The Fussy Virgin

by McGarvey Black

  “We got a big project in today, Caledoni-aah,” he said, looking over his glasses that had slid down his nose. “New political assignment from a super PAC client. They want to get a gauge on how people are feeling about the economy now that the holidays are coming.”

  “I can tell you that, George. People are feeling poor, because they’re going to spend everything they have on American Girl dolls or AirPods for their kids and buy overpriced espresso machines they can’t afford,” said Jess, her head hanging over the partition, sporting a headband with squiggly, wobbling Thanksgiving turkeys.

  “Thank you for your insightful input, Jessic-aah, but our client would like the facts, as opposed to your personal opinion,” said George as he walked away muttering.

  “He totally lives under a bridge,” whispered Jess.

  Callie pushed her chair back so she could see all of Jess.

  “What?” said Jess.

  “I’m not sure about Henry,” Callie blurted out.

  “What? What do you mean?” said Jess, mouth open, letting out an exasperated breath.

  “Something’s not right.”

  “But he’s so great,” said Jess, scrunching up her face as if in pain. “He’s smart, handsome, nice, funny, likes pets, donates to charities.”

  “If you like him so much, why don’t you go out with him?” Callie demanded.

  “Now, you’re being ridiculous,” said Jess, blushing.

  “You always talk about Henry like he’s the most fantastic person in the world.”

  “He is fantastic,” said Jess, incredulous. “Most people would kill for someone like Henry.”

  “Like I said, you go out with him.”

  “He’s not a toy that we trade back and forth.”

  Callie stared at her friend and shook her head in defeat. “You’re right, I’m being stupid. Henry’s really great and I’m a big fat jerk.”

  Jess nodded. “Yes, you are.”

  “It’s just that…” said Callie.

  “Oh no,” said Jess wearily. “You’re not going to bring up the Mystery Man again, are you?”

  “I can’t get him out of my mind,” said Callie, banging her head with her open palm. “Henry is great, and I’m probably going to ruin everything between us because of this insane fantasy.”

  Jess let out another breath and stared into space for a moment. “There’s one more idea, but if it doesn’t work,” she said, “you’ve got to promise me, this is the end of it. You’ll never mention the Mystery Man again.”

  “I promise. What have you got?”

  “There’s this thing on Craigslist called Missed Connections.” Jess pulled up the website, peered over the top of the cubicle wall to make sure George wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity and clicked on the Missed Connections link.

  “It’s full of postings from all these people who’ve encountered each other but didn’t have the chance to exchange numbers or get the other person’s name. Missed connections, get it?” said Jess. “Like you and the Mystery Man, these people couldn’t stop thinking about the other person.”

  “That’s exactly my situation,” said Callie, her eyes lighting up. They read through some of the most recent posts in New York City.

  —You were the girl with long dark hair waiting for the ferry at Pier 11 last Wednesday

  You were at the front of the line. I was behind the four women directly behind you. I was eating salt and vinegar kettle chips. We exchanged glances a few times and you smiled. You asked if you could borrow my pen. I tried to think of a good pickup line as I mustered up the courage to talk to you. When the ferry came, we all headed onto the ramp when I realized I had left a package on a bench in the terminal and went back to find it. I planned to talk to you once we were on board but I missed the boat. If you’re reading this, please write to me. I’d love to take you out the next time you’re in Manhattan.

  “That’s sounds like what happened to me,” said Callie. “Let’s look at another one.”

  —We saw each other in Central Park

  This is a long shot, but last Sunday we made eye contact by the castle in Central Park. I saw you looking at me and you asked me for directions to Lincoln Center. We talked for a few minutes and I made you laugh. I wanted to ask you to go out for a coffee but was too nervous. I had a blue messenger bag with a grid pattern on it. I have brown hair and brown eyes and was wearing jeans and a red and yellow rugby shirt. I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and can’t stop thinking about you. I know this is a little crazy. I’ve never done anything like this before. I regret not saying anything to you that day and now it’s probably too late. This is my last chance. If you felt the same way, even a little, message me.

  “These people are trying to find someone, just like me,” said an amazed Callie.

  “Some of them are legit, but there’s a fair amount of kinky on there, too,” warned Jess. They scrolled down and opened a few more links that had some pretty raunchy messages.

  “I see what you mean,” said Callie, grimacing after viewing a bunch of wildly inappropriate sexual posts. “I don’t even know what some of them are talking about.”

  “That’s a good thing,” said Jess, patting her friend on the shoulder.

  “I want to post something,” said Callie.

  With one eye on George, who intermittently looked over at the two of them, squinted and pointed to his imaginary watch, the two friends surreptitiously crafted a message and posted it on Craigslist.

  — Opinion Poll Phone Call—Blackout—Valentine’s Day

  I called you last February doing a political opinion poll. You said you’d take my survey only if I answered the questions first. We were in sync on everything. You were a fan of Congressman Ben Huston. I think you were starting to ask me out when there was a power failure. I didn’t have your number and no way to call you back. I live in New York and haven’t stopped thinking about you. If you would like to reconnect, message me. So I know it’s really you, tell me what your favorite junk food is. I still remember it. It was the same as mine.

  “You think it will work?” asked Callie.

  “No, but it’s worth a shot,” said Jess.

  At her desk the next day, Callie anxiously checked to see if anyone had responded to her posting on Craigslist. There were three responses. She held her breath and clicked on the first one, it had an attachment.

  I saw your post about the opinion poll. I’d like to show you my pole. Want to see it?

  Oh, my God, thought Callie as she quickly deleted the message. She opened the next one. Someone was offering to give her a foot massage. She deleted that one, too. On pins and needles, she opened the third—it was a picture of some guy’s junk. “Eww!” she screamed, and immediately deleted it and closed her laptop. Over the next thirty days, Callie received a series of responses ranging from disgusting to psychotic.

  “How’s it going with Craigslist?” asked Jess one day at work.

  “My post has been up for a month and I’ve only heard from perverts,” said Callie, shaking her head. “I’m not going to look anymore. The odds of the Mystery Man even finding it were a trillion to one anyway.”

  “Cal, we’ve tried everything,” said Jess sympathetically. “Remember what you promised me? I really want my old friend back.”

  Callie bit the inside of her cheek as Jess stared at her and held her gaze.

  “I remember,” said Callie softly.

  “Can’t hear you.”

  “Yes, it’s over, Jess. I’m done.”

  “Thank God.”

  35

  The Fussy Virgin Guide:

  “Can Mr. Wrong Become Mr. Right?”

  At first, he’s really nice, kind, attentive, and funny. You go to baseball games and sip wine in small bistros. Your friends meet him and they give you the thumbs up. On paper he ticks off all the boxes—good job, nice apartment, nice family. He’s ambitious but not too much that you’d play second fiddle to his career. Most importantly, he
thinks you are the ultimate woman and acts like he can’t believe you’ve agreed to go out with him.

  Normally, all of these positive attributes and the support of your friends would solidify your relationship. But, despite his obvious charms, you find you can’t commit. Every time he does something nice for you, you feel like a phony because deep down, you’re not feeling it.

  His loving gazes start to grate on you. You feel guilty. You try to talk yourself into liking him more. You dissect your relationship with your friends and they tell you he’s fabulous. For a while, their enthusiasm clouds your judgement. You wonder if you’re being too picky.

  Here’s the reality, you can’t make yourself love somebody. You either do or you don’t. You can’t turn Mr. Wrong into Mr. Right. He either is or he isn’t. When you find Mr. Right, you’ll jump in with both feet and never look back. Believe me, the real thing is worth the wait.

  36

  December 2017

  New York City was literally dripping with Christmas decorations. Every inch of the city that could have a Christmas light on it—did. Throngs of tourists marched up and down city streets, surprised and amazed by the spectacular of Manhattan during the holidays. The giant evergreen tree in Rockefeller Center loomed over the famous skating rink and was such a big attraction it was difficult to get near it, though thousands tried.

  On a warmish December Saturday morning, Callie knew what she had to do. She called Henry and asked him to go for a walk with her in Central Park. They met on the corner of Fifty-Ninth and Fifth and slowly strolled into the park along with thousands of fellow New Yorkers. The unseasonably warm weather filled the iconic park with baby carriages, skateboarders, rollerbladers, bikers and walkers. It was the perfect day to take a break from holiday shopping and go for a spin in the park and it appeared everyone young and old had the same idea. In short, the place was packed.

  As they walked along a quiet path near the boat basin, Henry chatted about the new pitch his agency was preparing for a dog food company and the three different creative solutions his team had in development.

  “We’re doing one where you get the dog’s point of view, that’s my favorite,” said Henry. “Another is more clinical and speaks from the vet’s POV and the last one shows several scenes of happy dogs gobbling up the client’s kibble. Which one do you like best?”

  Callie didn’t respond.

  “Callie, what do you think?” asked Henry a second time.

  “They’re all good.”

  “Even the one of dogs eating kibble, cause I think that’s been done before and…”

  “Henry, we need to talk,” said Callie, letting out a breath. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought so I don’t want you to think I’m being rash.”

  “Okay?”

  “Let me say first, you’re great. I feel very lucky and honored that you want to be with me.”

  “I feel the same way…”

  “But, Henry, I don’t think we’re right for each other. We like each other as people and that’s what makes it confusing. If we’re both being honest, we want different things out of life. Even the day-to-day stuff, we like spending our time in totally different ways.”

  “I love being with you.”

  “And I like being with you and that’s the problem,” said Callie. “We get each other. I respect you and I recognize that you’re a really decent person. But I don’t see myself spending my life with you. If you do a little soul-searching, I’ll bet you feel the same way.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” said Henry, obviously surprised at the turn of events. “I thought things between us were going so well.”

  “You like baseball, I like theater. You like westerns, I like romantic comedies. You hate to travel and like nothing better than sitting at home watching a game. All I want to do is get out and see the world, every inch of it. You want a big family and I haven’t decided about that yet. I may only want one kid or maybe none at all.”

  “But we get along so great,” said Henry.

  “Because we were both making accommodations for the other. Neither one of us was having a phenomenal time.”

  “I was.”

  “You enjoyed going to all those art museums with me?”

  Henry stared at her. “It wasn’t terrible,” he said as he started to laugh, “until about the fifth time.”

  “You were bored out of your mind,” said Callie with absolute certainty. “The same way I was at the Yankee games.”

  “Come on, the Yankees? How can you not like baseball? That’s un-American.”

  “See what I mean,” said Callie. “The trouble is, we liked each other well enough to hang out, but it’s not enough to spend a lifetime together.”

  “Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” said Henry, hoping he was wrong. “We have a different outlook on life at times. I’ve had a good time with you. Didn’t we have fun?”

  “Of course, we did. But I think in order to be life partners, it’s got to be more than fun. We’ve got to see eye to eye on the bigger issues. You know we’re not right for the long term.”

  “Do we have to decide this right now?” said Henry, looking around at the other New Yorkers enjoying the weather while trying to buy a little more time. “It’s Christmas time. The weather is great and we’re in the most beautiful park in the world. Let’s do what we originally planned for today. We can talk more and see how we feel by the end of the day.”

  For the next six hours they wandered along the trails in the park, stopping for coffee, grabbing an ice cream, and watching people rowing on the pond. When they parted at 4:30 with tears in their eyes, they kissed one last time but parted as friends.

  That night when Callie arrived at her apartment on West 109th Street, she called her parents. “I was wondering, if you two were around next weekend,” said Callie on speakerphone, her voice a little shaky, “maybe I could come up to Connecticut for the weekend? We could have some family time and maybe you could make your lemon chicken, Mom?”

  “What’s wrong?” asked her mother, sensing this was more than a benign visit after her daughter asked for the special chicken dish.

  “Henry and I broke up,” said Callie, her voice breaking.

  “What train will you be on, honey?” said her father. “We’ll pick you up.”

  “I’ll make the lemon chicken,” said her mother.

  37

  The Fussy Virgin Guide:

  “The Spark”

  We’re all looking for that special person who ignites the spark. You never know when that’s going to happen. You could meet someone on the street, trade a few pleasantries and BOOM. It hits you like a ton of bricks. You can barely walk.

  Conversely, you could go out with someone who on paper looks absolutely perfect. He’s totally into you and you wish with all your heart and soul that this relationship would start to sparkle—just a little. You hang in there longer than you should. At some point, you admit to yourself that there is no spark for him whatsoever. Your friends and your mother encourage you to give him another chance. They tell you you’re too picky. So, you hang in there, against your better judgement. Because you are now forcing yourself to like him, you actually start to loathe him.

  Here’s the deal. If a spark hasn’t started to burn after a couple of months, it never will. So, what do you do? He hasn’t done anything wrong but he’s starting to talk about the future. He’s mentioned taking international trips together and you being his plus one for his cousin Mindy’s wedding that’s coming up in thirty-six months. Newsflash: If he’s planning three years out it means he’s in it for the long haul. You have to end things now or accept a relationship built on mutual admiration with no sparks. Because you’re a chicken, you tell yourself that maybe you don’t need that kind of sizzle in your relationship.

  If you think you can make the “no spark” relationship work long term, I’d like to refer you back to the chapter entitled, “You Can’t Turn Mr. Wrong into Mr. Right.” Trust
me, it’s time to move on or you’ll end up catching the bouquet when Mindy hurls it over her head.

  38

  A cold snap had come in as Lavinia Swan drove her silver Subaru down to the Wilton, CT train station at 6:30pm the following Friday night. She pulled into the old country station decorated with lights, garlands and red bows tied to the lamp-posts. The small parking lot was crammed with a dozen other idling cars also waiting for the train from Manhattan. She looked at her watch and craned her neck to look down the tracks and spotted the old diesel train coming towards her.

  When the train stopped, several men in suits got off. Eventually Callie, earbuds in, stepped off the train, lugging a large weekend bag. Callie smiled and waved when she saw her mother’s car parked across the lot. “I’m so glad to be here,” Callie said as she got in the car, threw her bag in the back seat and gave her mother a kiss. “I desperately needed to get out of the city.”

  “We’ll have a nice quiet weekend,” said her mother. “Dad’s at home minding the lemon chicken.”

  “Yay! I can’t wait.”

  “By the way, I’m signed up to work at The Turnover Shop tomorrow from twelve to five,” said her mother as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Thought you might join me.” The Turnover Shop was a small thrift store next to the Village Market where Wilton residents donated household goods and clothes. The shop was staffed by volunteers and all the proceeds were put back into the community in the form of new playground equipment or improvements to the senior center or schools. Lavinia Swan had been one of the founding members of the second-hand store and Callie had spent many afternoons there volunteering while she was in high school and college.