by Shelly Bell
I sat and took off my jacket.
“My treat then,” he said, getting up.
“No really, I’m not thirsty. I just want to get this over with.”
He paused for a moment, considering something. “Fine. The contract states you can’t give any other interviews to any news media. It means that you’ll be signing exclusively with them.”
“I’m being interviewed locally tomorrow. Will that be a problem?”
“No, just don’t fax it back to them until after the interview. Make sure you tell them about it, though.” He placed the contract on the table and leaned closer. “You’ll be giving them full access to your life, Sara. They can follow you around with cameras, if they want. Are you sure you want to do this?”
It touched me he seemed to care until I remembered he was charging me. The question was based on his role as my attorney and nothing more. I could never forget Goldman didn’t care about anyone but himself. Every time I lowered my guard around him, I got burned. I needed to put my attraction behind me once and for all.
“Yes.”
He nodded and continued to explain the terms of the contract for me. By the time he finished, the clock read five minutes to nine.
“Well, my carriage turns back into a pumpkin in five minutes. I better get going. Thanks for helping,” I added.
“If you need anything...” He didn’t finish and I didn’t give him time.
“Just send the bill to my office, all right?” I put my jacket on. He stood, and we began to walk out of the coffee shop.
“Sara?”
“Yeah?”
I turned to him as we stopped just outside the door. He smelled intoxicating.
He shook his head. “I’m not charging you for this. Even if you don’t think so, I really am your friend.”
He walked away, leaving me to wonder why he seemed offended.
“With us today is Sara Friedman, a twenty-nine-year-old single female searching for her soul mate. You may have seen her on YouTube and she’s live via satellite with us today. Good morning, Sara.”
“Good morning, Bethany,” I responded to Bethany Williams, trying not to fidget in my chair. I had been under the lights of the camera for only a few seconds, and I already felt the sweat bead on my face. I silently prayed it wouldn’t melt the makeup down my face on national television.
“Sara, you’re only twenty-nine years old. Why do you feel the need to marry before you turn thirty?”
That’s a great question and one for which I had no answer. I glanced to the left of the camera. Missy stuck out her tongue. I could always count on her for support, even if she made fun of me at the same time.
“I don’t have to marry by thirty, of course, but I believe if you want something badly enough, you have to work for it. I hadn’t tried very hard to meet anyone since college. I thought somehow it would just happen naturally. Then as I watched my younger brother get married, it occurred to me if I wanted what he had I needed to do the work. I’ve joined a dating site and I’m open to any and all means in meeting my soul mate.”
So far, I thought I sounded intelligent, but I hoped I wouldn’t come off as desperate.
Even though, I really was desperate.
I could not believe I sat on the actual set of the Morning show in front of Bethany Williams. It was the most surreal experience of my life. She was as nice as I hoped she’d be and she really helped me feel more at ease when we’d met earlier in the green room.
“What qualities are you seeking in your soul mate?” she asked seriously, although her eyes had a playful quality to them.
Apparently, I amused her.
“Male, heterosexual, single, and alive would be good.”
She wouldn’t leave it alone.
“Surely you require something more or you would have settled on someone by now.”
I squirmed in my chair as I dreamed up my perfect guy. “I want someone taller than me, with dark hair and dark eyes, not too thin or too heavy but solid, since I want him to be bigger than me. He should be a Reform or Conservative Jew, employed, smart, masculine, sensitive without being too feminine, like animals and children, enjoy traveling and science fiction, and be open to getting married by next February.” I giggled nervously, and, thank goodness, Bethany laughed along with me.
“That doesn’t sound too difficult to find,” she said sarcastically.
Maybe not for Bethany Williams, but for me, it was plenty difficult.
“Why do you think it’s difficult for you?”
Huh? Had I said that out loud? Crap! I wasn’t even drunk this time.
I guess I’ll be honest.
“I’m on the heavier side. The guys I’m attracted to prefer skinny and athletic women. In fact, most men prefer those types of women. The men that like me tend to have major psychological issues or emotional baggage. They feel safe with me, because they’re not threatened by my average looks and they believe no one else would want me. I stayed with them and let them treat me crappy.” I think I just said way more than I should have, but Bethany seemed curious.
“Why would you stay with someone if they don’t treat you well?”
“It’s not just me. Plenty of women stay in relationships with men that aren’t good for them. Low self-esteem, body issues, fear of abandonment. Oh, and my personal favorite, a woman’s love can change and heal a man. But you can’t. They never change.”
I had given this speech to my friends throughout the years, and they always agreed with me. Bethany nodded in agreement as well.
“Why do you think your story has resonated with so many women?”
“I’ve been waiting for my prince to come along since I first saw Cinderella when I was five years old. Waiting for my happily ever after. I think we’re taught at a very young age we won’t be complete until we find our other half. That’s how I feel. Incomplete. I want to feel complete, and I think other women feel the same way.”
Or, maybe it’s just me.
I glanced at Missy, and she had tears in her eyes.
Nope, not just me.
“Well, we look forward to sharing in your journey this year as you search for your soul mate.” Bethany faced the camera. “Sara will be back a couple of times this year to give us an update on her progress, and you can follow her blog through our website. Thanks for coming, Sara.”
“Thanks for having me, Bethany,” I responded naturally. After all, I’d been watching the show since the sixth grade.
We finished the interview, and Missy ran to me to give me a hug. “I can’t believe Bethany Williams has just interviewed you on National television. Between last week’s interview with Detroit Channel Four and the Morning show, you’re gonna be famous!”
“You think?” I felt overwhelmed as I fought back the nausea threatening to ruin my moment in the spotlight and my new shirt.
Would men find me charming? Or desperate?
I couldn’t wait to get back and see how many responses I’d get from my profile, now that I had advertised my availability to millions of people.
CHAPTER 4
A Year to Remember Blog
Sara Friedman’s journey to find her soul mate
March 2, 2012 We’re Off to See the Wizard!
Welcome to the first entry of my blog chronicling my search for my soul mate. If you watched the YouTube Video like millions of others, you may wonder if any one event triggered my pledge to give myself one year to find and marry my soul mate. In addition to drinking an entire bottle of excellent Kosher Champagne, several factors led to my toast.
Don’t mind me, but I might as well use this opportunity to rant. It’s not often I get the chance to say what’s on my mind. Let me start off by saying this:
Discrimination against fat people remains an acceptable practice in our country. Federal law and most states’ laws fail to protect this class against discrimination afforded to other groups in regards to employment or housing. While this country continues to view obesity as a problem
of epic proportions, the focus remains on the cure of obesity. In this country alone, people spend over thirty-five billion dollars a year on weight loss products. We still treat obese people with distain, perpetuating the belief people are fat because they lack willpower. Children tease their classmates for being fat, even when they’re not. Adults refuse to hire an obese person due to the incorrect assumption a fat person must be lazy and therefore, incapable of doing a job. Men either find fat women unattractive or fear their friends will disapprove if they date a fat woman.
In turn, the choice of men to date is limited for a fat woman like me. I’ve dated since my freshman year of high school and had a couple of semi-serious relationships over the years. I guarantee if I had been skinny, I’d have dated a lot more.
I spent four years in college and three years in graduate school to be a clinical psychologist. In addition to classes, I had internships, a job, and a thesis to write. I didn’t have time to date (At least that’s what I told myself. The truth is no one asked).
One day, I woke up and realized almost all my friends had gotten married, were engaged to be married, or were in serious relationships. I hadn’t been on a date in two years. Other than an occasional movie, bingo, or karaoke with my BFF, Missy, my social life consisted of attending bridal showers, bachelorette parties, and weddings. For a while, I clung to the misconception my time was right around the corner.
When my brother got married, I snapped. He wasn’t even searching for his soul mate. He didn’t care if he ever got married. Why should he get his happy ever after and not me?
There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. My sorry tale of woe. Today, I’m ready to find my own happy ever after! Join me on my journey as I follow the yellow brick road. Just remember to buckle your seatbelt, because I have a feeling it’s going to be a bumpy ride!
CHAPTER 5
MARCH 8, 2012
DETROIT, MICHIGAN
WEIGHT: 183 LBS.
STATUS: SINGLE
Over the next week, I didn’t receive any more emails from Goldman, although I did get hundreds of emails from men from all over the country. I narrowed the field to those who lived in Michigan. That left me with eighty. Out of those eighty, not one of them met my criteria of a soul mate.
Perhaps, the idea of getting married within a year intimidated reasonably sane men.
Between work and shopping with Missy for more colorful clothing, the days flew by. Every day, I begged Missy to let me out of my agreement, swearing I’d complete it once I lost another thirty pounds. She wouldn’t relent, demanding I not give up too soon or let a few pounds get in the way of finding true love.
When another dateless Saturday night rolled around, I resigned myself to my typical night of staying in to watch reruns and eating a batch of homemade cookies.
Bored by nine o’clock, I decided to read over the profiles again, this time without such a critical eye. Maybe I became more desperate over the last week, but suddenly, I realized there were a lot of intriguing men to be found on this website. Yes, some of them couldn’t spell or write a sentence to save their life, but the majority simply wanted what I did. To find someone to ease the loneliness.
I made a list of potential men in order of preference. Then I emailed the top five. Within two hours, I had three responses. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one dateless tonight. I spent the rest of the night scheduling dates for the week.
I’d meet Jacob on Monday for a drink at eight, Larry on Wednesday for coffee at five, and Steven on Friday night for dinner. I would have preferred to limit the first date to a drink for an easy getaway, but Steven insisted on dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in the area.
I texted Missy to let her know I had three dates lined up for the week. Out on her fourth date with a girl named Megan, I tried to ascertain whether she could be “the one,” but Missy was unusually tight-lipped about her.
I didn’t expect a response since Missy’s rules allow for sex on the fourth date. She surprised me by responding with a happy face. I followed up by asking if she was on her date and again, she sent me a happy face. I let her get back to it as I contemplated emailing Goldman.
For some reason, I really wanted him to know about my success this evening. I debated back and forth on whether he would even care. In the end, I sent a short note he couldn’t read too much into.
Dear Goldman,
Guess who has three dates lined up for this week? I’ll give you a hint. She’s a fabulous swimmer, but requires advice when diving. Did you guess? Yes, it’s me. Have you met any possible future Mrs. Goldmans recently?
Your Comrade in Singledom,
Sara
Apparently, either he wasn’t on a date or he was rude enough to write me back in front of her, because a few minutes after I sent the email, I received his reply.
Dear Sara,
My diving advice to you is not to become too excited every time you get a date. Otherwise, you’ll exert too much energy on men who don’t deserve it. Enjoy every day, regardless of whether you have a date, and the rest will follow.
Your Comrade in Singledom,
Adam
P.S. Every woman is the possible Mrs. Goldman.
For such a jerk, he certainly gave some good advice. I would try and listen to it, but it wouldn’t be easy to stay relaxed, knowing I may have just taken the first step in meeting my future husband.
I tried to concentrate on my client Dina’s teenage angst. Honestly, if I had to hear again about how her alleged best friend Christine sabotaged her chance of happiness with Robby by inviting him to the school dance before she got the opportunity to ask, all the while knowing she liked him, I swear to God I was going to throw myself out the window.
Two months ago, when the stab in the back had happened, I pointed out a true friend wouldn’t have behaved like Christine and she should examine whether Christine was truly her friend. I also pointed out she would one day have another chance at dating Robby, since it was unlikely he and Christine would end up together in the long run. After all, only a small percentage of people marry their childhood sweethearts.
Instead of moving on, Dina chose to dissect the situation every week during our counseling session, refusing to talk about anything else. Frankly, it was getting to be disturbing, and I noted I should find out from her parents if she was this obsessed about it outside of my office. I’d have to ask my mother how to do it without violating client/psychologist confidentiality.
While Dina babbled incessantly, my imagination wandered to my date tonight. Even though we’d only be getting a drink together, should I shave my legs? I bought new sexy undergarments to wear on the dates, even though I realistically knew no one other than me would see them.
Missy would be proud of me. Rather than the black I normally prefer, I chose red, purple, and hot pink bras and panties made of silk and lace. I don’t think I’d ever spent so much money on clothes no one could see.
Tonight, I would wear the red.
Finally, the session ended, and I had exactly a half an hour to put on makeup and get across the city. It would normally only take ten minutes to get to the bar, but it was snowing at the rate of an inch an hour and the meteorologists predicted at least six inches by midnight.
Born and raised in Michigan, my father had made certain I knew how to drive in the worst possible winter weather conditions. Besides, I drove an un-ecofriendly SUV with four- wheel drive, a must-have for the winter savvy population of Metro-Detroit.
Unfortunately, even in my gigantic American-made vehicle, I couldn’t get through the traffic any easier, since apparently no one else on the road had yet mastered driving in the snow. At ten miles per hour, it would take me an hour and a half to get to the bar.
I debated for a few minutes whether to call Jacob and let him know I’d be late. Once it became clear I would never meet him at the scheduled eight o’clock time, I decided I’d have to call him. I hoped he wouldn’t want to reschedule or God forbid, cancel the whole thing
.
My vehicle has the hands free system, which meant in theory I could keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road.
I listened to the prompt of my car. “Phone.”
“Call Jacob on mobile.”
“Calling Jennifer Dubb on cell,” it responded.
“Aaah, no!”
I tried again. “Call Jacob on mobile.”
“Press one to call Mom at home. Press two to call Club Workout at work. Press three to call Missy Stein on cell.”
How did my car’s computer confuse Jacob with Missy Stein? It wasn’t even close.
Technology is a fabulous thing, when it works. When it doesn’t, which seems to be quite often, I felt like one of Missy’s residents in the retirement home longing for the good old days.
I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and scrolled to find Jacob’s number. I could get a ticket for it, but something tells me the cops have other things to worry about today, since I passed two accidents in the last twenty minutes.
I expected he would answer his phone, but instead I got his voicemail. He probably couldn’t answer it because he kept his hands on the wheel when driving.
“Hey, Jacob, this is Sara. I’m on my way to O’Leary’s Bar, but I’m stuck in traffic. I should make it there by 8:45. If you get this message, call me back. See you soon.”
For the next forty-five minutes, traffic moved slowly and I watched as car after car spun out on the snow and ice. On days like this, I dream of moving somewhere warm like Florida. How nice it would be to never worry about snowstorms. I mean, what’s a little hurricane compared to a blizzard? I’d take the hurricane any day.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I reached my destination.
Before going in, I reviewed the notes I had taken from his profile and his emails. He described himself as five foot ten inches and two hundred pounds with light brown hair and blue eyes. His photo had been grainy, but from what I could make out of it, he seemed relatively handsome. He enjoyed watching sports and gambling.