Dapper Carter's 8 Rules of Dating

by mitchell, alan

  “Did you play?” she asked.

  "At Rutgers."

  "Awesome. Come shoot with me, then."

  "I don't play anymore."

  "Why? You lost your game?"

  "I still got game. Just got a different game now."

  I retrieved a rebound for her as it clanged off the back of the rim. I could feel her doting eyes on me as she assessed me from head to toe. I could tell she was kind of proud.

  "You look good."

  "Yeah, I lost a few pounds.” But I knew that wasn't what she was referring to.

  "That's not what I'm referring to."

  "Is that why you didn't return any of my calls?" I knew it was dirty pool to put her on the spot like that, but I wanted to know.

  "You weren't ready for me to return your calls. You weren't in a good space at the time."

  “How did you know?”

  "Woman's intuition."

  My confidence was back and I figured I would throw caution to the wind and try to nail down a date with the future Mrs. Carter.

  "We should try and have dinner again. Which day is better for you, tomorrow or Friday?"

  She contemplated for a second while sizing me up. I’m sure she was comparing the Dapper Carter standing before her to the false bravado Dapper Carter she had seen during our last few encounters.

  "Tomorrow...if you can make the shot from where you're standing."

  I was standing well beyond the three-point arc. A sweeping grin lit up my face because I had her. I was a long range shooting specialist when I played ball, scoring most of my points from the perimeter. I launched a picture-perfect jump shot and watched it descend to earth, swishing gracefully through the cotton net.

  Not in My Eyes

  I sat nervously on Rain’s stoop, waiting for her to get ready. Rain was old school Ft. Greene when it wasn’t anything but drug dealers and crack heads. She grew up down the street from Lafayette Gardens, a notorious housing projects similar to Cabrini Green in Chicago, Prince Street Projects in Newark, and Nickerson Gardens in South Central Los Angeles.

  She finally answered the door looking great in her unpretentious way. She had on a pair of Seven jeans to accentuate her svelte figure and a plain old white Gap t-shirt. I imagined what a thoroughbred she would be in some five-inch stilettos and a clingy, snakeskin Roberto Cavalli dress to show off her athletic legs and well-formed track and field derriere.

  “Hello, Dapper Carter. You’re punctual. I like that. Of course I’m not quite ready to leave yet. Would you mind doing me a favor?”

  “Sure.” I entered her apartment. It was nice and tidy, as I expected, with ample sunlight streaming through the large picture windows and cascading off the light-colored hardwood floors. She had various paintings by local artists, some hanging, others sitting patiently on the floor against the walls waiting to be hung.

  As I walked through the foyer I couldn’t help but notice the elephant statue with its right foot forward guarding the entrance to her living room, indicating that she was a member of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority. I pointed out how much I respected Deltas, seeing as though my mother, my Aunt Fannie, and her daughter, Faye, were all Deltas. She responded with a resounding Ooo-ooop!

  She led me into her bedroom. You’ve gotta be kidding? Not this easy.

  But I was wrong, thankfully. She wanted me to get a box down for her. It was at the top of her closet where she couldn’t reach. I couldn’t help but wonder how she got them up there in the first place, but that was neither here nor there, and I did as she requested.

  “What’s wrong with these Christian Louboutins you already have out?”

  “You know your shoes, huh?”

  “I know a lot of useless information.”

  “A man who knows about shoes definitely isn’t useless. You will have a place in this world.”

  Suddenly all of the boxes fell on me and we laughed hysterically.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Yeah, but I sue.”

  Rain snickered. Her cheeks turned the color of a watermelon and her eyes gleamed when she laughed. If only she knew how I melted whenever I laid eyes upon her.

  “You’ve got a great laugh. Don’t ever stop laughing.”

  I got up and helped her pick up the scores of boxes that assaulted me from the top shelf.

  “Here they are!” she exclaimed as she pulled out an old pair of Birkenstock sandals. “These are the most comfortable pair of sandals in the world.”

  I was listening to her, but I was distracted by everything else in her closet. Her clothes were arranged perfectly right to left, black to green to brown to blue to khaki. She picked up on my silence and became slightly defensive.

  “What?” she questioned.

  “I was just looking at how your clothes were arranged.”

  “Is there any other way to arrange them?”

  “Not in my eyes.”

  Me Too

  We left Rain’s apartment and decided to walk to mine instead of catching the subway or a cab. My place was over fifteen blocks away, but it was beautiful outside and there was nothing like New York in the springtime. We opted for the even longer way and walked down Lafayette instead of dealing with the congestion of Fulton Street.

  Gorgeous brownstones, stylish carriage houses, and garden style parks populate the area. The neighborhood had been renamed Clinton Hill, to go along with Stuyvesant Heights (Bedford-Stuyvesant), Bedford Hills (Bedford-Stuyvesant), Prospect Heights (Crown Heights/Ft. Greene), and Bocaco (Boerum Hills/ Carroll Gardens/Cobble Hill) as far as real estate talk was concerned. I wondered what would be next. Brownsville Heights? Bushwick Landings? East New York West?

  Not ten minutes into our trek, just as we crossed Bedford Street, a Brooklyn-sized rat with the speed of a baby cheetah bolted out in front of us. I jumped off the sidewalk into the middle of the street leaving Rain to deal with this “situation” by herself. She just stood still, frozen, waiting for the dirty pest to pass.

  This is one area where I lose cool points and the chicken shit side of me comes out. I don’t fuck with rodents! Actually, I don’t do anything smaller than a Chihuahua. I cowardly made my way back over toward Rain with my tail tucked between my legs. I was embarrassed, to say the least.

  “What the fuck!?” she questioned.

  “I’m really sorry, but you’ve got to understand that I was traumatized at twelve years old when I was awakened by my pet parakeet, Rocky, going crazy one night. I turned on the lights and there were like fifty-leven (50+11) mice in his cage eating his discarded bird seed hulls.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit. It gets better. The scared ass mice proceeded to jump out of the cage and onto me! My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I was fucking horrified.”

  Rain got a kick out of my story following with one of her own.

  “Nice. But check this out. One time I was taking a bath when I was about ten and a rat fell out of the ceiling tile and into the bathtub with me! Talk about a silent scream.”

  “Now that sucks.” I couldn’t even give her a “sucks to be you” on that one.

  Instead of spending a hundred dollars taking Rain out for dinner, I decided to try something different and cook dinner for her. I could actually cook a little bit. My momma said if I was going to eat as much food as I did, I was going to have to learn how to cook.

  Rain sat at my small kitchen table sipping Moscato. A single candle and a red rose set in front of her face. The flickering light illuminated the scene perfectly. I was caught off guard in how natural and perfect she looked sitting in my kitchen like she belonged there. I was careful not to stare too hard, but she would catch my glances and meet them with her own. Then she would blush shyly. She was soooo cute.

  “I took the liberty of preparing most of the meal before earlier. The salad is already tossed…”

  “You know how to toss a salad? You been to prison?”

  “No. Ha, ha, ha.” She had a sick sense of humor and t
hat was good. Mine was politically incorrect most of the time and I appreciated that hers was off as well.

  I took out two salmon steaks and placed them on the George Foreman Grill. It was a bachelor’s best friend. I wasn’t trying to reinvent the wheel and in six minutes we would be feasting.

  “Listen, I hate to do the boring, mundane, tell-me-all-about-yourself bit, but tell me all about yourself. When is your birthday?”

  “April twelfth.”

  “No shit! So is mine!”

  “You lie!” she screamed.

  “I’m serious. April 12, 1975.

  It turns out we were born on the same day in the same year. The only difference was she was born at 8:30 in the morning and I was born at 11:02 a.m. That's cool because we know I like older women anyway.

  "So, I have a couple of questions I need to ask you. How you answer these questions will tell me everything I need to know about you and probably determine the path of our relationship. Ready?"

  "Go for it," she asserted.

  "Who do you like better? Prince or Michael Jackson?"

  "Huh?"

  "You can like both, but you can't like them both equally."

  She pondered for a second. "Prince."

  "With the Revolution or New Power Generation?"

  "Revolution, of course. It all ends at Purple Rain as far as I'm concerned."

  Amen. I agreed. "Good answer. How about this? The Cosby's or A Different World? "

  "With or without Lisa Bonet?”

  "Very perceptive, grasshopper. With Lisa Bonet."

  "Then I'd have to say A Different World."

  "Me too." I hated the fact that she was turning me into a Me Too. You know, when everything that the other person says they like, you coincidentally like it too? Me too!

  “What’s your favorite movie?” I asked.

  “Beaches.”

  “That’s a great movie.”

  “You sure have a lot of estrogen in you, Dapper. By the way, how did you come by a name like Dapper?”

  “My father was in the military and he had this thing about looking sharp and being sharp. He figured that if he blessed me with a name like Dapper I would have no choice but to live up to its billing. Not to mention, my father’s name is Dapper. And so was his father’s. And his father’s.

  “So your name is Dapper Carter the fourth?

  “All day.”

  “That’s a great name.”

  “I know. Each one passed the name down to the next with the legacy of living up to such a prestigious name. However, my great great grandfather’s name was Erastus.”

  “Another very cool name.”

  “I know.” I winked at her and stood up to go check on our dinner.

  “Erastus Carter worked for the railroad and he was the sharpest on the block. The privileged white men that he served would constantly make comments about how dapper he looked. And how well he spoke but that’s an argument for another day. So he figured that he would give his son a name he can aspire to.

  “What’s your middle name?”

  “Ain’t no middle name. Just Dapper.”

  “All four of you?!”

  “All four of us. With a name like Dapper there ain’t nothing else to say.

  “I guess your right.”

  I hustled into the kitchen to check on the food before it burned. Rain followed behind me.

  “So what’s your favorite movie?” she inquired.

  “I can’t say. “

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m embarrassed.” I uneasily refilled my glass of Merlot.

  “It can’t be that bad.” She had endearing eyes even while she was cross examining me.

  “I object. Badgering the witness.”

  “No, not quite Mr. Law & Order. But nice try. “C’mon, spit it out.”

  I took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and then let it go. “Grease.”

  “Grease? Are you serious?”

  Hesitantly I squeaked out “Yeah. I got a thing for musicals. West Side Story, Moulin Rouge, Chicago…”

  “You sure you’re not gay?”

  “Here we go! How come a brotha who appreciates the marriage of music, dance, and film has to be gay?”

  “It’s okay if you are. Some of my closest friends are gay.”

  “I’m not gay,” I sighed.

  “I know. I’m just busting your chops. I have an incredible gaydar. I topped Rain’s glass off and sat down to continue to connect with her. "So, if you don't mind me asking, what's a woman as beautiful as you doing alone?

  "How do you know I'm alone?" she teased, but I knew she was just giving me a hard time.

  "I'm fine being alone. I don't need a man to define me. Plus, I'm not the easiest person to get along with all of the time. You're an Aries; you know what I'm talking about." Aries have a reputation for being adventurous and energetic, courageous, enthusiastic, confident, and extremely quick witted. But on the darker side of the moon, we also can be selfish and quick tempered, not to mention impulsive and impatient. The fist hole in my plaster wall can attest to that.

  I prepared Rain's plate and placed it in front of her. Serving someone else was actually something new for me since I was used to sitting back and letting someone serve me. But serving Rain felt good. After a few bites, I put my fork down and looked the butterscotch beauty straight in her eyes, intent to tell the truth for once.

  "Look, I'm going to be real up front with you. I've been divorced for a couple of years and this dating game hasn't been nice to me. There are certain things I expect and if the person I'm with can't accommodate them, then I don't need to be with her."

  "I agree. We all deserve to be treated exactly the way we want to be."

  I thought about what she said. This woman had wisdom way beyond her years and I couldn't have said it better myself.

  “Go get two pieces of paper,” she ordered. She wanted to try something different.

  I complied, knowing that her assertiveness/bossiness was a quality that I respond to.

  “List seven things that you want out of your relationship and I will do the same.”

  "Why seven?"

  "Why not seven?"

  She was right. Did I have another Caesar on my hands? I was beginning to wonder.

  "If five of those seven match up on each of our sheets, we'll have a second date. If not, "C’est la Vie!""

  I shook my head in agreement. She was lucky she was so cute. “Okay. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  “The bigger the risk, the bigger the reward.”

  “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

  “You can’t win ‘em all…”

  “Six in one hand, a half-dozen in the other…”

  “Paper or plastic?”

  “Credit or debit?”

  She had to have the last word and I found her wit and charm infectious. I wrote feverishly, finishing my list in half the time it took her to finish hers.

  "Tell me your top seven picks."

  I took a deep breath then swallowed hard. Here goes nothing, I thought. Honesty. But not brutal honesty. Loyalty. Passion. Compassion. Camaraderie. Sex at least once a week. Three would be better, though. And I'd like two children and a bulldog named Shaft.

  Rain seemed to have that maternal instinct that I was looking for and she could possibly be the one to bestow the greatest gift any man could ask for upon me…a son. I would do things differently than my dad. Not that his way was wrong, but I’d just do it differently.

  I looked up from my paper. Her features had changed. They had become softer. She slid the paper across the table saying nothing. I read her picks aloud.

  Number one, Honesty. Number two, Loyalty. Number three, Friendship. Number four, Sensitivity. Number five, Communication. Number six, Great sex. Number seven, two kids.

  I put the paper down and thought to myself how spooky that was. Almost borderline creepy with the birthdays first and now this.

  “We only match up on four
. It was nice meeting you, Dapper Carter.” She stood up and began to retrieve her things, determined to make good on her promise.

  "But wait a second. We both have honesty, loyalty, sex, and two children. We're close."

  "Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."

  She was right. I had to re-examine. I scanned the list maniacally trying to find some loophole in it that would allow a second date for me. After several scrupulous seconds I found it.

  "Here it is. Friendship and camaraderie are synonyms."

  "You sure?"

  "I'm a walking dictionary. Trust me, it means the same thing. So we're straight, right? We can kick it again?"

  "Sure. We can hang out again. You get a second date."

  Now that's what I was talking about. I had to use the restroom, so I excused myself. While I was in the john, Rain collected the dirty dishes and placed them in the kitchen sink. I cooked and she cleaned. We were already falling in sync.

  While in the kitchen, she noticed my notebook sitting on the counter. Nosily, she picked it up, opened it, and began to read. A few moments later I returned to the kitchen to find her standing there with my deepest thoughts in her hands.

  "This is really good."

  "That wasn't for anyone to read."

  "Why not?" she asked.

  "It's kind of like therapy for me."

  "Well, I like it. You want your second date right now?"

  "Sure. What you got in mind?"

  Choose Love

  Rain wanted to take me to an outdoor poetry reading at a small park off of Atlantic Avenue in Ft. Greene. I was a budding poet in her eyes, although I'd hardly call what I do "writing poetry." But I figured that I would go. At least I was spending time with Rain, which is what I really wanted anyway.

  The reading was at a small park off of Atlantic Avenue and Fulton Street. We caught the C train to Lafayette Ave. and walked over two blocks. It was outside and under the moonlight with a mixture of all kinds of Brooklyn people. It was a Rainbow Coalition of black, white, brown, and yellow people.