by Shelly Bell
“Take a deep breath, sweetie, and listen to me. Yes, you’ve been dating for roughly fifteen years. How many dates do you think you average a year, not including the times you were in a relationship? Maybe three at most?”
As I thought it over and tried to calculate with my still hungover brain, I deduced Missy probably overestimated the amount of dates per year. I spent the last two years without any dates at all. Sadly, it had been even longer since I had sex. I was practically a born-again virgin.
Even though Missy was my best friend in the world, I couldn’t reveal the truth of my pathetic love life. I couldn’t admit I lied to her many times throughout the years, telling her I went on a date, when I actually stayed home watching reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and eating an entire package of Girl Scout Samoa cookies before passing out high from a sugar binge. Some things were just too private and painful to share with even my best friend.
Women literally threw themselves at Missy’s feet. I’m not kidding. I’ve seen it happen.
After seeing Les Miserable at the theatre, we visited a gay bar in the city. I figured I owed her, since she always came with me to the hetero bars. Plus, I have to admit, I was curious about what it would be like. Since women look deeper than physical appearance, I thought I had a shot at being hit on. I visualized having to politely reject some beautiful lesbian.
Not only did I not get hit on, three women bribed the DJ to play “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling,” in order to serenade Missy just like the scene from Top Gun where Tom Cruise and his buddies sang to Kelly McGillis. She ended up dating one of them for a few weeks after, but then broke it off because the woman sang too much. I mean, what did she expect?
“Yes, three dates a year sounds about right,” I lied. “So, I haven’t dated a lot of men, but how is that relevant?”
“Here’s how I see it. The more dates you go on, the greater the chance you’ll meet the right guy. For the next year, you’ll put yourself out there. Like you said in your toast last night, technology has changed the way we do things.”
I groaned over the mention of my speech. Something else I shamefully accomplished while intoxicated.
“I am never going to live that down. Goldman will bring it up every time he sees me from now on. It wouldn’t surprise me if he puts it on YouTube for the whole world to see. Then, whenever I meet a guy, he’ll only have to Google me to discover I’m desperate.”
Embarrassing scenarios rushed through my imagination. Missy clapped her hands three times to get my attention.
“Don’t worry about Goldman or anyone else for that matter. It wasn’t as bad as you think. Besides, I seriously doubt anyone will bother to take the time to embarrass you on YouTube.”
“Fine,” I muttered, trying to stay focused on the present. “What are your ideas for getting me out there?”
“What you need is to join JDate. You and I will spend the day developing your profile and when it’s complete, you’ll pick five men to contact.”
“That’s it?”
“No, that’s not it. If any of those five respond, you’ll set up a date to meet them.”
“Shouldn’t we email or talk on the phone for a while before meeting?” I interrupted.
“Absolutely not. You don’t want to waste time and that’s exactly what you’ll do if you don’t meet someone right away. First, it will help to eliminate those guys who are married, lying about their appearance, or too intimidated to go on a real date. Second, you may get to know someone on the phone and then you meet and there’s no chemistry. Third, the idea is to go out on as many dates as you can. Phone calls and emails do not count as dates.”
My head spun as I processed everything. I needed something to eat.
I ran to the kitchen to bring a box of Lucky Charms cereal back to my room to munch on while Missy instructed me on “Ten Ways to Meet Your Future Husband Thru the Internet.” She typed it for me while she spoke.
“You will contact five men that live in the tri-county area each week. The email will include one thing you liked about their profile.
“You will accept all offers of a date.
“If he doesn’t ask for a date after one week, you will ask him out. If he gives any excuse, i.e. out of town, working, etc., cease all communications with him.
“You will change your photos monthly to accurately portray your current appearance.
“Always portray confidence. Never indulge in self-deprecating behavior.
“Don’t exaggerate or lie about yourself. He’ll discover it eventually.
“If you don’t feel any chemistry on your first date, tell him at the end of the evening. Do not pretend you’re interested in a second date or plan on telling him by email you’re not interested. Treat him as you wish to be treated and be honest.
“Even if you aren’t interested, let him kiss you if he tries. Don’t forget that on Friends, Monica wasn’t interested in Pete until he kissed her. Yes, they didn’t end up together, but that’s not the point. If you are interested, try to get him to kiss you.
“Don’t stop dating other people even if you are interested in one. Until you are in a committed relationship, you will continue to contact five men a week per this agreement.
“Don’t have sex on the first date even if you want to!!! Wait at least four dates!”
After she printed her rules out, she made me read it out loud and sign it in acknowledgement.
Someday, I’d get my revenge.
“Now, you take a shower while I rummage through your closet for some decent clothes for your pictures.”
I saluted her and headed off into the bathroom.
Missy mumbled something under her breath. “Jeez, do you own any clothes that aren’t black?”
“Other than my jeans and a couple of T-shirts? Nope, all my clothes are black,” I replied, wondering what was wrong with black. “Black goes with everything. It’s flattering, it’s slimming...”
“It’s boring,” Missy continued. “We need to get you some brighter clothes. You want to look happy, not like you’re going to a funeral.”
“Fine, we’ll go to the mall. I don’t have any clients on Wednesday, if you have a couple of hours free,” I shouted over the sound of the shower.
“Wednesday after work sounds good. I’ll pick you up at 5:30.”
Missy worked as a program director at a retirement home for the very advanced aged. Over ninety years old, most of her residents still managed to care for themselves with minimal assistance. She loved each and every one of her residents, treating them with respect and dignity. In return, over one hundred devoted grandparents treated Missy as part of their family.
I didn’t know how she could stand it forty-plus hours a week. I couldn’t even stand ten minutes in that place. All the old people remind me of death and dying. She said they reminded her about triumph over adversity. She’s such an optimist.
On the other hand, I worked with teenagers. My psychology practice consisted mostly of teenage girls with self-esteem issues. Missy often liked to point out the reason I chose to work with that population is because I need to work on my own issues with self-esteem, as in “Physician, Heal Thyself.” Sadly, she’s probably right, but I believe because I have those issues, it’s easier for me to relate to my clients. Either way, I have enough confidence to acknowledge I’m a terrific therapist.
We spent two hours getting ready, between choosing my outfits and creating my “natural look.” Missy pulled her digital camera out of her bag.
She reminded me of Mary Poppins. Anything we needed could be found in that bag.
Missy took almost fifty pictures of me in three different outfits, some casual and others more posed. Out of those pictures, we chose two headshots and two pictures of my full body for my profile on JDate.
We spent the rest of the day creating my profile. Like an essay exam, I answered open-ended questions. You would think it would be easy, but I honestly drew a blank when I read the questions. All of a sudde
n, I was back in college with fifteen minutes left of my exam and no way to finish the last two questions before time was up. At least now, I had Missy to assist me with the answers. By the time I finished an entire box of Lucky Charms and our pizza arrived for dinner, I completed my profile.
“Now you just have to find five men to email and you can call it quits for the night.” Missy chomped on her slice of pepperoni pizza.
“How hard could that be?”
As it turns out, it wasn’t as easy as I anticipated. I weeded out all the guys who were interested only in dating thin girls and focused on those who preferred average, athletic, and voluptuous.
I classified myself as average, even though the average woman in America weighs approximately one hundred and forty pounds at five feet four inches tall. The average weight of the women I know is generally about twenty to thirty pounds more than that. Even though I argued I fell into the voluptuous category, Missy countered that anyone with two eyes could see my figure from the pictures and I shouldn’t limit my possibilities.
After I eliminated the men based on their desired body-type, I weeded out any man under twenty-five and over forty. With over three hundred profiles to choose from, I still couldn’t decide who to contact. I found something wrong with every profile.
Tired of my excuses, Missy picked the five for me. I wrote them each the same basic email, detailing something specific about them that attracted me to their profile. She even made me use the word attracted, explaining men would read the word and think about sex, which they would now associate with my profile. Apparently, that’s a good thing, although I have to wonder how she can consider herself to be an expert on men when she’s a lesbian.
At eight o’clock, Missy left me alone with half of a pizza and my computer. I checked my email every half hour until bedtime to check my inbox for communications from JDate. Just about the time I gave up, my cell phone alerted me to an email message.
I snatched the phone from the charger on my nightstand and touched the envelope icon to read my email.
A message titled “Welcome to JDate” had been sent from AMG300. I couldn’t bring up his profile on my phone. Instead, I moved my tired butt to my computer.
As I waited for the website to load, I chewed on my acrylic nails, convinced it was probably a standard message that came from the management of JDate. Logging on, I discovered it came from another JDate participant. I clicked on the link and it took me to the profile of Adam Goldman.
Dear Lord, I didn’t think about people I actually knew discovering I used an online dating site to meet men. Of all people, why Goldman?
Reading over his profile, I noted he selected to date only average and athletic women, excluding voluptuous. Then again, he hadn’t chosen thin either. He said little about himself in the essay portion, revealing only that he practiced law, enjoyed music, and preferred heterosexual, single women between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five.
I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to reply to his email. After ten minutes, I decided it was good enough to send.
Dear Goldman,
Thanks for welcoming me into the JDate community! After careful deliberation, I have decided to plunge head first into the dating pool. Your email has indicated you have done likewise. In other words, I won’t tell if you won’t.
Your Comrade in Singledom,
Sara
P.S. Just remember, I have plenty of info I could use to blackmail you, too!
It only took him five minutes to respond.
Dear Sara,
Please be careful to check the depth of the water before you plunge head first into the dating pool. As some of us have learned, the water can be shallow.
Your Comrade in Singledom,
Adam
I laughed out loud when I read his email. Comfortable now that my personal life would remain personal, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.
CHAPTER 3
FEBRUARY 27, 2012
DETROIT, MICHIGAN
WEIGHT: 185 LBS.
STATUS: SINGLE
On Monday, I returned to the boring routine I called my life, treating dramatic girls for their teenage angst. I shared an office suite with my mother, also a psychologist, although she only treated adults. Sometimes she saw the mother, while I treated the daughter. When we initially made the arrangement to share an office, I worried we’d quarrel, as we had when I was younger. Yet, it had worked out rather well over the last two years. I didn’t see much of her, despite sharing office space.
Because my clients tended to be in school for most of the day, I didn’t see my first until three in the afternoon. I spent the few hours prior doing paperwork and other mundane tasks.
I used an answering service for emergency calls, but clients could leave a message on my voicemail, if they chose. Today, the flashing light on the telephone informed me I had at least one. Sitting in my comfy chair with a can of Diet Coke, I listened to my messages.
“Hi, this is Megan Trenton from Detroit Channel Four. We saw the video on YouTube and we’d love to do a segment on you. Please call me back at (248) 555-2455 at your earliest convenience.”
“Hello, Ms. Friedman, my name is Jackson Coulter and I’m calling from the Morning show in New York. We have a proposal we’d like to discuss with you.” He laughed after he said proposal.
I listened to five more messages, all about the wedding video, which, as I’d feared, had made its way onto YouTube. I pulled out a giant-sized candy bar out of my purse and ate it as I waited impatiently for my computer to warm up.
To my horror, I found the video right away on YouTube’s homepage, listed under Most Viewed. It had nearly a million hits in two days and it wasn’t even funny! Why would anyone care about a fat Jewish girl from Michigan? I cringed as I watched myself talking about soul mates and true love. I didn’t recognize the username of the person who posted the video, but with camera phones these days, it could have been anyone from the wedding.
Curiously, plenty of people posted comments in response to the video. I read some negative ones, which commented on my weight and accused me of being desperate, but most comments fell into the supportive category. Apparently, plenty of women could relate to my plight. I had hundreds of women wishing me luck in reaching my goal and even got a few marriage proposals.
For an hour, I debated whether to call the news stations. I worried my name would forever be associated with the lonely single girl desperate for a husband.
I couldn’t make this kind of decision by myself. I needed to ask Missy for her advice.
I dialed her work number, and she answered on the first ring. After filling her in on the video and the media’s phone calls, she hollered at me to call them back and hung up.
I called the local station first and agreed to an interview the following morning, figuring it couldn’t hurt to get my name out there. Maybe I’d even get a few dates out of the publicity.
Then I called the Morning show, choosing it over some of the other ones, because that’s the one I watched. I spoke to Jackson, one of the producers of the show. They wanted to follow my story for the year and offered to throw me a wedding if I succeeded on meeting my soul mate!
I thought about how romantic it would be to have all of America watch my wedding on television. Naturally, I accepted. Jackson said they’d send the paperwork and advised me to have an attorney review it before I faxed it back to him.
Only one attorney came to mind.
Goldman.
I may dislike him, but I knew from my brother that Adam was an excellent attorney.
I studied his bio from his firm’s website. He practiced corporate and real estate, so he could review a contract for me. I tried to ignore the picture of him that accompanied his bio, but I couldn’t help myself. It had been taken recently, because he wore his hair shorter now in a feeble attempt to rid himself of his head of black curls. He used to wear it longer, and I always imagined playing with the ends of his hair that fell on the back of
his collar.
Maybe it was better he cut it.
Taking a deep breath, I gathered the nerve to call him. I dialed the phone, hoping I could just leave a message.
No such luck. His secretary put me right through to him.
“Adam Goldman.” At the sound of his rich and deep voice, shivers ran up and down my arms.
“It’s Sara Friedman.”
“Sara. What can I do for you?” His voice remained rich and deep, only now it had a bit of huskiness to it.
“I ... uh ... I was wondering if you could look over a couple of contracts for me?”
“What kind of contracts?”
I didn’t know how to say it without feeling embarrassed. I said it really fast before I lost my nerve.
“The Morning show is going to interview me about my toast at Seth’s wedding and they’re going to follow my story throughout the year and if I find the right guy, they’ll throw us a wedding. They want me to sign some contracts and waivers, and you’re the only attorney I personally know, so I called you and could you do it? I mean could you look it over for me?”
Silence.
He didn’t say a word, but I could hear him breathing into the phone.
“I’ll pay you,” I added.
Apparently, that did the trick.
“When you get it, fax it over to me and I’ll take a look. Meet me at Café Marco at eight and we’ll go over it. And, Sara?”
“Yeah?”
“I charge two-fifty an hour.” Then he hung up.
I got to the coffee shop by eight, surprised to find Goldman already relaxing in front of a fireplace, drinking a cup of coffee. He must have come straight from work, because he still wore a suit. Armani would be my guess.
Sexy.
He watched me walk toward the table and stood, clearly in lawyer mode.
“Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No thanks. If I have to pay you two-fifty an hour, I can’t afford a coffee in this place.”
