by Shelly Bell
I enjoyed sports and gambling now and then, but not enough to identify them as favorite activities. Still, how bad could it be to go to an occasional hockey game or visit a Detroit Casino? Definitely preferable over spending another date night alone with a carton of Ben & Jerry.
As I entered O’Leary’s, I immediately understood why Jacob had chosen it as the location of our first date. Dimly lit, the place was packed with twenty to thirty-something professional singles, all holding either a glass of white wine or something as equally socially acceptable.
While I did indulge in an occasional glass of merlot and champagne, my tastes generally ran to a simple Canadian beer on tap. From what I could see, not a soul in the bar dared drink something as common as a Molson Light. I guess I’d be ordering the house merlot this evening.
Now, I just needed to find Jacob through the mingling masses. Too bad God couldn’t make it a little easier on me and part the crowds like He did the Red Sea.
After making my way to the bar, I waited to get the bartender’s attention to order my Merlot. Apparently, I would need to show him some cleavage before he noticed me. I unbuttoned my blouse exposing not just my cleavage, but also a bit of my lacy red bra. Not surprisingly, the bartender suddenly noticed me waiting for him. That alone was worth the cost of my new undergarment.
When the bartender handed me my glass of wine, a hand landed on my shoulder.
“Sara?”
Thank goodness, Jacob found me. I turned around and a short-bearded man I assumed to be Jacob stood in front of me.
His photo from his profile had clearly been taken about five years and one hundred pounds ago. I honestly don’t mind a little facial hair. A mustache, a goatee, even a full, trimmed beard. Jacob didn’t just have a full beard and mustache. He could be one of the band members of ZZ Top. A cross between Grizzly Adams and the Leprechaun from the Lucky Charms cereal, Jacob barely reached my chin.
“Hi, you must be Jacob.” Or possibly, his older brother just back from a year alone on a mountain with no mirror or scissors?
He looked me over from top to bottom, then up again, his gaze stopping at my chest. Great, he’s a pervert to boot.
“I’m sorry I was late, but traffic was terrible because of the snow.”
“That’s okay, I just got here.” As Jacob continued to stare at my chest, I felt the urge to button my blouse. Something about it made me feel dirty, rather than sexy, and my instincts screamed “get out now while you can!” I owed it to him to at least give him a chance, just as I would want him to do for me.
“Did you get my message?” It suddenly occurred to me he hadn’t called me to say he’d be late.
“Uh-huh.”
Okay, so far I had determined he lied about his height by at least six inches and his weight by one hundred pounds. He hadn’t had the courtesy to call and inform me he’d be late. He hadn’t lifted his gaze from my chest once. To top it off, he lacked acceptable grooming practices.
“Should we find a couple of seats?” I asked, hoping to manipulate his gaze to the room and off my body.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re not average weight. You fall more into the voluptuous category.”
“So because in your opinion I’m voluptuous, we can’t sit? Do I need to point out that you lied on your own profile? Since you’re shorter than me, there’s no way you’re five foot ten and you hardly qualify as average weight yourself,” I ranted, unable to contain my anger one minute longer.
That got his attention, his eyes lifting from my chest to meet mine. In his eyes were tears.
Crap, I made the little leprechaun cry.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just been a very long day.” And an even longer night since meeting him, but I kept that part to myself.
He wiped his tears and his nose on his sleeve. He stopped crying and resumed his gawking at my chest.
“You can make it up to me. Why don’t you come back to my place for a little somethin’-somethin’?” he suggested with all the class of a fifteen-year-old horn dog.
For a moment, I just stood there, my mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies, until I realized he might take it as an invitation to stick his tongue in my mouth.
I wanted to act like Carrie from Sex & the City and throw my drink in his face. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself and at this point, I really needed a drink.
Instead, I forcefully grabbed his chin and raised it.
“Stop staring at my chest. It’s degrading and improper, and I deserve better. This is not going to work out Jacob. I wish you the best.”
In order to make a clean getaway, I resisted the urge to down my glass of merlot and stormed off. Rushing to my car, I failed to notice the patch of ice on the walkway. Before I could stop, I landed flat on my back to the sound of my skirt ripping.
Honestly, I didn’t think things could get any worse, until a looming figure appeared over me, laughing.
“Need some help, Sara?” asked Goldman, reaching his hand out to help me up.
Of course, Goldman had to be present to witness another one of my most humiliating moments.
Still, I could use some assistance, even if it came from someone who would hold this over me until the day I died.
“If I say yes, would you promise to keep this to yourself?”
He pretended to consider my proposal, rubbing his fingers on his chin like a nefarious villain. At least I hoped he was pretending.
“Deal.” He crouched next to me, taking my hand and placing his arm under my back.
One moment I lay on my back, and the next, Goldman had me on my feet with his arm still around me and my hand in his. I quickly yanked myself out of his grasp, embarrassed I required support from my brother’s best friend.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, a blush no doubt staining my cheeks as proof of my mortification.
“Anytime,” he teased with a twinkle in his eye. “What were you doing here anyway?”
“I had a date with someone from JDate,” I reluctantly divulged.
“I take it from your voice it didn’t go too well?”
“You could say that. I spent five minutes trying to have a conversation with the guy, and he spent most of it staring at my chest.”
Goldman erupted in hysterics. “Ah, I see you met the lucky leprechaun.”
“In the flesh. I understand why they call him a leprechaun, but why do they call him lucky?”
“Other than the fact he’s the spitting image of the Lucky Charms’ mascot? He’s one of the creepiest guys out there, and he still manages to get girls to date him.”
“You mean women like me that meet him for a first date only to run in horror?”
“No, I mean he usually leaves with them. The guy gets laid more than anyone else around.”
As hard as I tried, I just couldn’t conjure the image of a girl desperate enough to sleep with the little creep. On second thought, why did I even want to conjure that image?
“I’ve never met a bigger pig in my life and that’s saying a lot, considering the type of friends my brother has.”
The smile rapidly left Goldman’s face. I cursed myself for momentarily forgetting he and my brother have been best friends for more than fifteen years.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you.” Actually, before the last week, I would have exactly meant Goldman. He’d started to grow on me and for the first time, I could see what my brother must see in him.
“Yes, you did, and you’re right. I use women as playthings. I don’t call them after I sleep with them, and I have no intention of ever mending my wicked ways.”
I don’t know why that shocked and disappointed me, but it did. I guess I assumed from his emails he might be a good guy underneath the image he projected to the world. Apparently, I was mistaken. Lord knows, it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.
You would think a psychologist with seven years of c
ollege and almost five years of practical experience would understand the male psyche just a little better than I did. I better plan on sticking with teenage girls as clients, because obviously, I was hopeless when it came to understanding men.
“Is that what you’re doing here? Trolling for your next plaything?” I tried to make light of it, but my tone couldn’t conceal my true feeling of disgust.
“Monday night is Ladies’ Night at O’Leary’s. Since women get drinks half off, more of them come and guys like me follow like a dog in heat.”
“Well good luck. Let’s hope you don’t end up with fleas.” With my parting shot, I stomped off to my car, leaving Goldman standing alone in the falling snow.
CHAPTER 6
MARCH 9, 2012
DETROIT, MICHIGAN
WEIGHT: 183
STATUS: SINGLE
Monday night’s date drastically lowered my expectations. In that respect, the date had been worth every miserable moment. I decided to withhold any and all fantasies of a “happy ever after” until the fourth date.
When I met Larry for coffee on Wednesday, I was pleasantly surprised. He seemed ... normal. We sat and talked for over an hour about our hobbies and careers, before playing Jewish Geography.
Jewish Geography is sort of like “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon” for Jews. If you meet a Jew in the Metro-Detroit area, you will discover you have mutual friends or you’re related to one another. Even when I met a Jewish guy who had just moved from California and didn’t know another Jew in Michigan, it turned out we still had a friend in common, someone he had met through his off-roading club and I had known at college. I’m telling you it never fails.
After Larry and I completed our game of Jewish Geography, we had very little to talk about. Other than a couple of mutual acquaintances and affection for the Red Wings, we had nothing in common. I know they say opposites attract, but sadly not in our case.
I wouldn’t gag if he kissed me, but neither did I desire him. When we parted ways after paying for our own drinks and a simple handshake, I knew we wouldn’t have a second date.
At least I went on a date that didn’t end with my self-esteem in the garbage. I felt more confident than I had in quite a long time.
When Friday evening rolled around, I was still flying high from my successful Wednesday coffee date. Steven chose a restaurant Hour Magazine had picked as its Best Restaurant of 2011. Other than when my parents took me out, I’d never eaten at a restaurant where everything on the menu had to be ordered ala carte. Certain of extravagant prices that would match the ambiance described by the magazine, I brought enough cash with me to cover my dinner in case we went Dutch.
When I arrived at eight o’clock, I discovered Steven waiting for me in the lobby of the restaurant with one beautiful long-stemmed red rose.
More handsome in person than his photo, his dark brown hair fell playfully over one of his magnificent blue eyes. Now him I could kiss.
“Good evening, Sara. A lovely rose for the lovely lady.” He handed me the rose and bowed.
Okay, that was kind of weird, but maybe he’s just eccentric. I could ignore a few quirks for someone as gorgeous as Steven.
“I requested a romantic table for two in a cove under the stairs. They said it would be available in twenty minutes.”
“Didn’t you tell me you made a reservation?”
“Yes, but the table I prefer us to sit is currently occupied. Trust me, it’s worth the wait. Can I get you a drink at the bar? I hear the 2005 Elderton Command Barossa Shiraz is excellent. Would you care for a glass?”
“Sure.” It might not be Canadian beer, but perhaps Steven would have a thing or two to teach me about sophistication.
Sipping the wine, I discovered hints of berries, lavender, and smokiness. I don’t think I could ever drink a house merlot again without disappointment.
“It’s very good.” I watched him swirl the wine in his glass and sniff it before taking the smallest of sips.
“Yes it is, but unfortunately, not as good as the 2006 Elderton Shiraz. Alas, they do not store it in their wine cellar here. We will have to endure the 2005.”
I nodded in agreement, not anxious to let on I knew nothing about wine.
“Your table is ready. Please follow me.” In addition to the menus, the hostess held a whole bottle of Elderton Shiraz 2005 in her hands.
“That vintage may only be purchased by the bottle.”
I tried to relax telling myself a bottle of wine could only run about twenty dollars, so it would be cheaper to buy it by the bottle rather than by the glass.
I had to admit, the table under the stairs was romantic. The owners had converted the 1820’s farmhouse into a restaurant two years ago, maintaining the general structure of the building. Lit by candlelight, the shadows of lovers on the walls, I found myself enchanted by its elegance. The fact a curtain separated our table from the rest of the room both frightened and intrigued me. Obviously, Steven was a romantic at heart, a rarity in heterosexual man.
Violin music played quietly in the background as we drank our wine and conversed about theater and music, both interests of mine and his as well. He divulged he had season tickets for both the symphony and the opera, but it was difficult in today’s world to find a woman with similar interests. As much as I enjoyed classical music and opera, I had never attended a live performance and I imagined Steven and I frequenting the venues in style, Steven dressed in a tuxedo and me in a ball gown.
He ordered two appetizers to go with our wine, while we pondered the menu for our dinner selection. Three hours later, I could barely move after dining on mussels in wine sauce, tomato salad, beef tenderloin in a mushroom sauce with fingerling potatoes and asparagus, rich chocolate cake, and cappuccino.
I had never enjoyed a first date more. Come to think of it, I don’t think I enjoyed any date more than this that didn’t end with sex. Although I could easily imagine myself in bed with Steven, I had promised Missy I would follow the four dates rule.
It was nearly midnight by the time our waitress brought the check to our table. It sat untouched for a few minutes, before I made my obligatory move to review it. Sure enough, Steven grabbed it back from me.
“Since I chose the restaurant, I insist on paying for the both of us.
“All right, thank you. I’ll pay next time,” I informed him, hoping there would be a next time.
“Your offer to pay is a lovely sentiment, but I will happily pay for our next date as well. I assure you your presence and conversation is worth every penny to me,” he said, causing a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. He actually said there would be a second date!
I sat back, smiling, as he put his hand in his pocket. When his hand came out empty and he checked his other pocket, I knew he’d forgotten his wallet. I’d only brought eighty dollars in cash, but luckily I had a credit card for emergencies. This was obviously one of those emergencies.
“I’m sorry, Sara. I must have left my wallet at home. I was in such a rush to meet you I foolishly failed to ensure I had my wallet. I hope you’ll forgive me, and I promise to make it up to you on our next date.”
Since I expected to pay for my half, what did it matter if I paid for both of us? Especially in light of the potential for further dates consisting of romantic dinners and seats at the symphony. He would make it up to me.
“It’s no problem. Don’t worry about it.” I snatched the check off the table.
My heart sank. Oh my God! The bottle of wine cost $110 dollars alone! Between that and our appetizers, meal, and dessert, the bill totaled over $300, not including tip. I didn’t spend this much on groceries for the entire month!
After paying the check, Steven walked me to my car. It started snowing again, but tonight I didn’t mind. As the snowflakes fell, Steven bent his head to kiss me.
Other than the fact he immediately stuck his tongue in my mouth, the kiss was quite good. My body responded to the kiss, and I felt warm, even though it was only fifteen de
grees outside. A minute later, we finished our kiss and I unlocked my car door.
“I had a very good time meeting you, Sara. I would love to see you again.”
“I’d like that, too.”
“I’ll call you then. Good night, Sara,” he whispered, making my knees go weak.
“Good night.”
As I drove home, I wondered how long he would take to call me to ask me for another date. Considering he was a gentleman, I assumed I would hear from him within forty-eight hours. I couldn’t wait to see him again.
CHAPTER 7
MARCH 23, 2012
DETROIT, MICHIGAN
WEIGHT: 183
STATUS: SINGLE
“I can’t believe he didn’t call,” I complained to Missy on the way to the movies.
“I told you the morning after your date he wasn’t going to call. I can’t help it if you didn’t believe me.”
“He seemed really into me that night. I don’t understand where I went wrong.”
“Sara, I told you, you didn’t do anything wrong other than believing the creep. It was a ploy designed to get you to buy him an expensive dinner.”
“Why would he bother?”
“Because he can and because he’s a man,” Missy said as she pulled into the parking lot of the movie theater.
“It’s not like he got me to sleep with him.” I tried not to think about the fact that despite agreeing to the four-date rule, I probably would have brought him home, if he’d asked.
“Thank God for small favors,” Missy muttered under her breath.
Meanwhile, I hadn’t met any other prospects from JDate. I’ve gotten a few emails, but they didn’t pan out. The majority of men wanted to communicate by computer for a while rather than meet in person. A couple of them even insinuated they preferred sex by text rather than the real thing. What was this world coming to?
