FEAST OF MEN

by Ayn Dillard

  Art continues, “Also, I’ve worked hard all of my life and want to give the woman I’m with everything. So, she’ll say someday, ‘Thank you for working so hard, Art and sacrificing—so I can have all of this and such a wonderful life.’ I want to hear a woman say that to me someday.”

  I state, “With all the women you will meet by running this ad, perhaps you’ll meet your special unique and exceptional lady. I hope the girl will love you for you and not what you can give her materialistically. Also, when and if we meet who says you’re ever going to kiss me?” Another man talking about his money while saying all women are after him for it. He certainly wants to let me know he has money, or he could possibly be a man with no money just pretending he does. Who knows at this point?

  “Natalie I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but after talking with you, I don’t really want to meet anyone else. Of course, I have no idea if we’ll kiss or not. Only if you look as good as you sound, you just may be the one and I won’t want to meet anyone else ever. Not that looks are everything to me. My wife wasn’t really attractive, but there was just something about her the moment I saw her that captured me. This love thing can just pull you in and take hold of you then it has a life all its own and runs out of control. I think compatibility might be more important than love, then if love happens, it’s a big plus.”

  I respond “Um, right.” Sounds like he thinks I’d have won an award, if he should pick me as ‘the one’. This guy’s a weirdo. He even admitted with his last statement about love that he doesn’t like being out of control. Since he was hurt by his Russian wife, he’s probably afraid he’ll be hurt again and he sure doesn’t like not being in control. I continue, “Well, I think love is the most important thing. Love is all that matters and love is what I’m looking for, but of course, there must be a certain degree of compatibility.”

  “Yowza, I really like talking with you. I like the sound of your voice, what you’re saying and the way you think. You’re intelligent and not like most women.”

  “Well, thank you.” When he’s not exaggerating his country accent, his voice sounds warm but what’s the deal with ‘yowza’? And here he goes saying the same things most all men say to me, while they put other women down. I’ll just talk to him for entertainment. “Art, you’re fun to talk with, but we need to meet in person before we come to any real conclusions. Don’t you think so, dude?”

  We continue talking about everything imaginable. He has a colorful sense of humor and does a great Ross Perot imitation. I’m having fun with his bullshit and begin to feel a warmth in his teasing. I sense this man has been through a lot of rough stuff in his life—much more than his last marriage to this Russian lady. Only I am uncomfortable hearing how much he holds onto and carries his pain and how he blames his ex-wife so totally for the end of the marriage, but he can really make me laugh with his corny sense of humor. The more we talk, the more we’re clicking. At least, I’m not feeling alone and missing Boyd on this night. Art’s stimulating me intellectually and I am thinking it might be interesting to meet in person.

  Only for a man, who ran an ad titled, ‘Money Isn’t Everything’ he continually talks about money. He talks about the cars he’s going to purchase and the houses he’s planning to build—one just outside of Oklahoma City, then one in the Bahamas. But for all I know, he could be a liar—after all I am meeting him from an ad. He could be guilty of false advertising.

  “Natalie, I’ll send you a photo with some information about me and my company. Then if you’re interested, we can plan to meet. I come to Dallas often because of my business. I’m just a country boy, but not too bad looking.”

  “Okay, that sounds fine. I’ll send you a photo also.”

  Our sense of humor gets wackier the more we talk and it feels nice to laugh. I find I am having a lot of fun talking with this ‘country boy’ from Oklahoma. I am shocked when I look at the clock to notice that it’s four o’clock in the morning. Hanging up, we plan to exchange photos the next week.

  The next day, I can’t believe that I talked to a stranger for nearly seven hours on the phone. I look forward to talking with him some more because it’s entertaining and I do wonder what he looks like.

  During the next week, we talk multiple times. After receiving my photos, he calls exclaiming in his country twang. “Thank you, God!” Apparently pleased to see, I’m petite, five—foot-three and a size four. “I reeeally would like to come seeee you.”

  Viewing Art’s photos, I’m pleasantly surprised. He’s fairly cute with a nice smile, short and muscular with a high forehead and light brown hair that’s cut so short that it sticks straight up. He must be trying to be a Bruce Willis type, but the style suits him and he dresses attractively. Except what can you really tell by some photos? In his note, he gives me a whole slew of phone numbers stating—I should be able to track him down, since I have all of them now. Only why would I be tracking him down?

  I respond, “Sure, I’d like to meet you. A man’s looks don’t matter too much anyway, unless he’s terribly ugly.” I chuckle, “A man’s personality, intelligence and sense of fun are important and your appearance is attractive enough.”

  He slams back teasingly, “Well, all I care about is the way a woman looks and yowza, you pass with flying colors. I can’t believe you’re petite, too. I just got luckeee!” He extends the last syllable of certain words seemingly to carry them on forever.

  A bit sarcastic, “Gee thanks, glad you approve of my appearance.”

  He continues, “I do and glad you didn’t see my photos and say. ‘Oh my God no!’—full of disappointment. Did you like the one in the Bahamas in my new yellow sport coat?”

  I answer, “Yes, the scenery was beautiful and your sport coat handsome.”

  “I plan on retiring in two years. I’ve worked awfully hard for twenty-years building up this company, in order to be able to get out of it when I’m fifty. With any luck it’ll happen just like I’m scheming and I’ll move to the Bahamas—then I’ll be happeee! I’m real tired of the rat race.”

  “That’ll be wonderful for you Art.”

  As I think, there’s something a bit suspicious about this guy. He tries too hard to show his success—usually a sure sign that he’s not as successful as he’s putting on. Also I’ve found some men complain about how much money their ex took them for. When reality is that it’s a self-serving lie to make them appear like they once had a lot of money and a woman’s the only reason that they don’t now—another male ego game. It sets the new woman up, not to expect or ask for much materialistically because she feels sorry for him and eager to prove that she’s not like the other gold-digging woman. As she tries to prove to him that she loves him for him and not what he can buy her. I have observed this act multiple times and for some reason continue to draw this scenario.

  My last husband Paul did this bullshit act. Stated that his ex-wife took most of his money, later I find out after talking with his ex-wife that he was cheap with her. She lived off her own money—as I mostly did while married to him. Anyway, if all these women have taken so much from men—why is it so many women after a divorce have nothing financially—like me?

  Art and I chat many times during the week with plans for him to come to Dallas on Saturday for lunch. I look forward to meeting this man to unravel his particular mystery. After our lengthy phone conversations, I feel a kind of intimacy and curiosity, but feel our meeting will be as with David—no chemistry. Only unless, I give it a try—I’ll never know. Anyway, it’ll be an experience and it’s serving to take my mind and heart off Boyd a bit.

  Friday night is Valentines, Sondra and I spend it on the phone chatting about Tanner, ‘our in common sexual harasser’. Becoming more concerned about Tanner’s treatment of her because apparently, he’s trying to force her to have an affair with him and she’s worried about looking for another job. I’m upset about doing a book with a man with no character. We spend the evening crying on each other’s shoulder and pondering
tomorrow’s outcome with Art.

  Sondra questions, “I wonder if you’ll be attracted to each other sexually?”

  “Who knows, but I sure wouldn’t sleep with him this soon.”

  “Why not, if you’re attracted? I would.”

  “I don’t move that quickly. It doesn’t feel right for me because how could we really know what we feel for one another yet?”

  She continues, “It wouldn’t really be quick because you’ve spent all week on the phone.” She stresses, “He’s driving down here just to meet you. If you feel like it, you ought to. I certainly would.”

  “My gosh, you really would?”

  She laughs, “Of course.”

  “I guess I’m a prude then. It seems people jump into bed so quickly. I was a virgin until I got engaged to my first husband. Fooled around a lot, but I didn’t go all the way.”

  She responds, “You’re kidding?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m ten years older than you are and morals were different back then. Sure, I’ve had sex since with men when I didn’t know exactly what I felt about them, but have only had sex with six men in my life including Boyd and I don’t know if that really counts. Perhaps, I should be more open to exploring my sexual side.”

  She laughs, “I’d say so, but Boyd was so romantic. Every woman wants what you felt with him. You’ve sure led a sheltered life and are really practically still virgin.”

  I respond, “I usually don’t have the desire to get that close to someone, unless I have real feelings—a certain connection and I haven’t felt this way often.”

  “If you two connect like you do on the phone—you’ll probably have sex.”

  I answer, “I must be old-fashioned because I don’t think so, but I’ll see what happens. Except I tell you what. I’m really ready to have wild sex. Boyd left me wanting.”

  “Sure why not? What about just having sex for fun?”

  I question, “You can do that—have sex just for fun?”

  “Sure.”

  As I ponder, wow—she’s certainly different from me in this area. Then I respond “Well, after love’s involved sex can be fun or whatever the couple desires, but I believe sex is as close as two people can get in the physical. So, why would I want to share myself that way with many? I’d rather have sex with myself.”

  She laughs, “Well yeah, but it’s more fun with a partner.”

  “True, but only the right partner.”

  After getting off the phone, I think that I must be the only person in the world with my version of morality—that love and sex go together. Sondra, David, Tanner and it seems most the world puts no value in this—as if sex is a sport, just something you do and is meaningless except for the pleasure and release. Perhaps something’s wrong with me because being true to my beliefs hasn’t gotten me what I desire. I’m a big square compared to most. Perhaps I should listen to Sondra, lose my morals and experience sex more openly. I’m in my forties and been married three times. So, I ought to be able to do what I want by now—right? Busting out of antiquated moral standards might be exciting and it might be fun to be a wild woman for a while. What am I saving myself for anyway?

  Saturday morning, full of expectation—Art calls sounding extremely stressed. Informs me that he’s on his way, but frustrated with the traffic and he wishes that he hadn’t come because of this inconvenience. Well, what a jerk to call complaining—and listening to his country twang spewing criticism is a real downer. I think—whoops, this might be one trying day with this ‘country twang’ of a guy, then I catch my negative thoughts and make the decision to have fun—no matter what. I’ll just consider this day another experience in my adventures. Except hearing his negativity about the traffic, I mostly wish that he wasn’t coming.

  I am stressed concerning the Tanner situation and feel tired with a pimple on my chin and period about to start. Wearing jeans and a white tee shirt on this beautiful Saturday, I wait blah-like for fun to begin. Besides, I’ve been working so much that this hopefully will be a nice break.

  Finally, the doorbell rings. I open the door and in walks Art.

  I hold out my hand and with laughter in my voice, “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Natalie.” While I think, after logging more than fifteen hours on the phone this past week, it’s strange to be finally meeting in person.

  He takes my hand, then in his twangy accent with a big smile on his countrified face, “Hi I’m Art.”

  I continue, “I’m sorry you’re having such a rough time with the traffic. I am feeling grumpy today—so we’ll make quite a pair.” I think to myself—nice smile, but if he’s going to be a complainer then I’ll out complain him—then I inquire, “Was I accurate in my description of myself?”

  He laughs sarcastically through his countrified grin, “Yep, I can see you’re a real ‘fixer upper’.”

  “Well thank you.” I laugh sarcastically, while thinking—he seems nice enough and fairly cute in a short, stocky country way. His cologne is about to choke me, but I’ll try not to say anything about it yet. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Yep, that’d be great.”

  He follows me to the kitchen, “Water, okay?” I open the refrigerator to reach for a couple of bottles of Perrier and notice Boyd’s beer. My heart sinks, then the phone rings. It’s Sondra. She’s hysterical and talking really fast about Tanner coming over to her apartment, calling her continually and saying suggestive sexual comments.

  Sondra states, “He keeps inviting me places—to the lake, to the ‘Mansion’ for dinner, then on some trip he has to take for business next week. He’s thinking about getting a divorce, but doesn’t want to be alone, and he wants me to be nice to him. He tells me that I’ll have to help him through it all. Threatening that if I don’t—he can easily replace me and find someone who’ll do what he wants. Since he found out that we had dinner, he’s been asking personal questions about you.”

  I excuse myself to Art then go into my bedroom to talk in private. I ask Sondra, “Why’s that creep asking you about me? My personal life is certainly none of his business. How stupid and why’s he scared to get a divorce? He sounds like a child.”

  She answers, “He is like a child looking for love and sex.”

  I reply, “Yes, I recall when I first met him at a Christmas party at his house that he seemed like an insecure child trying to be liked. Boasting and arrogant, but with eyes begging to be shown that he’s important. It made him a bit endearing then, and probably why I let my guard down.”

  Sondra states, “Same here, I thought he was a nice guy. He asked what your house looks like inside and if it’s pretty. He knows that you’re having trouble selling it and he said that he might want to buy it—then he said that you and I could live in it together, since we both work for him.”

  “What? That’s really bizarre because I don’t work for him. I’m only doing a book collaboration with him.”

  She adds, “He asked if you were dating anyone.”

  “Why would the jerk ask that? Please, don’t tell him anything about me. Nothing about my personal life is any of his business.”

  She states, “I didn’t, but if he fires me—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  I inquire, “Why do you take his calls on a weekend?”

  “I’m scared that he’ll fire me. He even came over to my apartment and got in the gate somehow. He knocked on my door, but I didn’t answer. Looking out the window, I could see him at the pool searching for me. My phone’s been ringing continually ever since.”

  I comment, “Geez the guy’s possessed. Maybe you shouldn’t answer your phone for the rest of the day.”

  Her voice is shaking. “He’s threatening to fire me.”

  I add, “I don’t really know much about this sort of thing, but sounds like if he fires you—you’d have a sexual harassment case against him. I even thought about that myself.”

  I try to calm her down, but can’t. So, since I’ve shared a bit about the Tanner situation with
Art in our many conversations. I decide to ask for his advice. A man might know better how to deal with this jerk. I walk back into the kitchen and share what’s been said in our conversation—then Art gets on the phone to talk with Sondra.

  Art says to Sondra, “This man’s playing a ’cat and mouse’ game with you both. So be smart and beat him at it. Get him on tape then like an insurance policy, put it away—hoping you’ll never have to use it. If the creep keeps on pressuring you, then you’ll have it to use—just like you’d use any type of insurance in any accident or emergency. Rather your attorney will use it, not you. At that time, turn it over to an attorney and let them handle the jerk.”

  He succeeds in calming Sondra down, so we head out to have lunch. I suggest that we go to one of my favorite lunch places, Patrizio’s. I feel grumpy when we’re in his car and can barely breathe because of Art’s cologne, so I tell him. And I also exclaim, “What no air conditioning?”

  Art responds, “No sorry unfortunately, I found out on this trip that it’s broken.”

  I state, “I’m hot-natured. Also, I have horrible allergies and your cologne’s really bothering me. Sorry, but I’m in such a bad mood—must be hormonal. I feel fat, bloated and can’t stand to be hot. So please, will you open up a window or something?” As I think—I can’t wait for this day to be over, but I’ll try to be nice since he made the drive.

  Art looks shocked then bursts out laughing. Obviously, he’s a bit uncomfortable. Hell—who can blame him. I’m behaving like a major witch. He puts down the window to let in some fresh air as I protest. “No, no, I don’t want my hair to blow and remember my allergies.” He then puts the window up, leaving a crack at the top so air can circulate. I reflect—he’s being awfully good natured about all this.

  I state, “Sorry I’m so grumped out. Guess we’re just getting to know each other real fast.”

  He chuckles, “Yeah, really fast—like we’ve been married for years, but I understand because I don’t like to be hot either.”