyes, and the funny looking hair, and that trademark pedo-smile,” I explain.
“Oh, yeah, the smile. It’s like the chills just run right down your spine.”
“Yeah, and then there were these old guys with their stinky breath and their comb-over hair,” I tell her. “You’d be surprised at exactly how many elderly men in the Philadelphia area resemble Larry King.”
“Aww, that’s not fair,” Karen says as she hands me a fork. “Old guys need love, too. That’s why they invented Viagra.”
I sigh. “I have absolutely no interest in dating a man that’s old enough to be my father or that resembles an ancient, shriveled up corpse. I would say that the night was a complete bust, but I did meet a few men after the event was over.”
Karen pushes a cake box toward me. Hmmm…wedding cake or cereal? I ask myself. Which one will make me feel better? I open up the cake box only to discover … Death by Chocolate! I’m feeling better already.
“So, tell me about the few eligible men,” Karen says as she opens up another box.
“Well, there are two that I met,” I tell her. “One is a teacher. He’s average height, great complexion, great smile, a complete gentleman …”
“And the other?”
“The other was tall, an OK complexion. He kinda resembles that Robert Pattinson guy.”
“Oh, Robert Pattinson,” Karen says licking the cake bits off of her fork. “Now that’s one vampire I’d like to sink my teeth into.”
“So tomorrow night, I’m going on a date with the teacher. We’re meeting at a nice restaurant in Jersey.”
“New Jersey? Why there?”
“For one, he lives there,” I tell her. “And two, I think it would be a little bit safer for me, you know, just in case he turns into some psychotic stalker or something.”
She nods her head in approval. “Good point. Stalkers are never fun. You gotta keep your residential distance.”
“Exactly.”
“So enough about you,” Karen says. “Let’s talk wedding. I think I’ve decided on wedding colors.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yup, I’m thinking lavender with accents of silver.”
“That sounds good for a winter wedding,” I tell her as cake crumbs fall down my shirt.
“Doesn’t it? But then again I was thinking maybe we can have an Indian wedding,” she says as her eyes widen in excitement. “You know, with the jewels and the array of colors. It would be like this big, bright, cultural rainbow wedding.” I can’t entertain this idea at all. I can see Russ rolling his eyes already. I’m beginning to think that his main frustration lies in the fact that Karen can’t just make up her mind about things. That’s beginning to be my frustration as well. Voice of reason. I have to be the voice of reason or her next idea will be to have a circus wedding equipped with pedo-clowns, elephants, and tightropes. She is random when it comes to wedding planning.
“You know, I really like the lavender and silver idea,” I say to her, in hopes of derailing her Indian wedding idea. An Indian wedding would be gorgeous, but I just don’t picture Karen as the Indian wedding type. Besides, I’m not a fan of Indian food therefore I’m secretly opposing this idea for personal reasons.
“You think so?” she asks unsure that the color scheme would be right.
“Yes, of course. Plus, you’re having your wedding on New Year’s Eve. I think it would be a great color theme. Very magical, elegant, all that stuff.”
“Yeah,” Karen says as she nods her head. “I think so, too.”
As we continue to gorge on wedding cake (FYI: it takes us seven full minutes to completely devour seven wedding cake samples which will more than likely add seven pounds respectively to each of our greedy asses), I begin to ponder on how well my date will go tomorrow. He’ll be a complete gentleman. He’ll open doors for me. He’ll pull out my chair for me. It will be perfect … even if it kills me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Leslee and Anthony. I think to myself as I pull up to our meeting destination. Maybe Anthony and Leslee … Les and An
t, Leslee and Tony … I think I’ve gone a little crazy. I think it’s nerves. Maybe he will be the one, the unexpected. The man of my dreams, a teacher, well-mannered, handsome … we’ll have beautiful rugrats together and live in a posh, suburban home while driving some sort of oversized minivan with twelve seats. It will be my Stepford Wife dream come true, that is, if we make it past this first date.
I wait for Anthony in front of the restaurant we agreed upon, a fancy little place in Cherry Hill, New Jersey about twenty minutes from Karen’s place. I'm a little nervous, but I'm cool ... I'm calm, cool and collected as a matter of fact. This will be the best date of my life. As much effort that I have put in tonight to look this damn good, squeezing into my little black dress and flaunting my black and silver stilettos, I'd better end this night on a full stomach and a guaranteed second date.
"Leslee?" I hear a voice say from behind. I turn around and see Anthony standing only mere feet away from me, smiling. I must say that the metrosexual GQ look fits him quite nicely. From his pair of black slacks and matching blazer to his dark blue satin shirt (button up of course) and blue, gray, and black striped tie, it’s almost as if he’s just walked out of a men’s designer catalogue. His hair is styled with a minimal amount of gel giving a very smooth and alluring look. Yeah, I’m sure that I can tear off every piece of his clothing with my teeth right now. He looks delicious enough to eat.
"Hi, Anthony!" I say nervously. "You look amazing. I really like your tie." I really like your tie? It's like I can't find anything else better to say to him. What the hell is wrong with me? A ridiculously gorgeous man is standing in front of me and the only compliment I have is on his tie? "And those shoes are killer," I add. Oh my God, just shoot me. I'm such a cornball! Who compliments on shoes besides women to other women. He thinks I'm a nerd. I can tell.
Anthony just laughs. "Thank you, Leslee. I like your shoes, too." We both laugh. "You look beautiful and I'm just happy to have the privilege to accompany you to dinner tonight." He then pulls a bouquet of white roses from behind his back. "These are for you."
"Oh my God!" I say surprised. I haven't gotten flowers on a date since ... well, since Victor actually. "That was such a nice gesture of you. I love roses."
"And they're white," he replies, like I can't see what color they are. What am I, a moron? "White roses are for friendship, and since we are now friends I thought that these would be appropriate for tonight. Just like you said, 'friends first, then whatever else that comes along.'" He remembers our conversation from earlier this week. That's so sweet. Some guys don't even remember what they ate for breakfast in the morning or if their underwear is clean or not, but they can remember football games and sex as if those are the two only activities left on Earth. I'm honestly surprised though. I thought Anthony was a good guy, but he's getting better and better by the second.
"Thank you," I tell Anthony. "Now these are beautiful. I can't wait to put these in a vase on my coffee table at home." I give him a hug. "So, are you ready to eat? I hear the food is great here."
"Oh, I almost forgot why we were here. The nervousness is coming over me not allowing myself to think," he replies and we both laugh as we enter the restaurant, his arm around my waist.
There we are in the middle of the restaurant: sitting, eating, drinking, talking, laughing, flirting, and in all honesty, I'm enjoying myself. Finally, a normal date with a normal guy. I can't believe we haven't had one pause in our conversation and I love it! Anthony is really holding my interest and attention tonight ... YES! Thank you, thank you, thank you, God! "I still can't believe how wonderful this restaurant is,” I say aloud. “Everything is just so breathtaking and perfect.”
"How do you like the appetizers?" Anthony asks. I don't even know what he ordered. I just let him tell the waiter everything because he's the man and I figured it’s appropriate. So, really what am I eating? I have no idea. It could be a squid's balls and I wouldn't know, but whatever it is, it's kinda meaty and very spicy. I don't think that this waiter can fill my water glass fast enough. I feel like my mouth is on fire.
"Um, it's a little spicy but it's very good," I choke out. My throat is yelling, 'water, water!' but I don't think that anyone can hear me. The gods aren't feeling my pain right now.
"Are you sure, Leslee? You look a little red." My forehead is burning a little bit. I know I can't take overly spicy food, but I'm trying to make this date as smooth as possible and I definitely don't want to insult him by not eating the appetizers he has chosen for us.
"I'm fine," I reply trying to swallow saliva, you know, as if it's water so it can ease the burning sensation in my mouth. "I'm just a tad bit hot, that's all. I really could use some more water." Just then, my purse begins to vibrate on the table. My cell phone is ringing. I already know who it is: Annie. I told her to call me during the date to see if I was being tortured or not. "Can you excuse me for a second? I need to take this." I say to Anthony and answer my phone. "Hello?"
"Is everything going good?" Annie asks.
I look over at Anthony and smile. "Yes, Mom. He is a great guy. No need to call the cops," I say loudly into the phone and also so Anthony can hear me and observe my brilliant sense of humor. I wink at him.
"Oh, OK, daughter," she plays along. “Well, you enjoy your evening with the teacher and don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do.” Annie laughs as she hangs up.
I put my phone on the table and sigh. “I am so sorry about that,” I say. “My mother is very overprotective and she'd be kinda pissed if I didn't come back from this date."
"Tell her not to worry. I'll send you home in one piece," he replies as our entrees arrive at our table. "Mmmmm, looks good, doesn't it?" Uh, no it doesn’t, I think to myself. Whatever it is on my plate looks like it's about one minute from bleeding.
"Looks delicious, mmmmm," I reply with a smile on my face.
"It's duck marinated in a rich Japanese orange sauce," Anthony tells me. Even though there’s duck in front of me, I can’t help but to crave a mouthwatering hamburger. Mmmmm, hamburger. I can taste it right now, a nice, juicy quarter pounder with lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, ketchup, onions .... mmmmm. But what I have in front of me isn't nice and juicy, it's more of a pink meat block with orange marmalade smothered over it and to top it all off, these bastards in the kitchen decided to decorate around the meat blocks with leaves and pepper. What the hell? Where's the beef?!
"I can't wait to sink my teeth into this duck. It's looks really really yummy." Now, I can do either one of two things: I can suck it up like a woman, eat and enjoy the duck or I can pretend it's a hamburger yet still be eating it and sucking it up like a woman. OK, both choices are practically the same, but a girl can dream, can't she? I think I've got it! I'll just nit-pick at the meat. Maybe he won't notice. "So, Anthony, what made you become a chemistry teacher?"
"Well," Anthony starts, "it really was the passion that I had for science, mainly chemistry, and the passion that I have for helping kids succeed." Awww, that's so wonderful. What a perfect answer from someone who could be the perfect man. "I could get into the chemistry thing more, but I bore women with that so I don't really talk about it."
"Do you come from a family of teachers?" I ask. You never know. It could be generations of teachers. I think this is a good question.
"Actually, no." No? "I am the only teacher in my family."
"You mean your immediate family?"
"No, my whole family." He takes a bite of his pink meat block also known as marinated duck. "My sister is a lawyer, my mother is a secretary for an insurance agency, and my father is a podiatrist. My uncles, aunts, cousins, they pretty much are all housewives and blue collar workers, but no teachers." Hmmm, interesting yet somewhat weird. You would figure since his dad is a doctor and his sister is a lawyer, wouldn't Anthony be doing something more ... highly paid? "I really enjoy teaching, though. Making a difference in a child's life is so important these days especially with the negative influences that we have in the world like d
rugs, sex, war ... things of that nature." Sex as a negative influence? I can understand it, you know, if you're thirteen years old and you're screwing like a champ all over town, then yes, it's very negative. But sex in general? Not negative at all, just basic human nature.
"I understand and I totally agree. We really need to focus on our children's future. You know, it's like that song by Whitney Houston. I love that song! How does it go? I believe the children are our future ..." Am I singing this right or am I butchering an old classic? Anthony is smiling so I guess he's enjoying the show.
"Something like that," he laughs. "Leslee," Anthony starts, "I'm really enjoying my time with you."
"Me too," I reply and I swallow a piece of the fancy duck (no, I'm not tasting it, just inhaling it so I don't insult my wonderful, terrific date who seems to be such a great gentleman). Suddenly, I feel Anthony's foot touching mine. How cute! I think to myself. He wants to play footsies with me. "So, how is the relationship with you and your parents?"
“It’s good,” he says as he sips on his wine. “I speak to them at least once a week. How about yours?”
“Besides the fact that they think I’m still a little kid?” I ask. “I guess our relationship is OK.” I won’t tell him that the last time I saw my parents they gave me a clunker for a car, or how they visited me in the hospital after a very careless night of partying as a result of too many mixed drinks. There are certain things that I will keep to myself. He doesn’t need to know how crazy my life is just yet.
I can feel Anthony’s foot rubbing faster onto mine. It’s actually beginning to feel a little weird. I move my foot away quickly. Anthony begins to frown. “You don’t like me touching your foot I take it?”
“I guess I’m not used to it just yet,” I reply nervously drinking my wine.
“Oh, I see.” He looks down at his plate and begins to move his food around with a fork. Anthony pulls his head up and smiles this demonic smile, this weird looking, creepy smile. “So, what are your fetishes?”