by Sharon Kleve
“No, but I’m hoping there’s one good guy in the bunch. I wish I could take you along on my dates. You could rate them for me.”
“That would be fun. Let me do it.”
“No offense, but I think Kitty and Brenda would know better what I’m looking for in a guy. I’m going to email them with my dating schedule.”
Hi Kitty and Brenda,
I’ve decided to aggressively pursue dating again. Here’s my dating schedule for Saturday night. I want your opinion, so take notes.
I’m meeting ‘Nick Shaver’ at Silas Street Café at 2:00 p.m.
Next is ‘Bob Smith’ at Mr. Gyro at 4:00 p.m.
Then I’m meeting ‘Samuel Tyson’ at Paseo Caribbean Restaurant at 6:00 p.m.
‘Sneaky Bastard’ is next. We’ll meet at the Green Leaf Vietnamese at 8:00 p.m.
‘Michael Nate Parker’ is next at the Magnolia Village Pub at 10:00 p.m.
Last, but not least is ‘The Beaver’ at The Burger King on the corner of 5th and Union around midnight—if I’m still awake.
Corny
***
The next morning I was determined to help Ralph be successful. After lunch, I forwarded the phones to the operator and we went into the conference room to practice for his first board meeting. My strategy was to toss out questions that might come up, and see how he reacted, but it totally threw him. He stuttered through all his answers.
Out of nowhere he blurted, “I can’t control my stuttering. It happens when I’m nervous. What am I going to do? The staff will make fun of me. Whenever I’m around, they’re always snickering.”
“Ralph, I want to help you. Try and relax and speak slowly. It seems to worsen when you talk fast. Okay?” What I wanted to tell him was to lick his finger and stick it in a wall socket.
“Okay, but it better work or I’ll dock your pay.”
“Listen Ralph, I’m trying to help. You need to gain the employees’ respect and stuttering won’t help.”
“Study my notes for a while and then we’ll re-visit them after lunch.”
“All right.” His head rested on the conference table when I left and he looked pretty glum. I shook Pete awake. I needed his help.
“Hey, you woke me up from a wonderful dream about a harem of sexy ferrets.”
“Do me a favor and go check on Ralph. He didn’t look too happy when I left him.”
“He’s fine. He’s chanting, ‘I will not stutter, I will not stutter.’ ”
Good. He learned a new skill from me today—a chant. If I could teach Ralph one new thing a day, he’d be ready to run the company in maybe a year.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was finally my speed date night and I made sure to check my email before I left for my first date. The Beaver, my midnight date wrote:
Dear Corny,
I’m sorry but I have to cancel my date for tonight. I’m disappointed because I was looking forward to meeting you. You sound hot. Maybe we could go to Burger King next weekend. I’ve been called in to work a double shift at my job as the newly promoted night manager. I work at the McDonalds right below the Seattle Ferry Terminal; it’s the best job ever.
Sincerely,
The Beaver
“Sounds like a winner—not.”
“True. He doesn’t sound like my dream man, that’s for sure. I’ve been to that particular McDonalds a few times. It’s a real dump. Strangely, my date with The Beaver was supposed to be at Burger King on 1st Avenue and Pike. Do you think he was going to use our date to spy on the competition?”
“I wonder what his title was before he was the night manager—the french fry machine manager?”
“Oh, you had to bring up french fries. I’m starving… I fricken love french fries; they’re golden, crispy, and wonderfully salty. I’ve perfected the ketchup-to-french fry ratio. First, I pour all my precious french fries onto a stack of about ten little white napkins. Make sure the napkins are perfectly lined up on top of each other first. If you get too much ketchup in one spot your french fries get soggy. Carefully tear the corner of the ketchup packet open with your teeth. If you’re not sure where to tear, look closely at the corner of the packet and you’ll see a dashed line. If you’re squeamish about putting your mouth on the ketchup packet, then wipe them down with a sanitary wipe. Now that you have the packet open, carefully dribble two packets of ketchup evenly over your fries. If you’re a salt fiend like me, you can sprinkle additional salt at this time.”
“Now you’ve got me craving french fries, do you have time to pick up a large order before your dates start?”
“No, but even if I did, I wouldn’t feed you greasy food. Kari told me what happens when you eat grease and it’s not pleasant.”
“Fine, be a party-pooper.”
“The point is, I better not see poop any place, but in your box. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“The Beaver’s cancellation was a plus, because I might’ve been a little overzealous by arranging six dates for one night. But there didn’t seem to be any other cancellations.”
“If you took me with you I could rate the guys. I could even follow them into the bathroom and give you descriptions of their man parts.”
“No, that isn’t necessary. Kitty wanted to eat at the Green Leaf Vietnamese restaurant ever since they opened last year and she’s happy to check out my dates for me. Brenda has another date with the big goon. I wonder what Steve would say if he knew they were dating? She thought she could drag him to at least a couple of the restaurants. You can help me with my clothes, though.”
“Bring a couple changes of clothing and keep them in the trunk of your car. You’re always bumping into things and you might end up with spinach dip on your boob.”
“That’s a good idea. I haven’t eaten anything for breakfast or lunch. My stomach needs as much room as possible to fit in all the food. This morning I spent two hours on the treadmill and I did double sets of reps on the weight machine. But now, I have the weightlifting wiggles and I don’t know if I could lift my fork.”
“You’re a train wreck; people refer to that as ‘overworking your muscles.’ What if your dates think you have a disease or drug addiction because of your wiggles? You need to relax. Drink a shot of tequila. It might help and it sure couldn’t hurt.”
“If I ever participate in speed dating again I should eat before downing a shot of tequila. Along with the wiggles, now I’m feeling slightly dizzy. Pete, why do I listen to you?”
“I’m not sure—I wouldn’t. Come on... take me with you, I’ll stay in your purse and only talk when you ask me a question.”
“I know I’m going to regret this, but okay. My first date is with ‘Nick Shaver.’ I hope he’s nice and not a weirdo. I’m going to pig out.”
“Who’s paying for all this pigging out?”
“I hadn’t thought about who would pay. The speed dating idea was mine. Unless they insist, I’ll buy. How’s that sound?”
“That seems fair.”
***
“We’re here and there’s plenty of parking—that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
“I guess. Or it could be that the food is crappy.”
“I’m sure everything is wonderful. There’s a strange looking guy waving to me. That must be my date.”
“Oh please, tell me that he is not your first date. He’s completely hairless; he has no eyebrows, lashes, or hair on his head. Do you want me to follow him into the bathroom and find out if he’s bald everywhere?”
“Please no. I need a snack before I pass out.”
“He’s smiling. He must be pleased with your appearance.”
“Hi, I’m Corny. You must be Nick.”
“Yes, I am. Let’s order a drink and get to know each other. What do you do, wh
ere do you live, and what kinds of things do you like to do when you’re not working?”
“Wow, okay… I’ll get started on that list for you, but can we order our food first? I’m starved.”
“Sure, what would you like? You look like you’re a light eater. You probably want a salad with the dressing on the side?”
“Heck no, the hearty pastrami on rye is calling my name with a side of fries, please.”
“I think I’ll go with the fish and chips.” He disapproved and his stare bugged me. To compensate, I made up a bunch of crazy stories about my life.
“I grew up on a farm and we only ate what we raised. We slaughtered all of our own meat. I’m a wiz with a chainsaw.” He gulped and then smiled.
“Oh look, our food’s here. Yummy.” Now I had an excuse not to talk.
I’d put my purse on the chair next to me. Pete could crawl out and stretch his little legs. After a moment he whispered, “Chuckle, chuckle. Cool it with the slaughter talk, he’s getting turned on. You should see what I see down here—it’s impressive.”
I whispered back, “Gross.”
“Corny, is there something wrong with your sandwich?”
“No, it’s great.”
After I’d finished my sandwich and more small talk he blurted out, “Do you shave?” Brenda had chosen that moment to walk by and nod her head towards the restroom. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten to look for my friends. I wasn’t sure why he would ask me if I shaved. The majority of women did. Luckily Brenda saved me from asking him to elaborate.
Instead, I asked, “Do you know where the restroom is?” He pointed his hairless finger in the same direction Brenda had gone. He seemed disappointed that I hadn’t answered his question.
I whispered to Pete, “I’ll be right back. Be good.”
“Party-pooper.”
When I grabbed the restroom door handle, it was suddenly yanked opened and I almost fell flat on my face. Brenda stood there with the strangest look on her face—somewhere between shock and disgust. It could mean one of two things: that a person had done a real bad stinky in the toilet or that she had juicy information about Nick.
When I got my balance back, I took a closer look at Brenda’s expression and asked, “Brenda, what’s wrong with you? I almost fell on my face.”
“Listen to this: Nick Shaver has quite a reputation with the ladies. He’s dated half the single women in Seattle. The other half have already heard about him and refuse to date him. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of the infamous Nick Shaver. You need to watch out for the ‘Do you shave?’ question. His MO is to wine and dine his dates for a couple of weeks, while he’s a complete gentleman. When he thinks he’s got you hooked, he suggests extensive hair removal. He hasn’t found his dream woman yet though—the one who would go all the way, completely hairless. His relationships end when their hair starts to grow back and the itching starts.”
“That is gross, and he already asked me. He must be desperate. Why didn’t you tell me before I ordered my food?”
“Well, your expression was comical. When you first saw him I could tell you needed food. You were salivating all the way to your table.”
Brenda left the restroom first and I considered the old ‘dine and dash,’ but as I walked out I saw that he had opened his wallet to pay the bill. I guess I had too much hair for him. After a quick goodbye to Nick, I burned rubber out of the parking lot—before he could blink one of his bald eyelids.
“Pete, do you need a quick bathroom break or are you okay for another hour?”
“I’m good for now, but at the next restaurant, can you snag me a breadstick or something?”
“Mr. Gyro’s is usually packed, but there’s a parking spot right by the front door; things could be looking up for me.” It was exactly 4:00 p.m. when I arrived and for the second time, the door was yanked open. This time, the door was opened by a man in a gray suit and red-striped bow tie. I whispered, “Pete, please tell me this isn’t my next date?”
“He looks stuffy. I didn’t know men wore bow ties any longer. Maybe this is one of those times when honesty is the best policy. Grab a breadstick and let’s hit the road. We can spend the next hour at the park.”
Gray suit was unfortunately my next date. I had to go with my gut. I quickly took Bob aside and in a somber tone told him, “I’m sorry, this isn’t going to work out.”
Surprise appeared on Bob’s face; like he couldn’t believe I wasn’t interested in him. He said, “Let’s sit down for a couple minutes and see how it goes, okay?”
I whispered again, “Pete, do you recognize this guy? He kinda looks familiar to me.”
“Stay awhile, maybe it’ll come to you. At least this guy has hair. That’s a plus.”
“Okay,” I reluctantly agreed.
“Corny, have you ever been to Mr. Gyro’s before?”
Not too enthusiastically I replied, “No, but I’ve heard great things about the food.”
“Hey, it must be our lucky day. Tthere’s a table over there in the corner. What would you like to drink?”
“I’ll take an ice tea please.”
“That’s sound good to me too.”
“At least the table is close to the restroom, in case one of your friend’s shows up with juicy gossip. You know, he’s not bad-looking and he has nice manners. I checked and he doesn’t have a boner yet.”
Bob was studying the menu and I bent down to talk to Pete. “I got it! I know where I’ve seen him before: at a cop bar that Steve took me to last month. When I met him he was wearing Levis and a Mariners T-shirt—not a crazy bow tie. It’s all coming back to me now. His name isn’t even Bob, its Brett. He occasionally works undercover with Steve. Geez, that isn’t even a good disguise. Could Steve know about my speed dating and maybe have set Brett up as my date? There’s only one way to find out. I’ll play along and see how far he’s willing to go for a friend.”
“Oh my, this is going to be good. Make sure to get me a snack before you bust his balls.”
“Here we go. I hope he has a strong heart.” I was able to position Pete in a chair to my right. After Brett was seated, I leaned across the table and squeezed my boobs together, which doubled them in size and showed a considerable amount of cleavage. I tried not to laugh when his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Brett must’ve gotten a boner because I heard Pete chuckle. On cue, Kitty walked by and headed toward the bathroom.
“Bob, I’m going to use the little girl’s room. I’ll be right back.” I laughed to myself; it was hard to call him Bob. I put a little sway in my step—take that, Steve.
“Hi, Kitty. If you’re going to tell me Brett’s a friend of Steve’s, I already figured that one out. I’m going to torture him for a while and then cut him loose.”
The first thing out of Kitty’s mouth was, “He’s super cute—can I have him?” with a silly grin on her face.
“You know, if he wasn’t an undercover cop I’d say yes, but from my experience the’re not very flexible. And I’m not a hundred percent sure Brett’s spying on me. There’s always the possibility he’s lonely too and wanted a date.”
“I have an idea; let me call my friend Kendall. He’s a guy, but wants to be a girl. It’s a long story, but he owes me a bunch of favors and I have a devious, yet simple plan to help find out the truth. I’ll have him make a phone call to Mr. Gyro’s requesting the waiter slip Brett a message to call Steve right away. When Brett makes the call, I can discretely follow and listen to their call. Steve would either be completely confused because he hadn’t made the call or Brett will automatically give him an update about the date and we’ve got him. Now, go back to your table and flirt a little bit. It’ll remove the blood from his brain and redirect it to his crotch.”
I was back at our table for a minute when our waiter delivered a note to
Brett and he informed me, “I’m going to the restroom.” He quickly walked in the direction of the bathroom.
When he got back from his restroom break/phone call Kitty did the head roll towards the bathroom again. The other patrons would think we both had a bad case of diarrhea. Kitty confirmed my suspicion, “Brett called Steve from his cell phone, but he told Steve he needed to be patient and that he would call him later and give him all the details on his date with you. My plan worked perfectly.” Kitty was proud of herself.
“Chin-up, get back out there and try to have a little fun.” Kitty gave me a pat on the head.
Brett had ordered a couple appetizers and they were on the table when I got back. We shared beef with noodles in a lettuce wrap and chicken skewers in peanut sauce. We hadn’t talked much, but the food was excellent.
When our plates were taken away he got a serious look on his face and casually asked, “How many dates have you been on tonight? Have you found anybody you want to see again? You need to be careful when meeting men online—it can be dangerous.”
“Oh, you’re my second date tonight and I’m not sure if I’ll be seeing Nick again. Do you know why I won’t be seeing you again, Brett?” The look on his face was priceless, but he didn’t deny it. To teach him a lesson, I accidentally-on-purpose dropped my keys and gave him one more peak at my luscious boobs. The drool started all over again. I threw a twenty on the table and left.
The Paseo Caribbean Restaurant was a fifteen minute drive in good traffic. It wasn’t good traffic. There was probably a sporting event at Safeco Field because traffic was bumper-to-bumper. When I arrived, the stuffy maître d’ rudely announced, “Mr. Tyson has been waiting fifteen minutes.”
I was escorted to the table. Samuel’s eye’s scrolled up and down my body and evidently I came up short. In a bored voice he inquired, “Would you care for a martini?”