The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series)

by Tami Anthony

  “Your dog,” I reply. The dog continuously jumps on my leg and I laugh. “He’s a cute dog.” A little brown, furry thing. His dog is the most adorable pocketbook dog that I’ve ever seen.

  “Let me put him in the guest room,” Mark tells me. “I’ll be right back.” He directs me to his couch. “Have a seat. I have a surprise for you.”

  “Already?” I ask. I doubt it’s diamonds. After all, we just met. Maybe it’s a very fine Chardonnay of some sort. A girl can wonder.

  “Let’s just say I like to set the mood,” he says then winks. He walks away with the dog.

  OK, I think to myself as I take a look around the living room. It’s your typical man-home equipped with a gargantuan-sized flat screen TV, an X-Box, surround sound speakers, an overly technical stereo, a wooden coffee table with absolutely nothing on it, and a wide collection of DVDs and video games. One thing’s for certain, he has a clean home that doesn’t smell funny. That has to be a plus, right?

  “Leslee?” I hear Mark say seductively a few feet behind me.

  “Yes?” I ask without turning around assuming that any second now he’ll be the one kissing my neck. He claps twice and the room darkens. The sound of house music blares from the speakers and white strobe lights begin to flicker within the room. What … the … fuck? “Um, Mark?” I ask. “What is going on?” I hear him breathing heavily behind me and I begin to panic a little.

  “There’s one thing that I didn’t tell you at the bar,” he says and I’m so afraid to turn around. Where the hell did I put my Mace?!

  “And, um, what’s that?” I ask. Now I’m speechless! What in the world is about to happen? Should I be praying?

  I feel him licking on the back of my neck and I shiver. “I’m a dancer,” he says.

  “You mean like Cabaret dancing, Riverdancing, what?” I ask as my body shakes. I have no clue what he’s talking about nor do I want to. “You dance the Tango?” I guess. “Waltz? Tap? Ballet?” I ask quickly.

  “No,” he says and laughs. “I … am … SUPERMAN!” he shouts as he leaps over the couch and jumps onto the coffee table wearing a Superman thong and a red cape all while holding a glowstick in each hand. Oh … my … God, I think to myself. Is this really happening? My libido has gone from roaring and ready-to-go to temporarily shutting down for the night. Is he serious?

  Mark throws his arms in the air and freezes into some sort of funny, galactic pose. The music stops for a second and his eyes widen. Dramatic effect, I guess?

  He throws off the cape and begins to thrust his pelvis forward. The music seems to get louder and louder, and I become more and more anxious to run.

  “Accountant by day,” Mark yells, “private dancer by night, baby!” He then leaps off the table and jumps on my lap, humping me like some overly anxious teenage boy. I cringe. This is not how I imagined my night … not at all.

  “Maybe I should go,” I say with fear in my voice. “I, um, have to get up really early for Pilates and I …” I’m lost in thought. Why do these things always happen to me?!

  “You like this body?” he asks as he breaths heavily into my face.

  “Um, sometimes?” I say in the form of a question. “I don’t know?”

  “You like this rock-hard ass?” he asks as he stands on the floor and bends over.

  “I, um, it’s getting late. I should go,” I say in a rush and grab my purse. I try to stand up but he pushes me back on the couch. Kick to the crotch NOW? I ask myself but too frightened to move.

  “Grab my ass,” he instructs me. Apparently there’s no shame in his game.

  “Oh, no. I really shouldn’t.”

  “GRAB MY ASS, DAMNIT!” he yells.

  “OK, OK!” I yell back as I grab his left buttock. For some people, this would be the ultimate turn on, being dominated by a man in a Superman thong, but to me, not so much. I hold on to his butt cheek for dear life as his eyes roll into the back of his head. He looks just like a man who’s just cum. How is he getting aroused by this? Is this some sort of crazy Superman butt fetish that I wasn’t informed about? I have to get out of here!

  “Ooooooh!” he groans loudly, then slowly his knees buckle and his body drops to the floor. He doesn’t move.

  “Mark?” I say. He resembles a dead fish: pale, non-mobile, sickly looking. I clap twice to turn on the lights. “Mark, are you OK?” I ask as I stand over him and let my foot give his limp body a little nudge. He doesn’t respond. Oh fuck! I think I killed him! I grab his shoulders and shake him. “Mark, get up!” I yell. He lays still. “You can’t be dead!” I whimper pathetically as I smack his face. Sadly, part of me wants to take off the thongs and sneak a peek at the goods, another part of me wants to roll him on to his front yard for his neighbors to see what type of freak they live next to, but the part of me that’s telling me to leave quietly and quickly has hands down gotten my vote.

  I slowly grab my purse and head to the door as his dog walks out into the living room and begins to lick on Mark’s face. The secrets that the dog could tell me are probably endless. Should I just steal the dog? No, Leslee, you can’t, I tell myself, then again …

  “Since I obviously can’t have the man, I guess I’ll settle for man’s best friend,” I say aloud. The dog pauses from licking Mark’s face and runs toward me, jumping into my arms. The dog just looks at me. “What?” I ask him. “Would you rather be adopted by a woman with fabulous taste or would you rather be an orphan?” The dog looks down and whimpers. “Yeah, I thought so,” I say as I walk out of Mark’s house quietly. Another date, another disaster, but this time I leave with the cutest, most adorable partying gift ever: my new dog.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “No!” Karen yells in the middle of the bridal shop. “No, no, NO!” she repeats to the sales attendant. She asked me ahead of time to accompany her in shopping for wedding gown and of course, I agreed because I’m one of the bridesmaids. On top of that, I’m her best friend so I couldn’t say no. Sadly I’m beginning to regret my decision to help her. She’s a total monster when it has anything to do with the wedding, but then again I’d be a little pissed off, too, if the sales attendant had me try on a dress that resembles a big, white, puffy parachute. Karen kinda looks like that overgrown marshmallow man in Ghostbusters. Any way you look at it, it just screams bad. No surprise that she’s having the ultimate Bridezilla temper tantrum.

  “What did I tell you, Emily?” Karen asks the obviously intimidated sales girl. “I said classy, elegant, and royale! This dress is proof that you are not listening to anything that I’m telling you.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Culbertson. I’ll find you something better,” Emily says with fear in her eyes. “It’s just that you said that you are a size 8 and our dresses run small so the selection for you is limited.” Oh shit! I think to myself. Emily has done it now. She has officially released the beast and dug her own grave. This is about to get ugly.

  Karen’s eyes widen in anger and her teeth clench together. “So, what are you trying to say, Emily?” Karen asks and Emily shrugs her shoulders. “Are you trying to say that I’m fat?” Karen slowly walks towards the sales girl until she’s face-to-face with her.

  “Um, n-no,” Emily stutters. “You are not fat. You are beautiful and stunning.”

  “You’re trying to tell me that I’m so fat that I’m undeserving of a beautiful wedding gown, aren’t you?”

  Emily gulps. “No, Ms. Culbertson!” she cries. “Of course that’s not what I meant.”

  “So what did you mean?” Karen asks and Emily becomes speechless. It’s the showdown of the year: Bridezilla vs. Very Stupid Sales Attendant. Emily has no clue who she’s dealing with. “This is how it’s going to go from now on,” Karen starts. “You will search high and low in this store for the most elegant gowns that will accent and flatter my curvaceous figure. I am not fat. I have curves. There’s a difference. You will then apologize for bringing me this disgusting monstrosity of a dress to try on and for slightly suggesting that I am of an obe
se nature. And if you even think about bringing me another dress that has me looking like Yuko the Sumo Wrestler, I will inform your boss and have you fired so fast that it’ll make your head spin. Are we clear, Emily?”

  “Yes, Ms. Culbertson,” she says quietly. “And sorry—” Karen waves her hands as if dismissing her. Emily scurries off quickly. Karen looks at me in disgust.

  “Can you believe her?” she asks me. “What in God’s name was she thinking when she brought me out this dress?”

  I laugh. “I don’t know,” I reply. “I can’t believe she would bring you out a white dress. Your vagina’s like the Energizer bunny. It’s been going for years and years.”

  “Ha, ha, you’re so funny,” Karen replies sarcastically. “White is not just for virgins anymore, especially in this day and age.”

  “Well, maybe you should try on some ivory dresses anyway,” I tease. “They very well may have more size eights in ivory.” Karen shoots me a dirty look.

  “So what are you trying to say? That I’m a fat whore?” she asks.

  “No, I’m not implying that you’re fat, Karen,” I say. “But the whore part seems debatable.”

  “Yet again with the humor,” Karen says frustrated. “Just help me get out of this big, satin bubble that they call a dress.” I unzip the dress and watch it fall to the floor. Karen lets out a sigh of relief. “Ahh, that’s better. So, um, how’d it go last night with Mr. Right Now?”

  “Terrible,” I reply and she laughs. “A complete disaster.”

  “What happened?” Karen asks as she fiddles with bridal veils at a nearby display table. I join her in trying on a few.

  “Well, we went back to his place, he gave me this strange Superman lap dance, he passed out head first on the floor and then as I was leaving, I stole his dog.”

  “And now we have a pet,” she says.

  “Exactly.”

  “You know, Russ and I always wanted a pet,” Karen tells me. “We were just too cheap and lazy to buy one. So, let’s name him Roscoe and get him doggy pedicures. That’ll be fun, right?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Why would you steal his dog anyway?” she asks me and I shrug.

  “I don’t know! I panicked!” I exclaim. “I couldn’t tell if Mark was dead or not the way he just crashed to the floor.”

  Karen shakes her head. “You shouldn’t have stolen the dog.”

  “I know, I know. I’m such a horrible person.”

  “You should’ve stolen his money instead,” she says and laughs. “We could’ve had a free lunch today.”

  “If I was thinking straight, I would’ve stolen both,” I say as I try on another veil.

  “Well, it’s not your fault that Mark was a freak,” Karen tells me as she plays with the veil on my head.

  I laugh. “I know. My choice in men sucks.”

  “So are you done with this whole dating experiment thing you got going? Are you completely finished with Mark?”

  I look in the mirror with the veil on my head. It’s the weirdest thing because at this moment I realize that some veils should be used for funerals only. Marriages are kind of like funerals if you think about it. It’s the official death of two individuals’ single lives. But, who’s to say that single life is great? I’m the prime example of why singlehood sucks, but other people may like being single.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m done with Mark,” I tell her. “I think I was done with Mark the moment he put on those Superman thongs and cape.”

  “Hmm, I wonder where he got those,” Karen says drifting off. “Oh my God, Russ and I could have Superhero Saturday!” she exclaims. “That would be super kinky.”

  “Anyway, Mark is a done deal,” I tell her. “And there’s no way in Hell I’d give him the dog back.”

  “Well, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not surprised at what happened,” Karen tells me. “All his friends were trippin’ on Ecstasy. You didn’t notice that when you talked to him?”

  Coming to think of it, his eyes were a bit glassy looking and he was a bit touchy. I guess I was blinded so much by his good looks that I didn’t realize that he could’ve been a bit drugged up. “I didn’t notice,” I tell Karen. “He seemed normal to me.”

  “Uh, yeah, Leslee. If it wasn’t E that they were on, it was definitely something heavy.”

  I sigh. “Karen, how come you didn’t tell me?” I ask her. If there’s one thing I’m oblivious to, it’s flaws in men. Isn’t it obvious?

  “I tried to tell you not to go with him!” she exclaims. “I tried to veer you away with the whole STD warning, but you seemed to not care. Leslee, you’re gonna do what you want anyway whether I say it’s a bad idea or not. You’re a very determined woman.”

  “I might have listened to you if you said he looked like he’s on drugs,” I say and Karen smirks at me. “Out of us two, you’re the overly educated one.”

  “Leslee,” Karen starts, “I’m going to school to be a doctor of English Literature, not a fucking street pharmacist.”

  “Anyway, the Mr. Right Now thing didn’t work out, so I’m moving on to bigger and better tactics of dating.”

  “Meaning?”

  “It’s this company called Lonely Hearts,” I say as I fix my hair in the mirror. Karen’s reflection in the background shows that she’s already annoyed with my idea, but I continue talking anyway. “It’s this video dating program.”

  “Video dating?” Karen asks with a quizzical look on her face.

  “Well, sorta,” I answer. “You make a profile on video, you fill out this questionnaire, and then they try and match you with a compatible partner,” I explain. “And get this! I can view videos of other members and choose who I’m interested in, and if they are interested in me as well, then we can exchange information and take it from there. Nice, right?”

  “Sure, it is,” Karen replies slowly. “It sounds … well, it sounds ridiculous to me.”

  “Karen, it’s not ridiculous!” I exclaim. “It’s my best idea yet.”

  “OK,” Karen says unamused. “Good luck with that.”

  I smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Just as I’m about to try on another veil, Emily walks in with yet another wedding disaster dress. Instead of being puffy and parachute like, it looks shredded and almost Halloween like. It’s a mummy dress for sure. An unpleasant look comes across Karen’s face and I almost fear for Emily’s life. Could a person be so stupid to bring Bridezilla another horrible looking gown? The answer to that question is yes … yes, Emily is this stupid and is unaware of the rage that she’s brought upon her. Karen takes a deep breath.

  “Emily, I want to like you,” Karen starts. “I really do. But this dress …” Karen gently lifts up the loose fabric shreds of the dress. Karen laughs. “This dress is the ugliest fucking dress that I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s not elegant, it’s not classy, and it certainly is not royale.”

  Emily puts her head down. “I’m sorry, Ms. Culbertson,” she says. “I know that it’s your special day and—”

  “This is not just a special day,” Karen says as she puts her arm around Emily’s shoulders. “This is my wedding day, and my first wedding to be exact. You only get one first wedding, Emily.”

  “Yes, I understand, but—”

  “No buts, Emily,” Karen interjects mid-sentence. “You can either imagine me in a beautiful, flattering, whimsical wedding gown striding down the aisle like the queen that I am or you can imagine yourself striding down the road to the unemployment office. So, which one is it?”

  “I’m trying, Ms. Culbertson!” Emily pleads.

  “I don’t need you to just try! I need you to just do!” Karen yells. “I need you to bring me a dress that will take my breath away and all you have done is pissed me off royally. I’ve grown exhausted of your incompetent shenanigans, Emily. Your disappointing mannerism has left me no choice.” Karen firmly puts her hands on her hips and delivers a death stare directly into poor Emily’s eyes. “I want to spe
ak to your manager … IMMEDIATELY.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  I anxiously wait in the lobby of the Lonely Hearts office and begin to wonder if this is a bad idea. I just can’t get Karen’s facial expression out of my mind that may have suggested that I’m crazy, pathetic, and overdoing this whole dating research/finding a mate thing. Is it wrong that I only want what every other girl in the world wants: to find true love? Think about it! After elementary school, there’s high school then after high school there’s college then after college there’s your career then after career … there’s love. Instead of just focusing on a career, we realize how much we want to get married, have a partner in our lives to share everything with. I’m convincing myself that Lonely Hearts is not a bad idea, even though the name Lonely Hearts kinda screams desperate. I just want love in my life.

  “Leslee Robinson,” the receptionist says and I look up. I can’t help but to notice the enormous, pear-shaped diamond on her left ring finger. Maybe she’s found someone here. Maybe … “Selena can see you now.”

  “Thank you,” I say and walk to Selena’s office. I’m greeted by a very petite, thirty something Latina who bares a striking resemblance to Eva Longoria. I’m jealous already. Her office is filled with framed family photos, an oversized glass desk and a vase filled with red roses. Just like the receptionist, she too wears a gigantic rock on her left ring finger, but hers is round. Bitches, I think to myself. Just flaunting the simple fact that you have men. It’s so tacky.

  “Hello, Leslee!” Selena exclaims. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She gives me one of those fake air kisses that women give each other upon greeting. I smile as she looks at my shoes. “Are those Christian Louboutins?”

  “Of course!” I tell her. “A girl’s gotta have nice shoes, right?” OK, so maybe I didn’t sell all of my designer stuff like I told Karen I had. These are my favorite pair of Louboutins. I couldn’t just sell them.

  “Yes, they make the outfit,” she agrees as I take a seat in front of her desk. “So, what can I do for you today?” Selena asks. Isn’t it obvious why I’m here though? Isn’t it obvious when anyone is seeking out Lonely Hearts? I’m not here for my health per se.