The Fussy Virgin

by McGarvey Black

  That night after dinner, Lavinia and Peter Swan listened to their daughter’s story of the end of her relatively brief relationship with Henry, a man they had not yet met and now probably never would.

  “That’s what dating is, honey,” said her father. “You go out a few times to see if they’re someone you’d want to spend more time with. Don’t beat yourself up about it, Callie, that’s the whole point of getting to know each other.”

  “I know but…”

  “It’s late and I can see you’re tired,” said Lavinia. “Let’s talk more about this tomorrow after we all get a good night’s sleep.”

  Callie smiled gratefully, not really wanting to talk about her love life anymore. She kissed her parents goodnight and wandered through the house she had grown up in. The old white colonial with green shutters had been built in the 1940s; a small three-bedroom house on two acres of land. Over the years, each new owner had added on to the house and made improvements. Despite the updates, it still had the cozy country feel of a New England home from the early part of the twentieth century with many smaller rooms and three fireplaces. Fifteen years earlier, Callie’s parents had also renovated and opened up the wall between the old kitchen and family room, turning it into a large open-concept kitchen.

  For Callie, being in the house was like wrapping herself in a warm blanket. She went into her old bedroom that remained exactly the way she had left it when she went off to college. The familiar lavender walls, the stuffed animals on the shelves, her old musical jewelry box with the spinning ballerina on top—all things that made her feel safe and cozy. She slid into the cool white cotton percale sheets, turned out the light and drifted off to sleep.

  At 9:15 the next morning, Callie stumbled down the stairs in her pajamas. Her mother and father, drinking coffee at the kitchen table, looked up from their respective laptops when she entered the room.

  “Sleep okay, honey?” asked her father.

  “I always do when I’m here,” said Callie with a smile. “Hey, Mom, since I’ve been through such a trauma this week, would you make me French toast?”

  “You’re milking this, my darling,” said her mother with a wink as she reached for the bread and eggs.

  Being at home gave Callie a break from adulting, which she often said was “so exhausting.” Home in Wilton, she could be the kid again and her parents took care of everything. She still loved that.

  A little before noon, Callie and her mother drove down Old Wilton Road to the center of town. Wilton, Connecticut, a small country town with a population of around 17,000, had been founded in 1802 and been the site of many Revolutionary War skirmishes. The charming old New England hamlet was about ninety minutes north of New York City and loaded with trees, ponds, and an inordinate number of stone walls that were artfully piled up along the country roads. The center of town was small with one main street peppered with a combination of very old structures that screamed “You’re in New England,” and some newer, more modern ones that looked out of place next to the old. The Village Market had been there for as long as anyone could remember and looked more like an antique colonial home than a typical American supermarket. Across the street from the market was a big gazebo surrounded by bushes and flowers where locals would often gather on holidays or when the Wilton Garden Club had their annual plant sale. With all its white churches and steeples, Wilton was a picture postcard right out of a Currier and Ives print.

  When they arrived at The Turnover Shop, Callie and her mother pushed open the glass front door which made the little bell attached at the top jingle. A woman in her fifties with short brown hair flecked with gray and a pair of bright red reading glasses hanging around her neck on a red cord hurried out from the back room.

  “Callie, I didn’t know you were coming today,” said the smiling woman with the glasses, “but we sure could use you. You look great. Very New York chic. We got a ton of donations in yesterday and with the two of you out on the floor, I can spend the whole day in the back sorting, pricing and tagging all the new stuff.”

  The woman with the red glasses disappeared into the back room, leaving the mother and daughter to manage things out front. Callie wandered around the aisles looking at all the odd treasures for sale. Saturdays at The Turnover Shop would often be busy as locals came in to see what kind of miraculous new bargains they could find. Between twelve and three that day, there was a steady stream of customers. A little after three, the store was empty again and Callie and Lavinia straightened up the shelves and merchandise. The break in traffic gave them the time for a quiet mother–daughter chat.

  “It’s just growing pains, Cal,” said her mother. “We all went through it. Life isn’t a straight highway, there are bumps and turns along the way. It’s how you handle the bumps and turns that makes all the difference. A monkey can drive on a straight road, remember that.”

  Callie nodded and gave her mother a big hug as the little bell on the front door jingled. A small elderly woman with flaming red hair wearing a purple wool poncho over a black turtleneck sweater and black slacks entered the shop. Her outfit was finished off with a pair of thigh high metal stud embellished black boots. A bright green beret had been carefully placed on her head tipped ever so slightly at an angle. Her face, the canvas for several pounds of cosmetics, included bright red lips and a pair of very thick black false eye lashes. To those who didn’t know her, she might have looked like a cartoon character.

  “Virginia!” shouted Lavinia, smiling and walking towards the older woman to give her a hug.

  Most people figured Virginia Lovejoy had to be around eighty-five, although she’d never admit to any number above seventy if asked. A well-known romance writer, Virginia was a bit of a local celebrity. She had begun her writing career late in life and her second romance novel had taken off and been turned into a movie. After that, the rest of her books had been bestsellers. Married four times, her current husband, Geoffrey, was twenty-five years her junior and she never tired of mentioning that.

  “Callie,” said Virginia, putting her cold hands on each of Callie’s cheeks. “Look at you, even more of a beauty than the last time I saw you. How is that possible?”

  Callie blushed and shook her head.

  “Don’t poo-poo a compliment. One day your beauty will fade. Everyone’s does. Enjoy it while you have it,” said Virginia, giving Callie a hug. “I came into the shop to see if there are any new objets d’art. I find the most marvelous things in this shop for next to nothing.”

  The bell on the door rang again as several other women entered and Lavinia went over to help them. Virginia took Callie’s arm.

  “Come help me shop, Callie,” said Virginia, “and we can have a nice little catch-up chat.”

  Together, the two women picked through the knick-knacks and bric-a-brac with Virginia weighing in on the quality and character of each one. “I’ve picked up Waterford goblets here for a couple of dollars,” she confided softly to Callie. “If you have a good eye, like I do, you can clean up in this place.”

  Callie and her mother had been to Virginia’s large old colonial home many times over the years. Every inch of the writer’s house was filled with tchotchkes, ceramics, picture frames and other assorted trinkets and treasures from her travels.

  “What brings you back to Wilton? Why aren’t you in New York going to parties and concerts and having romantic rendezvous?” said Virginia.

  Callie had known the romance writer since she was a little girl and loved Virginia’s eccentric take on life. She told the older woman all about the Mystery Man and then about what had happened with Henry.

  “I see,” said Virginia, tapping her nose with her finger when Callie finished. “Listen to me, Caledonia. I’m a romance writer so if anyone knows about these things, it’s me. What you experienced on that Valentine’s Eve phone call does indeed sound like a case of soulmates coming into contact with each other.”

  Callie’s eyes widened and she nodded in agreement.

  “
It’s possible you could be mistaken, but that’s not how it sounds to me,” said Virginia. “It could be, he is the one but you two weren’t ready for each other yet and the universe split you apart.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Soulmates only come together when they’re both ready for each other. How many times do you hear a story about someone who goes to their twentieth high school reunion and is reunited with somebody they had been friendly with in high school but had no romantic interest. Yet, they meet up again, twenty years later and BOOM! They fall in love. They weren’t ready for each other in high school. Both had to change and grow and only when they were simpatico, were they able to come together as one. You and your Mystery Man must both have more lessons to learn. Once you do, you’ll be brought back together.”

  “You really think so?” said Callie.

  “No guarantees, because you both have to learn your lessons. When you do, you’ll surely meet again.”

  “What if it doesn’t happen until I’m ninety?” moaned Callie.

  “You can’t rush these things. The universe works at its own pace.”

  Virginia’s hands touched dozens of items on the shelves until she settled on one. She held up an abstract glass dish with red, white and pink streaks swirling through it. “Look,” she said breathlessly, “isn’t this the most romantic thing you’ve ever seen? I believe it’s a Chihuly and look, it only costs three dollars.” Virginia was referring to the world-famous Seattle glass artist, Dale Chihuly, who had glass installations in every major city in the world. His smallest pieces usually cost thousands.

  “That’s not a Chihuly, Virginia,” said Lavinia, laughing from the register while ringing up another customer.

  “I absolutely think it is,” said Virginia firmly. “I have a keen nose for art.”

  “Agnes Chapski from the Wilton Garden Club took classes in glass blowing a few years ago and recently cleaned out her basement. She brought in several boxes of her crystal creations a few days ago. It’s not a Chihuly, it’s a Chapski.”

  Virginia pursed her lips and held the little dish up to the light. “I choose to believe that this is a Chihuly and if anyone asks me, that’s what I’ll tell them,” she said, smiling. Pulling a few bills out of her wallet, she handed them to Lavinia, who in turn put the dish in a brown paper bag and gave it back to the older woman.

  “Now, I must dash,” said Virginia, reaching for the door.

  “Thanks for the talk,” said Callie. “I feel better.”

  “Here,” said Virginia, handing the paper bag to Callie. “I bought this romantic glass dish for you. Everyone should have their own Chihuly, don’t you think? Put it in a special place and every time you look at it, it will remind you of the lessons you have yet to learn. Soon, all will be right with the world. You’ll see.”

  39

  After the persistent shadow of the Mystery Man had sabotaged her relationship with Henry, Callie committed herself to being open to someone else. She had to stop thinking about the MM or she’d be alone forever, waiting for a fantasy. If Virginia was right, she had to get on with things. To jump-start her social life, she violated one of her own rules and got on some dating apps—Bumble and Hinge.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures, she told herself as she signed up, posted a few pictures and began searching for her new relationship.

  It was Christmas week and when Callie arrived at her desk one afternoon, she knocked twice on the partition. “I did it,” she yelled to Jess, who a second later poked her head around the wall, wearing a headband with wiggly Christmas ornament antennas.

  “Did what?” Jess said, bobbing her head, causing the red and gold ornaments to dance.

  “Last night, I signed up for Bumble and Hinge. I’m not doing Tinder,” said Callie firmly. “That’s a total hook-up site.”

  “It’s a start,” said Jess as she popped back into her cubicle to pick up a call.

  Within a couple of days, using her dating apps, Callie connected with several seemingly decent-looking guys and made plans to meet up with three of them.

  The first man worked downtown in the financial district for a foreign bank. On paper, he looked good. He was thirty-five and divorced. She wondered if that meant he wasn’t good at relationships, but liked his profile. He was into music and politics, in that order. Since Callie loved music and politics, she had reasonably high hopes for her first date.

  Arriving a few minutes early for their 6pm meeting at the casual American restaurant they had agreed on, she went directly to the bathroom to check her hair and makeup. Satisfied, she took a seat at a table and waited for her date to arrive. At 6:30pm, with still no sign of him, she got a text.

  Tied up at work, can’t make it tonight. Sorry. Maybe we can try sometime next week.

  That would be a NO, thought an embarrassed and furious Callie as she paid for her coffee and left. Stood up on my first “get back on the horse” date. Not a good sign.

  The next one wasn’t much better. She had texted back and forth with an older guy and they had spoken briefly on the phone. In his pictures, he looked a little older and Callie suspected he might be in his forties rather than the thirty-something age in his profile. She reminded herself to stop finding fault and remain open.

  They had planned to meet at a Mexican restaurant in Chelsea on a Wednesday night at seven. Always needing to be in control, she arrived a few minutes early to have time to check out the room and check herself in the ladies’ room mirror. When she walked through the entrance of the restaurant, an older man stepped forward with his arms outstretched.

  “Callie?”

  “Andrew?” said Callie, unable to hide the shock on her face. The man was obviously much older than he had led her to believe. In person, he didn’t look forty, he looked sixty, or more.

  He looks older than Dad. His pictures on Hinge must be thirty years old.

  “Come on,” Andrew said with a smile and a wave of his arm, “they’re holding a nice table for us by the window.”

  By the window! What if somebody I know walks by and sees me on a date with my grandfather?

  Uncharacteristically flummoxed, Callie reluctantly followed the young waitress to their table. Once seated, Callie got a better look at Andrew. As he chattered away, she decided he was sort of charming and she wondered if he was one of those people who looked a lot older than they were, like George.

  “As you know from my profile, I’m a bit of a political wonk,” said Callie, taking a sip of her white wine. “You mentioned in your bio that you had worked as a volunteer on presidential campaigns. That’s cool.”

  Andrew leaned forward, excited to talk about his adventures. “I first got involved in politics during the Johnson administration,” he said.

  Whaaaa? The Johnson administration? As in LBJ? As in the 1960s?

  Callie quickly did the math in her head. I think Lyndon Johnson ran for president in 1964. Best case scenario—if Andrew volunteered for Johnson when he was in high school, he’s hovering near seventy. Eww!

  After a glass of wine and an appetizer, Callie excused herself and ended the date with no regrets. He was nice but much older than her father and he had lied about it. Not cool.

  The next date was someone she met on Hinge. In person, he was fairly good-looking. They met at a diner and were seated in a wide booth. After a while when Callie leaned in closer, his breath was somewhat staggering. Despite that, he turned out to be a good conversationalist and made her laugh. She gave him the benefit of the doubt on the smelly breath and agreed to see him again the next time he texted her.

  On their second meeting at a lively Greek Restaurant called Taverna, “Smelly Breath” was already waiting at a round table when she arrived. He smiled and Callie took the seat across from him. Throughout the evening, their conversation flowed effortlessly. They talked and laughed for hours and seemed to be eye to eye on so many topics. Callie thought Smelly Breath had potential and she hadn’t detected any breath problem
this time.

  When they got up to leave and Callie went to give him a hug goodbye, she was engulfed in a stench and nearly gagged.

  Later that night, she FaceTimed with Jess.

  “He still reeked?” asked Jess, sporting a headband with tiny squiggly champagne bottles that banged together whenever she moved her head. “Was it as bad as the last time?”

  “Worse,” said Callie, crossing her eyes. “It reminded me of when a squirrel died in our attic in Connecticut. We didn’t find it for weeks. I enjoyed his company but I could never kiss him.”

  And that was the end of Smelly Breath. After him came Will, Diego, Ian and James. She dated a parade of eligible men but none of them measured up to her memories of the Mystery Man.

  40

  The Fussy Virgin Guide:

  “Beware the Bad Boy”

  How does that old saying go? You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. That’s an understatement! The perfect partner comes in all shapes and sizes but there is one type that you should always steer clear of—the Bad Boy. He can be the most seductive and appealing of all—but beware.

  Pros: He’s charming, outrageous and doesn’t seem to care what anyone else thinks. He’s spontaneous and people are drawn to him because frankly—he’s a lot of fun.

  Cons: You could end up a moth drawn to a flame. You feel special that he’s chosen you. But he will inevitably crash and burn and either take you down with him or cast you off for a newer, more naïve model.

  Red Alert: If he has no credit cards and pays for everything with cash because “he doesn’t like to have any debt”—run. If you don’t, the next thing you know, he’s moved into your apartment and you can’t get rid of him.