“She’ll be there. She’s a giant Huston fan. Will you help me?”
“It’s never going to work, but I’m here for you, brother. I’m your wingman,” he said, nodding, “on one condition. If this doesn’t work, if you don’t find her at the rally, you never bring up the Mystery Woman to me again. Deal?”
Patrick smiled and nodded. “You know where I can find a beagle?”
62
The sun was shining on New York City the morning of the big Huston rally; not a cloud in the deep blue sky. Patrick and Lorenzo along with an energetic beagle named Dixie, walked through crowds of people some of whom were also headed towards the Great South Lawn in Central Park. Dixie’s owner, the brother of one of Lorenzo’s colleagues, had a broken ankle, and was delighted his dog would spend the day outside instead of cooped up in an apartment with an invalid.
“We got lucky on the dog,” said Lorenzo as they headed deeper into the park.
“It’s the universe lending a helping hand,” said Patrick with total confidence as they arrived at the Great South Lawn, three and a half hours before the start of the rally.
A temporary stage had been installed and sound technicians were busy checking microphones and speakers. Members of Huston’s advance team were assembled and already setting up banners and chairs on the platform. By 10:15, some Huston supporters trickled onto the lawn and claimed their space. At eleven o’clock, with the August sun high in the sky heating up the ground below, it was getting warm.
Patrick’s plan was simple. Lorenzo would walk Dixie throughout the crowd and cover as much territory as possible. The hope was that Dixie would attract the attention of the Mystery Woman and she would approach him when she saw the dog. He instructed Lorenzo to strike up a conversation with any woman in her twenties or thirties who was petite and blonde.
“Half the women in the park are blonde,” Lorenzo muttered as he left with the dog to begin his mission. “You owe me.”
Lorenzo and Dixie walked around the crowd, lingering in the vicinity of small blonde women. Quite a few of them even stopped to pet the dog.
“What a cute dog,” said one pretty dark-blonde woman as she bent over to pet Dixie. “I love beagles. Is it a boy or a girl?”
“A girl, wait…maybe a boy,” said Lorenzo caught off guard.
“You don’t know if your dog is male or female?” asked the blonde, lifting her sunglasses and squinting at him.
“It’s my friend’s dog. He’s sick. I’m helping him out.”
The woman nodded and started to walk away. Oh God, I’m going to regret this, Lorenzo thought. Desperate to stop her, he shouted, “Hey, wait a minute. Are you by any chance…a fussy virgin?”
“Eff off, you psycho,” said the blonde as she turned and melted into the crowd.
Undaunted, Lorenzo tried again and again and was met with dirty looks, nasty hand gestures and called names like “degenerate,” “lowlife” and “pig” preceded and followed by a string of expletives. One woman’s boyfriend chased him to the other side of the rally.
Meanwhile, Patrick attempted to get the attention of a Huston staffer—not an easy feat. The ground team had no time for conversations with random supporters. Their mission was to secure the stage and area around the platform. Technicians and security personnel surrounded the area while news vans and reporters set up their equipment. Dozens of New York City’s finest, dressed in blue had been dispatched by the mayor to provide additional security for the congressman. They were expecting an enormous crowd.
Unable to get someone on Huston’s team to listen to him, Patrick zeroed in on a strawberry-blonde Huston aide in her early twenties who he thought looked approachable. Walking over to her, he flashed a smile and asked if he could speak with her for a moment. Charmed by the tall, handsome stranger, she blushed and said she’d give him thirty seconds. Without taking another breath, Patrick told her the story of the Valentine phone call in less than a minute. He explained how he and the Mystery Woman were both huge fans of Ben Huston and it was their mutual desire to see Huston elected that brought them together.
“I’m positive she’ll be here today. If someone could make an announcement to the crowd,” said Patrick, “then, I could find her.”
“I can’t make an announcement like that.”
“Actually, I was hoping Congressman Huston would.”
“Are you crazy?” said the strawberry-blonde.
“Please,” said Patrick. “You’re my only hope.”
The Huston staffer was a sucker for romantic comedies and thought for a minute. “Your story does kind of remind me of Sleepless in Seattle,” she said as she bit her thumbnail. “I like the love connection over Huston angle. Might give us some good press pickup and the congressman is a big romantic. Maybe I could get him to make an announcement. He loves anything with a human connection.”
“You’ll do it?”
“No promises, but I’ll try.”
“Thank you,” said Patrick with a grateful smile. “Thank you, very much.”
At 12:35pm, Congressman Ben Huston rode through the crowd in a golf cart surrounded by dozens of campaign workers and police. The cart stopped behind the stage and Huston got out and shook hands with several New York City politicians. Standing way off to the side, Patrick kept his eyes fixed on the strawberry-blonde aide as she marched up to the congressman and whispered into his ear. After a few seconds, the woman pointed at Patrick. Huston looked in his direction. Patrick waved and smiled. Huston and the aide exchanged a few more words until the congressman was pulled away by another official. The strawberry-blonde turned back to Patrick and gave him a thumbs up and a big toothy smile.
“Well, all right,” said Patrick under his breath.
Minutes later, the fit and vibrant fifty-five-year-old Ben Huston bounded onto the stage with the grace of an athlete while taking in the cheering sea of supporters. “Hello, New York City!” shouted Huston, waving both arms at the applauding crowd. “I’m humbled and overwhelmed by this huge turnout. My people are telling me there are about 25,000 of you here! Isn’t that something?”
Cheers and applause erupted from the lawn.
Earlier that day, Jess holding a leash that was attached to a beagle had met Callie on the corner of 59th and Fifth Avenue, just outside of the entrance to Central Park.
“Oh, thank God,” said Callie, “you were late and I was afraid you couldn’t get the dog.”
“It wasn’t easy,” said Jess. “My hairdresser treats this dog like it was her baby. She even takes it for walks in a baby carriage. It took me two hours on the phone to convince her to lend me her ‘child.’”
Both women looked down at the little beagle who was wagging its tail. “Meet Bernice,” said Jess.
“Bernice?” said Callie, laughing as she squatted down to pet the dog. “Who names their dog Bernice?”
“My hairdresser,” said Jess, handing Callie the dog’s leash. “She said to be careful because Bernice gets spooked when she’s around a lot of people and will want to run and might howl. I didn’t dare tell her you were taking her dog to a rally, she would have lost her mind.”
Callie scratched Bernice behind her ears. “Hello, gorgeous,” she said to the happy pup. “You’re going to help me find my soulmate, aren’t you?”
As if on cue, Bernice barked.
“Remember,” said Jess, “I promised to have the dog back by five. I’ll meet you outside of our office building at four for you to hand over the dog, okay?”
Callie nodded and gave her friend a hug. “Wish me luck,” she said. Jess gave her a thumbs up as she turned and walked downtown. “All right, Bernice, it’s you and me now,” said Callie as the two headed through the entrance of the park, “let’s see what magic you can do.”
When she got closer to the rally, she was stunned by the number of people—tens of thousands. Once in the crowd, as her owner had warned, the dog pulled on the leash wanting to chase anything in her sightline. To keep the dog calm, Callie st
ayed on the perimeter of the gigantic mob, hoping the MM might spot her if she kept circling the giant crowd.
Scanning the enthusiastic mob for men over six feet tall, she’d try to catch their eye so they’d notice the dog. Because she was so far out from the center of the rally she could barely see the stage, but she could hear Ben Huston loud and clear and he inspired her more than ever. For a few moments she got so caught up in the congressman’s speech that she forgot what she was there for. When Bernice tugged hard on her leash, it nearly knocked Callie over. Regaining her balance, she resumed her search.
Where are you? I know you’re here somewhere.
63
Within minutes of his arrival on the stage, Ben Huston had the crowd eating out of his hands. Every sentence drew lengthy applause, cheers and whistles. The people were practically enraptured.
“When I announced my candidacy for senator of the great state of New York at our first rally, we only had a handful of supporters from my hometown of Buffalo. Within a few weeks we had several thousand,” shouted Huston. “Some people said, ‘Huston only appeals to upstate New York. He can’t cut it in the Big Apple. He doesn’t have what it takes.’ Well, I guess we showed them today that they were wrong.”
A roar of cheers followed by applause resounded from the thousands of New York City onlookers and supporters.
“We’ve all been working hard on this campaign and the election is now only a few months away. I need all of your support more than ever to push us over the finish line. We can do this. We can make it happen, but only if we work together.”
Callie’s phone vibrated as more applause and cheers erupted. Bernice pulled hard on the leash when another dog passed, forcing Callie to move further from the crowd while she answered her phone.
“George?” said Callie seeing his name on her phone.
“Callie, we have an emergency. I need you to come into the office.”
“When?”
“Now. As soon as possible. We’ve got a deadline on that candidate viability study for the state of Mississippi. Diane in accounting brought in an egg salad dish to share with everyone. Now, half the office is throwing up in the ladies’ room. We think they have food poisoning. I just ordered Ubers to take seven people to the emergency room.”
“Oh my God,” said Callie. “I can be there around four.”
“Thank you, Callie,” said George, letting out a relieved sigh. “I won’t forget this.”
With no time to spare, Callie continued to walk the perimeter of the rally with Bernice. When she passed a reasonably tall man with thick reddish-brown hair, she saw him look at her beagle, still straining on her leash.
“Looks like that dog is walking you,” said the man, bending over to pet the beagle. When he did, the dog stopped fussing and reveled in the caresses of the man’s hand.
“There you go,” said the man to the dog, “you just needed a little TLC, didn’t you?”
“You like beagles?” said Callie, her face breaking into a hopeful smile.
“I’ve always thought they were cute,” said the man, squatting down and petting the dog with both hands.
Maybe it’s him? Maybe it’s him!
“If I had a dog, I’d get a beagle,” he said, giving Bernice a neck rub.
“Really?” said Callie. It is him.
“Unfortunately, I’m allergic to pet hair,” said the man as he scratched under Bernice’s chin. Callie’s face fell. “Enjoy the rally,” he said as he stood up and walked away. Callie put the dog’s leash under her foot so she could call Jess and tell her what had happened. At the same time, a loose Boston terrier raced across a nearby field. When Bernice saw the other dog, she bolted and the leash slipped out from under Callie’s foot. In a matter of seconds, Bernice was halfway across the lawn in pursuit of the other dog. It all happened so fast that it took a second for Callie to comprehend before she tore off after the dog.
“Bernice. Bernice, stop!” Callie shouted as she ran while turning her head and looking back at the Huston rally that was getting further and further away. The dog continued running and every time Callie got close, Bernice would stop, look back at her and take off again. For the beagle, this was a wonderful chasing game. Callie pursued Bernice around Central Park for an hour and a half. Passers-by tried to help her but the little dog was too fast and nimble. She finally caught up to Bernice when the dog stopped for a much-needed drink out of a fountain. Out of breath, Callie stamped on the end of the leash with her foot, grabbed it with her hand, wrapped it twice around her wrist and let out a sigh of relief. She sat down on the edge of the fountain to catch her breath.
“I don’t know if they exist but if they do, you should be in the canine Olympics,” said Callie. Still panting, she gave the dog a pat on the head as several people carrying Huston signs walked by.
“Were you at the Huston rally?” she called out to them.
“Yes,” said one older woman, “he was amazing. I could listen to that man all day, didn’t want it to end.”
“It’s over?” said Callie.
“Yes,” said a few of the people carrying signs. “He was incredible.”
Letting out a breath of defeat, Callie’s eyes filled with water and she hugged Bernice close to her as one tear wound its way down her cheek. She wiped it away and looked into the dog’s brown eyes. “That was my last chance, Bernice. The universe has spoken and clearly, it doesn’t want me to find him.”
She and the dog walked towards the Fifth Avenue exit. Within minutes they were out of the park and on the street heading downtown to her office.
Walking into the lobby of her office building with Bernice by her side, she waited for the silver and gold art deco elevator doors to open. Still in a fog when she walked through the glass doors of Ariom Marketing, she found the bullpen two thirds empty. Across the room, George was pacing in the corner while talking animatedly on the phone. Callie waved to him and he gave her a grateful okay sign and rolled his fingers in a circle signaling she should get started immediately.
With the tired dog under her desk, Callie sat, adjusted her headset and opened the packet of surveys George had left for her. From the other side of the partition she heard Jess question someone about a local election in Connecticut. Reaching around the divider, Callie tapped her friend on the shoulder. Surprised, Jess pointed to her headset making a talking gesture with her hands.
“What are you doing here?” Jess mouthed. Callie shook her head and wiped away a tear as she turned back to the packet of questions on her desk. Her assignment was to find out how committed independent voters were to either Republican or Democratic candidates in a close Senate race in Mississippi. She was about to pick up her first robo-call when Jess swung around the partition.
“What happened?” she asked. “Why are you here? You were supposed to meet me outside the building with the dog at four.”
More tears pooled in Callie’s eyes. “George called and asked me to come in because everyone was sick which would have been okay. Then the dog got loose and Bernice took off through the park just as the rally was getting started.”
“Oh my God,” said Jess, touching her heart, “you lost Bernice?”
“I chased her for hours. I missed the whole rally.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jess. “It was a long shot anyway.”
“It was a stupid idea. There were so many people in the park,” said Callie. “Even if the MM was there, I was never going to find him. How could I have been so completely wrong about everything?”
“What did you say?” said Jess, her eyes wide.
“How could I have been so completely wrong?”
“This must really have shaken you. You never say you’re wrong about anything, ever.”
“I’m saying it now. I was dead wrong,” said Callie, a tear trickling along the outside of her nose as she sniffled. “This whole fiasco has been a figment of my imagination, a false narrative that I dreamed up and then stoked in my head. None of it was real. For
a year and a half, I convinced myself that a man I never met, who I talked to on the phone for a few hours was the great love of my life—my soulmate. Now I know it was all based on nothing but my imagination in overdrive.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Jess saw George coming towards them.
“Uh-oh,” said Jess, ducking behind her wall, “incoming.”
“Callie, this is an emergency,” said George. “We don’t have a minute to spare. I’ve got to get those poll numbers in by six, so they can be reviewed and pushed out on the nightly news. There’s only a few hours left or I’m screwed.”
Callie looked up at her boss and blinked back her tears. “I’m sorry, George. I’ve had a very bad day, but that’s no excuse. You’re absolutely right. I agreed to come in and help you out and that’s what I intend to do. I apologize and I’ll get right to work. I’ll get everything to you in time.”
George stared at Callie, confused. She usually gave him a hard time about everything and never apologized. He backed up a few steps and peered at her. “That would be great,” he said, walking away, trying to figure out why his usually challenging employee had been so cooperative.
“You’ll have everything you need before six,” Callie called out as he crossed the bullpen.
Jess stuck her head back around and narrowed her eyes. “Who are you? What have you done with my friend?” said Jess. “You apologized to George and told him he was right. Did you see the look on his face?”
Callie let out a little laugh. “He did look like he was going to be sick.”
Jess smiled and nodded “My shift is over, I’d better get going,” she said as she grabbed Bernice’s leash. “If I don’t bring Bernice back on time, her mother will never do my hair again and I really like the way she blows it out.”
“You know something, Jess, someone once told me that sometimes it’s easier not to be right. I think I just found out that’s true.”
The Fussy Virgin Page 21
