The Quest

by Olivia Gracey

  Damn! Where did he come from? I was on a good roll thinking of my dream man and he pops into my head. Go away would you? I’m making good progress here and you’re screwing it all up! Now where was I? Oh yeah, I have a type. I like the type of man that will hold my hand without asking, be affectionate in public but not groping, but kiss me regardless of who’s watching. Yup, manners are must haves. No belching in my face, passing gas in my car, or gawking at another girl while I’m in his line of view. And if he flirts with the waitress? He better make sure she knows he means nothing by it. Be respectful, mindful of who he’s with, is all I ask.

  I want a man who will text me or call me out of the blue just to say, ‘Hi beautiful’ what girl doesn’t like to start her morning off with that? Or an ‘I love you’ text for no reason at all. A man that will bring me chicken soup when I’m sick or make me red chili on a cold wintry day. One that likes me to meet all his friends and shows me off with a smile. Who doesn’t mind that I don’t drink a pissy beer and will make a special trip to the liquor store to buy just what I like to drink. One who will take sips of my girly fruity drinks and on occasion share a dinner plate with me. I’ve never been one to clean up my plate. For once, I would like to not carry home a doggy bag and order a dessert without guilt to share and smooch over. Yeah, that’s what I really want! That guy that loves a piece of chocolate and will share bites of rich desserts in between sweet kisses in a dark, table clothed, covered booth in a corner of a room. One that likes exploring my bare legs under the table. He must be open to new ideas and adventures, spontaneous and frisky, huggable soft, yet muscular. One who can pick me up at a moment’s notice and make me squeal with delight then carry me off to his bedroom and make sweet love to me. Yeah, that’s my kind of guy; The Hero-Rambo-007-Gere deep voice like Connery Tigger type with the smooth moves of Jagger. You know the song. Don’t deny that your sock feet aren’t dancing!

  Just so you know I refuse to admit he doesn’t exist on this planet. He’s out there somewhere I just know it. As I scroll page after page on this dating site, I see that I haven’t found him yet but I am diligent. I must find him. But even when I lower the age I’m looking for or increase the age, or increase the distance they are from me, he’s not here. How is that possible? I don’t think I’m asking for too much. I think a woman has a right to be picky. And notice I did not put a dollar sign on his head. I figured if he’s all those things, money would not be an issue. Besides, I make my own money. I can’t, however, make my own man. So it’s essential that I am picky. I have to be picky. It’s required to move into the next phase of my life. The phase I dread going into alone. The phase that I cried myself to sleep night after night knowing that it was inevitable. The dreadful no children phase.

  “Please, dear Good Lord, don’t make me go it alone,” I mumble aloud still scrolling and clicking, exiting and then scrolling some more. “Please. Just don’t think I can do it,” I mumbled as I scrolled.

  There was once a time in my life I thought I would be just fine alone and I craved my own space and quietness. I still on occasion crave that time, but it doesn’t come around often. Back when I was broken the mere thought of just someone talking to me and interrupting all my thoughts, was unwelcome. I needed those moments to myself to recapture, revisit, then regroup. My life was frozen for a while and it was necessary for it to be for me to want to heal back to a better me. You never know what the outcome will be when your heart has been destroyed. Broken isn’t easy and I sure never want to return there.

  So back to the matter at hand, if I can find a man that meets my type of man, I figure I will have less of a chance to return to such a place. Does he exist? I ask myself that with every click. I dunno. But I can’t chance the fact that he doesn’t or gamble with fate that he would come knocking on my door. Perseverance, I say, perseverance.

  I scribble perseverance on a notepad in front of me adding the art of never giving up. I ripped it out and stuck it on my fridge just in case I forget or need a little extra strength in those moments when I feel my lowest of lows. I hate those. Those lonely nights followed by urges of a beastly man breathing down my neck and onto my thighs. Those nights are the worst. And if I have a glass of sangria or three on those nights, it only gets worse for me. The more I find I drink, the more lonely I get and the more desperate I seem, causing me to click ‘like’ on profiles I wouldn’t have otherwise.

  One night I received an email from a gentleman twenty plus years older, not attractive, with no qualities that I preferred. He was really sweet though thanking me profusely for making him a favorite on my list of men. Oh my! I know I didn’t click on him! It had to have been an accident. But I didn’t want to hurt the poor guy’s feelings so after the third lengthy email he sent me, I responded with “Thank you.”

  Yikes! What else could I have said? ‘Nothing’ would not have worked. This guy would have kept on till I hurt his feelings and I just couldn’t do that. That’s just mean. I know some guys have ulterior motives on these sites, but some guys were on there just like me, looking for someone to love them. And everyone is worthy of having someone to love. I truly believe there is a special someone out there for everyone. No one has to be alone unless they choose to right? I chose to once, I don’t choose to now. No, I’m at a point in my life where years are passing me by and I need the works of a good hearted man. I need the touch of his fingertips on my soft skin, his kisses on the bow of my neck, his breath on my breast. And if so pleases, I need to feel him next to me all the days of my life. But only if he’s my type.

  Nothing like knowing you’re a hallmark card, on the edge of desperation, just wanting to be read by someone.

  Yes, I see myself married one day, lots of children and grandchildren at my feet. I want to retire running a bed and breakfast in the hills of Tennessee. I want to spend Christmas spoiling them and telling them stories around a roaring fire, make a huge meal that will have everyone over eat. I will wrap my love in kisses and spoil him all the days of his life. Give him twelve days of Christmas just so he knows how much he is appreciated. Spend the spring sleeping on a mattress on a porch under a tin roof when it rains; spend the fourth of July lying on a blanket watching the sky light up. Surprise him with his favorite cake with all the candles lit, and when he makes his wish, I will spend the evening making his wish come true followed by a morning of repeating my love for him.

  In the summer, lay by the pool soaking up some rays and rubbing oil all over him. In the winter, I’d spend the nights wrapped up tight within his arms to keep warm. The bed would never be cold; our love would never grow old; the passion would never die. When the day came to lay my love to rest, within hours I will be right by his side; the heavens will welcome us saying what a good job we had done to prepare our children to live such wonderful lives and what an example we were for them to love unconditionally.

  Yeah, something like that.

  It’s been weeks since I’ve heard from Sofie. I really miss her and worry like crazy. I’ve tried calling a few times but I just get her machine. It’s odd, though. She always returns my call or texts when she’s not available. Nothing but silence lately. Just silence. The nothing scares me but I try not to think about it. I just have to keep praying for her and praying that she’s okay. Surely she is. I mean, if she wasn’t, would I know? Surely I’d hear from someone. All her family knows me; surely someone would think to tell me.

  My thoughts ran wild quickly and out of control with worry. I did my best to ward them off but ended up picking up the phone in a panic and dialing Sofie again. Again no answer and the answering machine kicked on after the first ring. I didn’t know what that meant. Did it mean she was on the phone or had her phone battery died? I waited a few seconds and sent a text. Of course no reply, so I dialed the number again, this time, leaving a begging message for her to please check in with me. “Please tell me you’re okay,” I added before I hung up.

  Thoughts of Sofie put my happy mood to rest. I couldn’t shake the unea
sy feeling that had come over me. Scenarios popped into my mind like a running freight train, one after another then the memory of her bruised and battered face appeared before me with eyes bloodshot and swollen. Her eyes told a story her lips didn’t have to repeat. I already knew. But I also knew there was nothing I could do.

  Sofie was good at many things but she was stubborn as the day was long. She was hardcore determined to do what she wanted to do. There was not a lot of changing her mind on anything. Even something so important as fighting for her life, fighting for her children, or fighting for what was right. I knew she loved Chris so there was no telling her different. Even the bruises couldn’t convince her otherwise. I had finally moved past the sleepless nights worrying about her. Suddenly I was feeling them return. My heart was overcome with grief and chills ran through me like a river flowing. They were shattering my nerves and I couldn’t stop them.

  How do you get your mind off your best friend’s demise? I wondered that. Then I popped open my computer realizing I hadn’t checked my email or my dating sites in a few days. Time to do the dance and see who’s responded to my new written profile. Hopefully, there will be something there that would pull me out of the mood I was in. Before opening the emails I slipped off to the kitchen and scooped myself some vanilla ice cream. I needed something sweet to sweeten me up. Now I am ready to meet my type of guy, where are you?

  ***

  Out of all those emails, only three did I correspond with. One was a salesman, the second was a very buff built guy whose mannerism I really enjoyed, and one was a photographer, like me, and very interesting. He was handsome and tall, well built and toned. He had an infectious smile, but in every picture, his facial hair changed. I didn’t mind. I kinda like a beard on a man, if it’s soft, well groomed, and didn’t smell of sour milk.

  So we agreed to meet first at the coffee house to discuss a very needful project that I was working on. I had never asked for outside help before, but since I reviewed his work, and his work was good, I figured what could it hurt. He had a great eye for photography. And like I said before, we had been chatting for three or more weeks and he seemed harmless. Did I mention very handsome? I loved his hazel eyes. But he looked older than the age he had listed. I wondered if he had a hard life. I wondered what would have caused those beautiful laugh wrinkles around his eyes too. He must be really outdoorsy. I love that type! They are adventurous and so much fun to be around!

  I began to get nervous as the hour approached to meet. What if he thought I was too proper? Too old? I knew I exceeded his age limit. But he did make the first move by sending the first email, and it was lengthy, full of depth. The Dude had substance. Substance was nice. I needed a dude with depth and substance in my life.

  “Hi, I’m Sadie, you must be Denver?” I could pick him out of a crowd. His pictures did not do him justice. He was right, too, a full head of hair and pearly whites.

  “Yes. So we finally meet, Samantha.” He called me Samantha, I didn’t mind. It sounded cute coming from him. He was staring too, not that I minded that either but he wouldn’t take his eyes off mine. A very nice firm handshake which I liked very much. I know I put too much stock in handshakes these days. But you have to, you know? It sums up a character really quick and my handshake motto has never failed me.

  “Yea, finally,” I said with a smile.

  “Would you like to grab something and sit outside? Nice cool morning and more privacy?” he asked.

  The coffee shop was filling up fast with all the suited up work-a-bees heading to their day jobs. I was in a very casual wrap skirt with cute stacked bling flops. I opted to wear a wife beater. Why? Actually, I think they look the best on me. Really shows off my curves. And I needed this guy’s help so anything I could do to persuade him was necessary outside of the unnecessary stuff. He didn’t seem like that type of guy anyway and I was glad.

  “Lead the way.”

  We stood in line to place our order. Denver insisted that he buy, nice, a gentleman. Then we carried our loot outside and found a nice quiet table in the corner.

  “So tell me, how long have you been shooting?” Denver asked.

  “Several years now. I started at a very young age. My first camera was an AE-1. I loved that camera. Hated to stop using it.”

  “I understand. Had one myself.” He sipped his coffee slowly and smiled. “So tell me about your project you need help with.”

  I was losing concentration. I wasn’t ready to talk about the project. I wanted to talk to him about him. Now that I see him in person I’m even more impressed with his ruggedness. His manliness was spilling out all over the table and draining into my coffee. Making it sweeter mind you and utterly irresistible. There were so many questions I wanted to ask but it was just not the right time. I realized this guy will be one that would take some effort to get to know. This was not going to be one of those fly by the night guys, no he had substance. Something I’ve needed to see to give me hope in mankind.

  He was staring again. Beautiful dark brown eyes. I liked that. I guess he was wondering why I wasn’t talking and just staring back as if I didn’t hear his question. Oh, I heard it. I was just enjoying the view before it changed.

  “Cat got your tongue?” He laughed. Nice laugh too. Nice deep throat laugh that made the hair on my toes curl.

  “I’m sorry. Was lost in thought,” I lied. “It’s a new movie production they are shooting on the streets of Atlanta. The problem I’m having is needing to be in two places at once. They will be shooting several scenes due to time restraints on shutting down streets. Peach Tree Road is very busy so they are only allowed a few days of shooting time which leaves me in a pickle. The scenes they are shooting are important ones. Ones I can’t miss.”

  “Interesting. So when is the shoot?”

  “Next weekend. I’ll probably head that way early Friday morning. Shooting begins around sunrise.” I’m watching his every move as he tears off bite after bite of the pastry he ordered and plops it into his mouth. The feeling of jealousy wishing I was a pastry comes over me and then I snap back into reality when he moves his lips to comment.

  “Sweet. I’m game. I’ll need to see if I can take off work Friday first but I think I can swing it. We can ride together if you’d like. Give us a chance to get to know each other better.”

  “Sounds great!”

  “Where will we be staying? I’m assuming you're getting a hotel there right?”

  “Yes, actually there is a Hilton Garden Inn I’m quite fond of that has a wonderful cook to order breakfast and all their rooms have this lovely balcony that overlooks a garden.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “It’s on the outskirts of Atlanta about fifteen minutes away from the shooting area.”

  Denver licked his fingers as he polished off the last bite of his pastry. I haven’t even started on mine. It’s been a pleasure watching him eat.

  “You better eat that before the flies do.” He knew I had been busy watching.

  “I am. Would you like a bite? It’s really good. I’ve had them here before.”

  “Sure.”

  I tore off a big piece that was loaded with frosting and cream, and then fed him the bite with my fingers. He stopped short of swallowing it all and grabbed my hand. He licked the remaining frosting and cream off my fingertips while staring into my eyes.

  What was I thinking? OMG! I can’t do this! I’m already wanting to misbehave with this man. No one had ever done that before. In public too mind you. Here we were out in the open air, sitting at a little corner table, surrounded by all the suits, and he licks the frosting off my fingers without a second thought like it’s something he has done to me before.

  Of course, I act all cool like it’s something he does to me every day. Truth was I was screaming inside. Those butterflies woke up when they felt his lips hit my fingertips. And now they won’t shut up. Damn butterflies. They know this is not the right time. They know we can’t go there. I need this man to help me on
a project if we cave now that will never happen. We can’t be scaring him off.

  But quieting them was out of the question. They wanted to see more action, feel more of his lips, somewhere, anywhere, they didn’t care. More more! They screamed at me. They really liked him and were rooting for more of whatever he wanted to surprise us with. I wanted to throw up. I was a nervous wreck. My mind flashed forward to the trip, the hotel, the room, candlelight, romantic dinners, fluffy hotel pillows. I could read his mind no doubt he could read mine. Fluffy pillows were my favorite. It’s been a long time since I experienced fluffy pillows. And just think, this time next week I will be deep bedded lying amongst them.

  I pulled my hand back slowly and made a joke. I finished off my pastry re-licking my fingers as he watched. Yeah, my turn to make him squirm. But he just stared. Stared right into my eyes. Every time my eyes were upon him they locked with his. Intrigued you could say. After the smoke from the PDA cleared he started talking about his career as a photographer. We very quickly connected the dots of our lives. We were more similar than we had originally thought. We were both from out west, both daring, both had broken relationships, both eager for more, both somewhat guarded.

  “What are your thoughts on having dinner before next weekend? I’d like to take you out somewhere nice.”

  “I’d love that. When were you thinking?”

  “Tonight too soon for you?”

  “You don’t waste time do you?”

  “Why not? I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “Okay, tonight would be great.” The butterflies were happy once again. They liked the idea of seeing him again so soon. So did I.

  Tonight couldn’t have come soon enough for me. We finished our conversation and discarded our coffee cups. He kissed me goodbye on the cheek and told me he would pick me up at seven. I jotted down my address on the back of one my business cards and we said our goodbyes.