Lost in Amber

by Esther Rabbit

  “This is gonna be amazing.” Emma pulled her agenda out along with one of her sharp pencils and stared at her appointments. Time to let go for a change, shut an unworthy door and rediscover herself—so she began to scribble.

  I should be compatible with a man in his 30s-40s, tall, lean, professional. Office job. Banking, insurance, accounting. Divorced or separated with grown children or none at all. Ideally should have a vasectomy. Definitely not bald. Could have one or two tattoos from his youth. Must enjoy literature, fine poetry, war documentaries. Non-smoker. In good health. With a savings account. He needs to like living in the city. Wouldn’t mind a moustache or a five o’clock shadow or a groomed beard. Most definitely not a hipster.

  “Susan met her boyfriend at one of these speed dating events. They’re held at the Green Palace on Fridays. I’ll have to find out the website in order to sign us up, and we’re in! It can be fun, I for one, feel really excited.”

  “Mrs. Whitehouse, I don’t know what has gotten into you, but I shall follow; my only request: cocktails meanwhile or afterwards! And now, I’ll be on my way to work.” Sam raised her mug and gulped away at what was left of her coffee.

  “Let me get the check and I’ll walk you to a cab, Sam.” Zoey was quick to signal the waitress and gather herself. Everything seemed easier to handle in their presence, despite the emotional abyss this week proved to be.

  On her way home, the excitement seemed to be wearing off though. Only two blocks away from her friends and Zoey was sinking in. She ran up the stairs and crashed on her couch in her coat, face buried in velvet cushions. She dug in her coat pocket for the napkin where she had written her speed dating expectations and kept encouraging herself not to cry.

  I’d like to find someone who likes 13 in the body of 24. Maybe somebody British.

  She fell asleep face-down and fully dressed on the couch, taking her shoes off in her sleep and hoping to wake up to the reality she knew four days ago.

  The Great Return to the Meat Market

  Whitehouse residence 5:05 p.m.

  Emma picked up the phone and pressed two for Sam. Speed dial never got old for someone always looking to optimize time.

  “Sam, I would like you to be brutally honest with me…”

  “Hit me with your best shot!” She cracked a laugh on the other end.

  “Is my closet too boring? Too…beige?”

  “Wait, you mean that’s not your second skin?! I’ll be damned—why, Miss Whitehouse, you had us all fooled. Those men will be privileged just to breathe the same air as you, so don’t be changing who you are for no one.”

  “Lucky skirt it is, then.” She grabbed it off the hanger and held it with both hands, pressing the phone to her ear.

  Beige. Beige. Beige…The more she said it, the more boring it sounded. Who would only want to date beige? Of course, there was brown, too, a bit of orange, but still beige. Emma poured herself a glass of Chardonnay while carefully contemplating tonight’s possible attire.

  Mills residence 5:05 p.m.

  There she was, sitting on the floor, looking up at her ginormous closet. She pushed aside all haunting thoughts of James and tried to see past his empty shelves. Her side, of course, was filled to the brim with socks. Some would think it crazy debating over what socks to wear on speed date night, but not Zoey. It was a most serious matter, as today’s socks would determine tomorrow’s outcome. She had to take dating seriously and, therefore, all steps building up to it. Emma always joked around that she dressed like a fairy, but who in the world wouldn’t take that as a compliment? Mars bar in one hand, the weight of the world in the other…

  Messini residence 5:10 p.m.

  Sam was already dressed, makeup on, straight dark hair flawless. Anxious. Kicking her shoes like Dorothy who lost her Kansas. She was tired of starting over again and again and again, investing so much time in revealing herself to another person, showing vulnerability like a scar, her list of likes, his list of likes, her no-noes, his no-noes, her family, his family, ice creams, park walks, good plans, bad plans, fights, resetting boundaries, compromising…

  I should just get a cat, she thought. If only we had a built-in scanner separating the frogs from the prince…

  It amused her that only a while back she’d been the first to say you had to kiss a lot of frogs before meeting the prince. And how the tables had turned.

  γ

  Cars and motorbikes were making their way to the parking lot like a peacock dance while trails of perfume lingered on a ten meter radius from the parking lot to the outdoor gardens with brewing expectation. The ladies were adding the final touches to their makeup and the gents were thoroughly tucking in their shirts and straightening their ties for the evening. The Green Palace, once a Victorian mansion which hosted artist gatherings, art trades, and possibly opium-induced orgies, was now home to the single and looking.

  You could just smell the eagerness in the air, perfectly ironed shirts, luring cleavages, puffy styled hair, even a few mullets making their way through the crowd that was slowly entering the premises with the same anticipation as on prom night.

  “Check out the sausage fest to your left.” Sam elbowed Zoey, indicating four bald men in their late forties smoking anxiously while checking out the prey.

  “When did you become such a meanie?”

  “It’s called breakup bitterness, and I’ve got plenty to share. Oh, here comes Emma!” Sam waved in excitement.

  Beige from head to toe but for the red scarf around her neck, Emma waved back with what seemed to be—and knowing her, probably was—a list.

  “Good evening, ladies. Are we ready for this?”

  “By all means, Miss Beige, I nearly failed to recognize you with all that red around your neck. Gimmie that!” Sam grabbed the list and soon you could hear her cackle in the entire neighborhood.

  They dropped their coats in a hurry and entered a violet room with an abundance of single tables, each with two mirroring chairs. ’80s music was playing in the background as they were directed to their seats. Soon, the whole room was full of giggling women. Zoey scratched her knees uncomfortably. Two tables away, Emma was revising her list and, right next to her, Sam’s fingers danced on the table in utter boredom.

  “Good evening, eager ladies and gents, and welcome to Speed Date Night!” Of course the mic was cutting in and out. “Ladies, you have exactly five minutes to get to know the lovely bachelor across the table. When you hear the bell, you must switch partners. If by Cupid’s arrow, you and your partner like each other, then feel free to continue getting to know each other for as long as you both feel comfortable.” The lady concluded.

  As the first bell rang, an army of men invaded the room and took their seats across from each girl.

  Zoey

  The guy taking the free seat in front of her had chosen a tailored suit and tie—the works for the occasion. He flashed an embarrassed smile and intertwined his shaking fingers, trying to hide the nervousness eating at him.

  “Hi, I’m Zack. My friend Tim made me do this. He’s right behind us as we speak.” Zoey leaned her frame to the right to get a glance of this so-called Tim. He raised his glass, meeting her curious eyes, and flashed two thumbs up followed by a wink that read “you’ll have the time of your life.”

  Helluva wingman, doing his job even from the distance.

  “I’m Zoey. My friends put me up to this as well…” More knee scratching followed.

  “That bad, huh?” Zack grinned and took a sip of his Diet Coke.

  Here goes nothing. “I teach a children’s art class at St. Andrew’s, I am a vegetarian, and I…” she trailed off, looking at her hands, “…recently came out of my first-ever long-term relationship. You?” It felt darn horrible saying it out loud.

  “Vegetarian, as in no meat? Ever?!” Zack’s eyes widened.

  “Not since I was five.”

  “And your parents just went along with it?”

  “Pretty much.” Everyone asked the same ques
tion.

  “I own a franchise butchery right on Callow Street, as ironic as it may sound to a vegetarian, recently divorced, I have a dog, no kids, I jog every time I can, and—”

  “No way, Callow Street? Your business is just below my apartment! Is it Henry’s?”

  “I always thought those apartments were crazy expensive. I’m looking to rent one in the area myself.”

  “My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend got a good deal. It’s really nice meeting you; I don’t know anyone in my area apart from Samir who owns the Falafel place down the road.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine.” Zack pulled his best smile. “Love Samir’s falafel by the way.”

  “I actually happen to know my neighbor on the first floor is renting.” And just like that, Zoey relaxed. It was good to meet new people. It took her mind off all the emptiness awaiting at home.

  “Sure, anything but vegans!” They both broke out laughing, shook hands, and changed partners once the bell rang. Zoey then met John the hairstylist, Manny the landscaper, Frank the bohemian artist, and quite a few single primary school teachers.

  Why are so many teachers single? She lightly wondered if professional choices led to happy relationships or set certain behavioral patterns; she was certain she’d read somewhere that teachers and pilots were top cheaters, but gently dismissed the thought and straightened her shoulders for her next five-minute date.

  Emma

  Of all the goddamn good-looking men around this place, I had to get the scruffy biker in a see-through top and leather vest. Where the heck are the accomplished bachelors?!

  Well in his fifties and carrying a halo of pirate smells along with a heavy mustache paired with long sideburns, the lucky bachelor took a seat across from Emma. She crinkled her nose, smelling mommy issues and possibly a mid-life crisis.

  “I’ll be quick. Emma, attorney, organized, no kids. I’m looking for someone with a clear career path, no kids, no vices, who enjoys literature, poetry, documentaries, and wants no kids.” If that wasn’t enough to scare him away, she had plenty up her sleeve.

  “I’ll have to stop you right there, lady. I’m here to find a partner precisely because I ain’t no spring chicken and I wanna settle down and get myself a good wife and kids.” the gentleman, whose name tag read “Rex,” was quick to reply. In Emma’s eyes, he looked like the bar-fight, bottle-smashing type—the kind of man who lived to ride a Harley and wouldn’t accept his age.

  “I suppose you do enjoy nice poetry, then?” She raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

  “Sure.” Rex lifted his shirt to reveal a faded tattoo in the shape of a poem. “My buddy T-Wheel wrote this for me when we were doing time on foreign grounds. I got out first and went straight to the tattoo joint. Bound for life, you see.” He pulled at the hem and covered it before Emma ever got a chance to read the words.

  “Anyway, don’t mean to be a stick-in-the-mud, but I’ll be on my way when that bell rings.”

  “By all means, don’t let me hold you from true love.”

  The bell rang and echoed in Emma’s head. In the back of her mind, she imagined she would be almost anyone’s type: accomplished, neat, with serious prospects. A woman with a plan. She started toying with her bracelets in tough realization that she might, after all, find the return to the meat market tough.

  The way she saw it, when you were in your twenties and you hadn’t fully realized what you looked for in a partner, the single market had about everything you could imagine and more. And you’re like a blank canvas—everyone’s like a blank canvas—as you discover how to paint a relationship together. Later in life, when you’ve experienced love and heartbreak and you find yourself single again and returning to the spouseless market, you kind of figure out that what’s left for you…is not a blank canvas for you to write your story on anymore. Every bachelor comes with a previous story, with drama and emotional baggage from their past relationships. And you—you—have to deal with it all, measure the puzzle pieces and see if somehow they might fit within the gaps and cracks left by your own experiences.

  It was so easy in high school when all it took was the same taste in music and cool trainers. We just took it from there, easily, naturally, like a stroll. Now, we are reduced to comparing profiles, seeing if somewhere in the mix of our emotional dramas and their emotional dramas, our preferences and their preferences, our plans and their plans, we can find a common path to walk together at a similar pace.

  Emma intertwined her fingers to steady herself and took a deep breath. She reminded herself that the only way to get over heartbreak was to stay active. The right man would eventually show up. Somewhere. Preferably soon so Frank could bite his tongue.

  Sam

  Sam’s first match was a pale, blond, vampire-looking guy in dark wave clothes and a tattoo peeping out of his sleeve.

  He is bound to be at least a drummer in a punk-grunge band, or rocking out of his parent’s garage…dreamy.

  “Matt, twenty-nine, just got back from a gig downtown. You should come check us out sometime!”

  And she was right.

  “Sam. So you’re an artist.”

  “My fans like to think so. I mean, it’s all about the vibe you give off in concerts and how connect with the crowd. I went solo when I was sixteen and got several radio shows and even a TV appearance, but joining The Electric Monkeys was most def the best career step. You should follow us on social media. We’re everywhere.”

  Electric Monkeys, now that’s a name straight out of puberty.

  “Ain’t nobody got time for social media, I’m already doing my time as a manager for the restaurant I work at, and it’s a full time job.”

  “Instagram maybe? Facebook? Anyway, where do you work at?”

  Twenty-six-year-old Sam suddenly felt too grown up for this, and she embraced not really getting with the times, if times looked and acted out like Matt.

  I get evolution has taken its toll but seriously I cannot bring myself to current lovelife. First we meet, and if we like each other, naturally we must follow each other on social media. After intense browsing through his timeline to unveil his personality and discard the creep factor, the natural thing is to brush his friend list in hope to find one or two ex-girlfriends, compare yourself endlessly to them, and try to play Dr. Phil to see why their affair didn’t work out. That is, presuming you don’t discover he’s still hung on his ex and still posts lame shit on her wall.

  And then there’s Instagram, which tells a person’s life in pictures and everyone follows each other out of pure boredom and gossip lust to compare who had the best sushi or the best breakfast, who filters more, who’s an attention whore, and who lives more online than offline. Certainly a quick glimpse through some pics can tell you if he’s the man of your dreams….Well, it can certainly help you shortlist.

  And Twitter, which thankfully limits characters but still reads life as a menu: “gone to the gym,” “worn out from work hml”…Just kill me now with this new generation of public decay. Real men used to fight wars, ride into battle, build stuff, create empires, later they’d open startup companies or even just get a regular job they worked hard at.

  She awoke from her thoughts to curious eyes still awaiting an answer.

  “Oh, sorry, I work at The D.C., Management, PR, whatever needs to be done.”

  “The D.C.! I mean, wow, that place is always swarming with artists!”

  “Tell me about it. Just the other day we had what’s left of The Scorpions and a few other bands I’m too young to know.” As soon as she let it out, she saw it coming. Me and my big foul mouth inviting all these wannabe artists to think they can use me as a staircase for fame. Matt’s eyes grew like two giant popsicles. He quickly went through his pockets and pulled out what seemed to be a business card that hadn’t seen the light of day in years.

  “Please, please give them my business card. Do you maybe know how I can contact them? This must be the luckiest day of my life!” Oh man, and is there a reason those octaves hav
en’t reached fame… He suddenly heard the bell ringing and panicked. “Can we stay and chat longer?” a desperate plead erupted.

  “I’m afraid time’s up, buddy.”

  This was one of those moments Sam desperately wished existed outside of speed dating: a glorious bell to end an otherwise boring conversation. But her cocktail was good, though, and so was anything that could keep away murderous thoughts of Carlos. Maybe it was because she started taking things too seriously after her mom left, but despite her age, she found the contemporary market a far cry from appealing.

  Then again, she took another sip while awaiting her next prince not-so-charming.

  “Staying Alive”—the Bee Gees made the perfect song that was now announcing the arrival of her next date. He eyed her as he made his way to the table, walking casually but not too skippy. Tall, rocking a handsome buzz cut and perfect tan, definitely not the vampire type nor too artsy-fartsy, and smiling with the confidence of a dentist.

  “Hi, I’m Sam.” he greeted her in a warm voice.

  “So am I.” She blurted. “Sorry, my name is Sam as well.”

  “My parents named me after Sam Cooke, my mother’s a big fan,” he said lightly, “but don’t expect me to start serenading just yet.”

  “Well, maybe with a little help then…” She gathered her glass and her wits and started singing Sam Cooke’s “You Send Me,” surprised to see he actually joined the fun.

  “At first I thought it was infatuation

  But wooh it’s lasted so long

  Now I find myself wanting

  To marry you and take you home…”

  “Not too shabby, Sam! You’ve earned my curiosity,” Sam said as the verse came to a close. This guy was surely handsome enough, especially when he smiled.