There Are No Men

by Carol Maloney Scott

  “Let’s go on the ride.” I avoid the issue and grab his hand to lead him to the short line. I look around at the little kids waiting and assume that it can’t be that horrible. For God’s sake, there’s a stroller parked over there! If someone who isn’t old enough to walk can handle this ride, I can make it through with my dignity and stomach contents intact.

  It turns out that was a bit presumptuous and overly optimistic. I sit in front of Justin and he wraps his arms around me. This is nice and I can see why his father taught his sons to take their women to amusement parks. My moment of comfort is interrupted by the jerky spasms of the archaic ride starting up. I look over at the hunched over, bored teen ride operator and begin saying the Rosary. I wish I paid more attention in church and hope that I won’t be smitten for forgetting how many Hail Marys there are before the Glory Be.

  “Ahhhhhhh…” I’m already screaming in terror. Luckily I’m in front of Justin, so I have not blown out his eardrums.

  He holds on tightly and I can tell he’s enjoying this. To the casual observer (or maybe any observer) I look like a lunatic. The ride makes a few rolling twists and turns, with the steepest being a few feet. As I said there are preschoolers on this ride, attended by their elementary aged siblings, and I am the only one screaming and carrying on. The laughter of little children fills the air, which I hope to keep vomit free.

  On the last turn, I feel like I’m going to be sick and I wish I hadn’t eaten that last slice of pizza. I bargain with God now—“please don’t let me puke and I promise I won’t sleep with Justin or any other men until I am lawfully wed. And I will stop drinking and swearing.” As I finish my prayer, the ride comes to an equally jerky halt. I’m recovering from my whiplash as the ride operator announces that we may disembark from the ride (actually he says “everybody off” in a tone that makes me feel we are keeping him awake against his will).

  “Wasn’t that fun?” Justin spins me around and his smile turns to a look of concern. “What’s wrong? You look pale.”

  “Justin, I’m sorry. I get sick on rides. I have motion sickness and if I don’t take medicine for it I feel awful.” I wish I wasn’t forced to share this information.

  “I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me? You must be miserable. Do you want to go? We can do something else, it’s still early.”

  We could do something else—something I will regret tomorrow, but I can’t let my mind go there. “I should have said something, but I’m better now. You spent money on tickets and you even won this awesome bunny for me. I can’t let you leave here without riding at least one ride you really love. Name one ride and I’ll go on it with you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I swear, and the bunny agrees.” I shake the bunny’s head in solidarity.

  “How about the Ferris wheel? It is high, but it doesn’t move very fast and the views are cool up there.” He looks at me hopefully. “I will hold onto you the whole time.”

  I ponder this logic, as if holding on to me is going to protect me if we are dropped a hundred feet to the pavement. I will just close my eyes and go back to saying my shoddy version of the Rosary. “Let’s do it.”

  It’s not too bad when we first get on, although the swaying of the car is making me dizzy and I feel completely out of control. Now the nausea is kicking in as they move us backwards up the line in succession, filling each car with more brave or deranged souls. I can see this is going to take hours, or so it seems. It stops at each car to let more people on. This time I don’t even want to look at the guy in charge, and I’m glad Justin is sitting beside me, and not in a position to hear my heart beating like it’s going to combust.

  When we get to the top and they’re filling the car that is straight down below us, my heart is racing double time. I have never gotten this level of cardiovascular workout in a sedentary position—not even sex, nor my workout video, can rival the sweating and pulse rate caused by this activity. You can burn a lot of calories at a scary carnival!

  Justin is holding my hand and I am squeezing it so hard he’s going to be branded. He kisses my cheek and I forget to be mad at him again—this is my own fault. What am I trying to prove? By now the anticipation is killing me and I hate the swaying of the car.

  As I begin taking deep breaths, all of the cars are full and they start the wheel. As it rises I leave my stomach behind and focus on my fear of heights. I can see all the farmlands and the parking lot and houses that are getting smaller and smaller. We’re so high up! Don’t throw up, don’t throw up! I have abandoned formal prayer for this mantra. I close my eyes and suppress a scream.

  By the third trip around the wheel I’m becoming slightly more used to it. Having a settled stomach and a normal heart rate are overrated. I loosen my grip on Justin’s poor hand as I put my other arm up in the air, focusing on the wind in my face. It is now dark and colder, and I lean in closer to Justin’s warmth (his father is a genius).

  By the time the ride comes to a screeching halt (they need to work on their starts and stops), I’m woozy but simultaneously invigorated.

  “You liked it, right? I could tell you were scared at first”—he shows me the claw marks in his hand and I cringe apologetically—“but after we got going you liked it.”

  I catch my breath and pull him to a bench to recover. “You’re right. At first I was freaking out, but it got better.” I shiver and wish I had brought a sweater.

  “You’re freezing. Want to go back to the car?” He motions towards the parking lot.

  His smile reminds me that being alone with him in the car is going to be dangerous, and I reply, “Do you think they have hot chocolate? And I want a funnel cake.”

  The funnel cake always seems like a good idea until I start eating it and remember it is a poor quality donut that has been fried to a crisp, and loaded with powdered sugar that I end up wearing. Tonight is no exception. I’m feeling greasy and covered in white dust in a matter of minutes. The hot chocolate is warming my insides (which have taken a beating), but I still need a sweater and the warmth of the car. “This was fun, Justin. And thoughtful. Thank you.”

  “Finally, I’m rid of my dick reputation!” He laughs as I throw my funnel cake wrapper at him. “I guess I should be glad you don’t throw heavier objects at me. I guess that may come in time.”

  In time. There can’t be any “in time” with Justin. I avert his eyes and continue sipping my hot chocolate.

  He misses my pause and its meaning. “I’m going to check out the e-mail server issue tomorrow and see if I can figure out what’s going on with Cecilia. Maybe she’s screwing one of my staff.” He studies my expression and says, “What, she could be?”

  “Definitely. I just don’t understand the whole e-mail server thing.”

  “Maybe the bunny can help.” He takes the bunny and places it on his lap, moving it side to side as he says in his bunny impersonation, “You see, Claire, the e-mail server is where all the messages are housed and Justin is smart and knows how to spy on everyone…”

  He can’t keep a straight face when he first sees my glaring eyes, followed by my suppressed smile. We both laugh as we clean up the table, and begin walking to the car. He puts his arm around me and the heat feels good on my icy skin.

  We drive home in relative companionable silence. I am lost in thought. At one point Justin places his hand on my leg and I let it rest there a few minutes, keeping my hands folded in my lap. Eventually he pulls it back to adjust the heat and doesn’t return it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I guess I should be glad you didn’t stalk us in the parking lot last night.” I barely turn the key to my office door and Rebecca is right behind me.

  “I did need milk, and I do pass the office on my way to the convenience store, but I refrained.” She looks pleased with herself.

  I put my purse under my desk and start signing on to my computer. “I am so impressed,” I say while rolling my eyes.

  Rebecca sits in my guest chair and lea
ns forward, wide eyed and jumping up and down in short bursts. “Soooooo?”

  I sigh audibly and plop down in my seat, rubbing my temples. “I just keep digging a deeper hole.”

  “Did you have fun? Did he kiss you? Are you going to see him again? Where did he take you—”

  “Stop it! Yes, I had fun. He took me to a carnival, the spring one in Hanover. Yes, he kissed me and before you ask—it was amazing. And no, I am not going to see him again, except here in the office, which makes everything a big mess.” I’m breathless and weary from reliving the night’s events.

  “I don’t understand you.” Rebecca crosses her arms in her all too common defiant pose. “You have a good time with a hot young guy, who is obviously into you, and you won’t see him again? Can’t you just date him until you meet the right man? I know that sounds shitty, but don’t you deserve a little fun?”

  “He deserves more. He won a giant pink bunny for me, for God’s sake! I think he wants more, but he’s also too young and inexperienced to realize what more entails, and I am not ending up like Demi Moore! Am I am making any sense?”

  “I get it, sort of. But does a bunny seal the deal on everlasting love and commitment? If he had won something more domestic for you, like cutlery or china, then maybe you would have a point.” Rebecca is trying to lighten the mood, but she shrinks back in her seat under my unamused glare. “I’m sorry, I know this is serious. How did you end the night?”

  “I was quiet on the way home and he had to feel the distance growing as we got back to the office. Then I got the hell out of his car as quickly as I could with the typical excuse of being tired and having a long drive to get home, work the next day, blah blah, blah. He looked a little hurt, and I know he’s confused—”

  “Then why don’t you just tell him the truth?”

  It’s hard to argue with this point. “I will tell him that I’m too old for him and I can’t have children. He’s going to say he doesn’t care about that, and I am going to have to make him understand that he will one day, and that will leave me old and grey and alone. Or something cheery like that.” I frown and drop my shoulders.

  “It’s probably implying too much seriousness on his part to even bring it up, but I would tell him that you don’t want to get hurt, so you can’t let it go any further. He doesn’t have to understand. But damn, I wish I wasn’t old enough to be his mother, because I wouldn’t mind consoling him.” She smiles playfully.

  I let the mood shift, faking a smile and moving on to safer topics. We chat a bit about work and our weekend plans. “Did you see I signed up to go to the Charter House Meetup tomorrow?”

  “Yep, there are some new people going, too. You should check it out ahead of time and see if there are any men you want to meet.”

  “Good idea. I’ll look right now.” I pull up the Meetup site and sign in, scrolling to tomorrow’s event. There are already thirty people signed up! I guess this is a popular venue and the weather is supposed to be beautiful. “Come over here and look at the guest list. Wait, I have a message in my inbox.” Members can e-mail each other through the site, and someone has contacted me.

  “Who is it from? Sometimes men will check out the women beforehand, kind of like what we’re doing, and send a note of introduction. It’s usually weirdos, though.”

  “The last thing I need is more weirdos. Can’t there be one normal, age appropriate man in the whole city?” As I send this question out into the cosmos I open up the message and begin to read. I may have my answer.

  “If you don’t tell me who it’s from I am going to implode with curiosity!” She is jumping up and down again, a little girl in a nosy middle-aged woman’s body.

  “I’ll read it! Settle down, you’re acting like Dixie waiting for a piece of meat.” I begin reading. I had forgotten all about this.

  Hello Claire,

  I hope it isn’t too forward of me to send you a note, but when I recognized your name on the Meetup site, I thought this was a perfect opportunity. I’m Nathan Kleinman, the doctor Melanie told you about. She told me that she asked if I could call you some time during your appointment with Dr. Mason. I was quite embarrassed (probably not the most ethical fix up), and I have been struggling with whether or not I should call.

  Since we will both be at this event tomorrow night, I wanted to introduce myself and hope to meet you in person. Based on your profile it looks like we have some things in common (other than knowing your gynecologist).

  Best Regards,

  Nathan

  “Hmm, formal but with a playful side? That’s not a bad picture—he looks like a Jewish Alec Baldwin, before he gained weight.” Rebecca is nodding her approval and I can almost see the wheels spinning inside her head like a windmill in a tornado.

  “Yeah, he is attractive in a smart doctor kind of way. Is he Jewish? How do you know that for sure? My Catholic mother will love that.” I laugh a little.

  “Your parents would be upset about that? Are they that religious?”

  “No, I’m being serious. My mother was the one who taught me Jewish men are good to their wives. And he’s a doctor, so he could be a pagan wizard or a Jehovah’s Witness and she would still be jumping for joy. Maybe not the latter, if he rang her doorbell during her favorite show.” I am bordering on giddy as I continue to scroll through Nathan’s answers to the Meetup profile questions.

  “He’s from New York, too. That was a safe bet since he’s Jewish, right?” Rebecca, like many people, assume all Jewish people are from New York.

  “I’m surprised they let him out, and how is he surviving without good bagels?” I respond with yet another eye roll.

  Rebecca narrows her eyes in mock anger and says, “Whatever. So let’s see—he’s from Manhattan, but grew up in Brooklyn. I bet he has a humble rags to riches story. How romantic.” Rebecca is swooning now.

  “I just care that he’s attractive, looks a little older than me, and seems nice. Melanie wouldn’t have told me about him if he was a jerk,” I say hopefully.

  “I agree. I’m excited for tomorrow now.” She claps her hands and smiles broadly. “You must pick out the perfect outfit, and for the love of God don’t drink too much or wear shoes that cause you to fall on your ass.”

  She runs for the door as I look for something on my desk to throw at her, and I remember Justin’s comments about me throwing heavier things in time. I probably need to stop throwing things at people. Never mind falling on my ass. That could bite me in the ass one day. “Yes, staying upright is vital to my social success. I need to make sure he doesn’t meet Sherry or Andy, and for that matter you need to make yourself scarce, too. I’ll be nervous enough.”

  “I promise I’ll behave.” She crosses her heart and claps her hands again. “I am so excited!”

  “Let’s try to do some work now.” I look down at my keyboard and something dawns on me. “Crap, I just remembered Saturday.”

  “What’s Saturday?”

  “Brandon’s party. I haven’t talked to him since last week, when we had a semi-argument. I wonder if I’m even still invited.” My mood deflates as I replay our last conversation.

  “He didn’t say you were uninvited, right? If Jane and her husband are going you should show up with them. Gauge his reaction and attitude, and if he’s become a dick, go home. Better yet, maybe you’ll have a date with Nathan and you can skip the whole thing.” Rebecca is on her way to the door.

  “I’ll just stop by to save face as a neighbor and let’s face it—he will probably sign a contract with us, so I don’t want to completely alienate him. Pam is going to like his book. I wish I could keep all of the areas of my life separate.” I let a frustrated sigh escape my lips.

  “That’s all about to change with the good doctor,” Rebecca replies and quickly closes the door, as if expecting something heavier than the usual paper to fly in her direction.

  My mind wanders to plotting my outfit, and I can’t wait to get home and try on all my possible clothing combinations.
As long as I don’t drink I can wear whatever shoes I want, and there won’t be any dancing, so I’m in no danger of falling on my ass. Besides, last time I fell on my head.

  I chuckle at my own escapades, and all the ways I need to protect my ass.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “All I can say is they better be looking for someone who has murdered multiple people! A single murder does not warrant this level of inconvenience.” I’m driving to the Charter House straight from work, and I’m sitting in what looks like miles of traffic because the cops appear to be stopping every car.

  “Calm down—don’t get yourself all worked up. Tell me what you’re wearing.” Rebecca volunteered to get there early and help the organizer reserve some tables on the patio, and therefore left work early enough to miss this bullshit festival I am currently experiencing.

  I take a deep breath to soothe my jangled nerves and respond, “I am wearing that off the shoulder top with the blue and green swirls. You remember—I bought it when we did our spring shopping spree at the mall last month? And capri jeans—the ones with the holes and rips in them, and blue sandals that match the top.” I strain my neck to see what’s happening up ahead, and it looks like traffic is starting to inch along again.

  “Aha, and how high are those sandals?” She asks in an accusatory tone.

  “What? I was looking at the cops. They’re not that high.” I am totally lying. They are five inch platform wedges, but they have a stable base. Plus they match my top perfectly.

  “We’ll see about that. I’ll reserve an area for you to prop yourself up so you stay in one spot. Let everyone come to you. You’ll be tall enough to see from a mile away.”

  She never stops taunting me, but I’m glad I provide her with a world of mirth. “Very funny—I’m getting closer to the cops now. Hopefully I don’t resemble any wanted fugitives and I’ll be there shortly. Any sign of Nathan?” I ask optimistically.