by Karyn Bosnak
“Delilah,” I respond smugly. I mean, is he kidding?
Rod hits himself in the head again. “Delilah, right. Gosh . . . sorry. I’m not good at remembering names and faces.”
“How about hooters?” I ask, as I lift up my blouse to flash him. Kidding, I don’t really say or do this.
Rod bends down to look at Eva. “Is this your dog?”
I nod. “Yeah, isn’t she cute?”
“She sure is,” he says, picking her up. “She’s so little. How old is she?”
“Six months. I just got her yesterday.”
“Yesterday? Wow . . .” Eva looks like a football in Rod’s big hands. “What’s her name?”
“Eva Gabor.”
“Hewwwo Miss Eva Gabor!” Rod says in an extremely high-pitched puppy-talk voice. I laugh. It’s funny to hear him talk like this, he’s such a big guy.
“Sorry,” Rod says, slightly blushing. He puts Eva down. “It happens.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
Rod looks me up and down for a second, and then shakes his head. “Delilah . . . wow. What a surprise. You look great.”
Now I blush. “Thanks,” I say, “so do you.”
Rod points to a nearby bench. “Hey, do you want to go sit down and catch up? I’d love to hear what’s going on in your life.”
“Sure.”
For the next two hours, Rod and I chat happily. He tells me all about how he moved back to Philly a few years ago for a job and how he’s happy to be here, as is Max. If he remembers what happened the last night we were together, he doesn’t let on or seem threatened by me being near Max in the least. When he asks why I’m in Philadelphia, I tell him pretty much the same story I told my mom and Daisy—that I’m here staking out locations for a possible store Elisabeth is thinking about opening. As for why I’m in this particular dog park, I wing it and tell him that my accommodations got screwed up and I got stuck staying in a crappy cheap hotel by the stadium. Although Rod buys my stories, he expresses concern for the security of my job, since the future of ESD is so up in the air.
“With everything I keep reading about Elisabeth in the paper, you should have a backup plan, you know, in case you lose your job. Do you have one?”
You mean other than to chase down all the men I’ve ever had sex with? “No,” I say.
“Well, you should. I’ve been through enough jobs to know that losing one isn’t fun. It’s important that you be in control of your future.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“I am right. Don’t let someone else predict your life. Take it into your own hands. I’m serious.”
Rod seems genuinely concerned about me, and I can’t help but be touched. I think he’s interested in me, too. When I complain that my back is sore from the crappy mattress at the crappy hotel, he offers to rub it for me. And when we play with Max and Eva, he tackles me. (Yes, I land very close to a large pile of dog poop when he does, but still.) Looking at Rod, I think I could be happy with him. He could be the one.
Around nine o’clock or so, Rod says he has a big day of running errands ahead of him and gets ready to leave. As he does, he turns to me. “Hey, listen, if you’re not busy tonight, I’d love it if you joined me for dinner.”
Dinner? Really? I smile. “That’d be great!”
“Awesome.” Rod punches both my cell and hotel phone numbers into his phone and says he’ll call with details.
After saying good-bye, I watch Rod and Max walk out of the dog park and disappear around the corner. When they do, I turn to Eva. “Can you believe it? He’s finally taking me to dinner.”
puttin’ on the ritz
After driving to Center City (a nicer part of Philly), I find a cute boutique and buy a pink and green argyle dog bag for Eva. Yes, I realize that doing so brings me thismuchcloser to being compared to Paris Hilton, but since I’m buying the bag for safety reasons, I decide it’s okay. My thinking is that I can put Eva in the bag, and then secure it to the passenger seat with the seatbelt. That way she’s not bouncing all over creation every time we drive somewhere.
The bag might also make sneaking her in and out of the hotel easier to do, which I’m about to find out because I’ve just walked inside and am heading toward the elevator. After successfully making my way there (A victory! Hoorah!), I push the button and wait for a car when suddenly, the front desk attendant calls out to me. Worried I’ve been busted, I slowly turn my head around. “Yes?”
“A note arrived for you,” he says, walking over to me. He hands me an envelope.
“Oh, thanks.” As the man nods and walks away, the elevator doors open, so I quickly jump inside. While riding up to my floor, I open the envelope and read the note inside.
Delilah,
I’ve arranged for you to stay in a nicer hotel in Philly, guaranteed to have a mattress that won’t make your back ache tomorrow morning. Check out of that dive you’re in immediately, and go to the large white marble building @ 10 Avenue of the Arts. Everything else will be taken care of.
Rod
P.S. Meet me in the lobby @ 8:00 for dinner.
Oh my . . . dinner and a nicer hotel? What’s gotten into Rod? Is he trying to make sure I’ll sleep with him tonight? If so, here’s a newsflash Rod—I’m kinda easy. I don’t know if you picked up on that during the relationship that we didn’t have, but I am.
To be honest, although I’m unsure of Rod’s intentions or if he even has any, I’m tickled pink that he cares so much about me and my back to do something like this! He must really regret brushing off my suggestion to do something when it was light outside. He must really like me! My plan is working! Yippie!
After quickly packing and checking out, I drive to the address on the note and pull up to a building that looks like the Pantheon in Greece. Huge columns support the front and a big ol’ dome rests on top. As I give my car to the valet out front, he tells me that the building was built over a hundred years ago and is a historic landmark. Apparently it used to be a bank, but today . . . it’s a Ritz-Carlton! Sweet Bejesus! I’ve never stayed at a Ritz before in my life—this is so cool!
The Ritz is dog friendly, so I don’t have to hide Eva. As I parade her through the lobby, several people stop me to say how cute she is, making me feel like a proud mother. When I check in, the woman behind the counter says they’ve been expecting me and hands me a key. That’s it—no credit card on file, nothing. They just hand over a key and that’s it. Nice.
When Eva and I get to our room, we can hardly contain our excitement. Decorated in peachy tones, it’s warm and inviting. I immediately plop down on the big fluffy bed, and am thrilled to find it comfortable. What a difference, what a dream. While lying down, I notice a large gift basket filled with all sorts of beauty products sitting on the dresser, so I stand up and walk over to it. I see a small gift card attached, so I open it up and read.
Delilah,
Enjoy! Also, as part of the Ritz’s pet program, I’ve arranged for Eva to get the works. Her appointment begins at 3:00, someone will come up to get her.
Rod
Dinner and a nicer hotel and a gift basket? My life rocks.
I call Rod to thank him, but he doesn’t answer, so I leave a message. When I’m done, someone from the hotel comes to take Eva (I feel so bad giving her away—she didn’t want to leave), so I draw one of my own in the large tub and begin to unwind, begin to work out the kinks in my back. I feel like a princess.
A little before eight o’clock, as I’m just about ready to go, I hear a knock on the door and open it to see a Yorkie that I do not recognize. Not only did the Ritz give Eva a bath and haircut, but they tied a little scarf around her neck and painted her nails red. It’s like she’s Cinderella—she’s the most beautiful puppy I’ve ever seen in my life!
I’m so touched by all this—the hotel room, the basket, the puppy bath—that I suddenly begin to worry. What if I do something tonight to blow it? I’ve never been one of those women who expects things fr
om men. Boyfriends don’t give me credit cards, they don’t send me shopping. But all this is so nice—the R.O.D.’s come a long way.
After giving myself a once-over in the mirror (black skirt, fuzzy blue sweater and heels that are sex-kitten purrrrfect—Meow!), I give my Chinese love bracelet a little rub for good luck and head downstairs.
Rod takes me to a small, romantic Italian restaurant in South Philly that’s very crowded and dimly lit. They’re expecting us when we arrive and show us to a table in the corner. He smells good tonight, like cologne, and it’s a huge turn-on. Guys don’t seem to wear as much cologne today as I remember them doing when I was little. I mean, yes, my grandpa still wears Old Spice, but I’m talking about guys my age and I’m talking about good cologne.
“So, how’d you like the basket?” Rod asks, once we get settled.
“Oh, I loved it, thank you!”
He smiles. “Nice stuff inside, right?”
“Oh yes! It was all so wonderful!”
Since Rod’s been to the restaurant before, he orders for us. Generously, I might add. In addition to splitting a bottle of wine, we have steamed mussels, a fennel salad, goat cheese tortellini, grilled prawns, and, for dessert, chocolate hazelnut cake with a warm orange sauce. The food is delicious and I’m stuffed by the time we’re through.
As for the conversation, it couldn’t go better. It’s like Rod and I are on the same wavelength. We talk about our hopes and dreams and what we want out of life—the same stuff I used to talk about with Max, actually. I never knew Rod could be so deep. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe the candlelight, but he looks so cute tonight, so handsome, and I’m incredibly attracted to him. We have such a connection.
After dessert, Rod orders two shots of Sambuca and says he wants to talk to me about something important. I get both nervous and excited. “Delilah, you might have noticed that I wasn’t rushing off to work when I left the dog park this morning. Do you wanna know why?” I nod. “Because I make my own hours, that’s why. Life’s too important to live by someone else’s schedule. If I wanna go golfing, then I go golfing. If I wanna take a long weekend, then I take a long weekend. Do you get what I’m saying?”
“Absolutely, Rod.”
“Great. Let me ask you something. Do you wanna work less?”
“Well sure, yes.”
“Do you wanna live life to the fullest?”
“Most definitely.”
“Do you want kids?”
Kids?
Whoa, wait.
“Rod, where are you going with this?” I have to admit, I’m a little taken aback.
“Delilah, I’m asking you all these things because I want you to know that my lifestyle can be yours.”
His lifestyle can be mine? As Rod reaches across the table and takes my hands in his, my heart goes pitter-patter. Is he going to ask me to move in with him? To have kids with him? To share his life? To become his wife? “Rod, what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about a partnership, Delilah.”
A partnership?
He is asking me to move in with him, to have his kids, to share his life, to become his wife! He must be going through the same phase I am. He must be sick of the game and ready to settle down too. I can barely contain my excitement, and Rod can tell—he smiles.
“Does that sounds like something you’d be interested in?” he asks.
“Oh yes, absolutely!” I exclaim. I mean, I’m booming. I can’t believe this thing worked on the first try! Michelle is going to eat her words.
“Great,” Rod says. “Del, when I see something I want, I go after it, and I see that same thing in you.”
I mean, I know it’s all very sudden, but I’m so ready to try to make this work with Rod. I can already imagine our life together—Rod and Max, me and Eva—the four of us will make such a happy family.
“In fact,” Rod continues, “that’s why I brought you here tonight. I wanna tell you about a great opportunity.”
Rod will make us all breakfast in the morning and then—
Whoa, wait.
Great opportunity? I’m confused. “What do you mean by that?”
“Delilah, have you ever heard of Amway?” Rod asks.
Amway? Oh no. “You mean like Amway, the pyramid scheme?”
“Well, we prefer to call it a business opportunity. Pyramid schemes are illegal, and there’s nothing illegal about Amway. It’s a multilevel marketing system.”
Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Please tell me what I think is happening isn’t happening.
For all the multilevel marketing-system-challenged people out there, Amway is a company that makes and sells all sorts of products—beauty products, vitamins, home care products, and such—and then sells those products to distributors. The distributors make money by not only reselling these products to consumers (they get a percentage of their sales), but by also recruiting their friends to become distributors as well (they get a percentage of their friends’ sales too)—that’s the “multilevel” part. It’s like Mary-Kay or Avon.
“Yeah, I’ve heard if it,” I tell Rod. “What’s your point?”
“Well, my point is that, I think you’ve got a lot of potential. You’re charismatic, personable—”
I cut him off. “Rod, did you invite me here to get me to sell Amway?”
“Well, yes. Yes, I did, Delilah.”
Oh. My. God. What I think is happening is really happening.
I almost laugh. And then I almost cry.
“The products are wonderful,” Rod continues, going for the hard sell. “In fact, that whole basket I gave you was filled with them. Did you try them out? What was your favorite?”
“My fah-fah-favorite?” Rod nods. “Well, the bubble bath was nice.”
I mean, I don’t get it. He rubbed my back, he got me a hotel room—I just don’t understand.
“How about the foot lotion?” Rod asks. “Did you try that?’
“Yes.”
I can’t believe myself—I’m so stupid. I should’ve realized this. To think Rod would’ve changed, to think he would all of the sudden want a relationship with me.
“Good, you’ll find it does wonders for those scratchy feet of yours.”
Rod never wanted anything with me when we were together. Why would I think he’d want something now. Wait . . . what did he just say?
“My scratchy feet?” I mean, did I hear him correctly?
“Yeah,” Rod says, nodding. “From what I remember, those things were like sandpaper! Scraaaa-cheee!”
“No, they weren’t!” I yell, defending myself. “No, they’re not! My feet are not scratchy!”
“Well, to each his own,” Rod says, raising his eyebrows. “Our definition of scratchy must be different. But anyway, like I said, I put stuff in the basket that I knew you could use.” As Rod says this, the contents suddenly rush through my mind. The basket was filled with bottles of face lotion for oily skin, wrinkle cream, vitamins to increase metabolism, teeth-whitening gum, products for dry, brittle hair with split ends, and . . . Oh my God . . . cellulite cream. Suddenly my ears ring, my face gets hot, and I can’t help myself—I hurl a leftover roll at Rod’s head. “You asshole!” I scream.
“Hey! What’s your problem?” Rod yells, holding up his hands to deflect anymore food that may come flying his way. People sitting at nearby tables stare as I stand up.
“My problem? My problem is you, Rod!” I begin to gather my belongings. I’m so outta here!
“I don’t understand, What did I do? Why am I the problem?”
“Rod, you didn’t bring me here because you liked me or because you wanted to spend time with me. You brought me here because you want to sell me stuff and get me to sell stuff for, for . . .” I begin hyperventilating. “Fat people! That’s why you’re my problem, Rod!” Rod’s eyes widen—he finally gets it.
“Delilah, I’m so sorry. Did you think I asked you here on a date?”
“Yes!” I scream. “And why shouldn�
�t I have thought that? I mean you rubbed my back; you got me a room at the Ritz. Wait—Why did you get me a room at the Ritz if you just want me to sell Amway?”
“Well, if you signed up to be a distributor . . . I could’ve comped it.”
Comped it? Okay, I’m not just embarrassed anymore, I’m angry now too. Looking at Rod, I don’t know what to say, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Max liked me better than you when we were sleeping together!”
“What?”
“You heard me!” I scream. “You’re dog liked me better! He did! When you showered, we would cuddle and he would listen to my problems.”
Rod looks at me like I’m crazy, which basically, I am. As I turn around and leave, I hear him behind me. “Delilah, wait.” But I don’t stop. I don’t wait. I walk right out the front door and hop into the first available taxi I see.
When I get back to my room, I collapse on the fabulous mattress and cry into the fluffy pillows. I don’t cry because I care about Rod but because I feel like an idiot. I mean, what am I doing? Seriously? Seeing my face scrunch up makes Eva nervous. Sitting next to me on the bed, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She keeps looking at me skittishly, not sure if she should approach. When she finally musters up the courage to do so, she sniffs my face for a couple of seconds and then backs away and begins to pant.
For the next hour, Rod calls my cell and the room phone, but I don’t answer. I don’t want to talk to him—I don’t have anything to say. Around midnight, the calls finally stop and I begin to feel better. As my sadness turns back into anger and adrenaline pumps through my body, I become motivated. I want to get out of here. I want to get out of the Ritz. I want to get out of Philly. With that, I pack my belongings, making sure to leave the gift basket, but clear out the minibar.
Comp that, you asshole.
$3,766, 39 days, 15 guys left.
* * *
1 I have a friend who was having sex once, and in the middle of it, felt something wet on his rear. When he turned around to see what it was, he realized his dog had just licked his butt cheek. Different cheek, but a similar story. Pets and sex don’t mix; they just don’t.