Hook, Line and Single

by Marcia King-Gamble

  She is referring to Central Park where the event is being held. The organizers of the lock-and-key party are out to make a big splash and the price of admission reflects that. The establishment they’ve chosen, Tavern on the Green, is a New York landmark, and at this time of year guaranteed to be festively decorated and packed with tourists. We’ve each had to cough up a hundred bucks.

  The cabdriver navigates around the hansom cabs and finally pulls up in front of the restaurant. We pay him and follow a stream of chattering people. I haven’t been here since last summer, when I’d met with a client. We’d sat in the outdoor garden sipping frothy concoctions and admiring the colorful Japanese lanterns and potted impatiens and trailing ferns.

  Judging by the crush of people ahead of us this lock-and-key party is going to be huge.

  “Are you okay, Margot?” I ask. She’s been unusually quiet. I hope she is not in shock. When Margot is in one of her down moods that doesn’t bode well.

  “I shouldn’t have come,” Margot says.

  I feel for her. To tell you the truth I don’t feel that great myself. Here we are both very single a few days before Christmas with another year under our belts. I am still amazed that Max has disappeared into thin air. I’ve gotten used to him popping in and out of my life, still, he’s never been one to make plans and then up and disappear. I am wondering if something terrible happened to him. Even that thought makes me sick.

  By the time we get to the registration desk, it is almost three people deep. After what seems a considerable time we are able to get name badges and locks. We push and shove our way into the crowded restaurant with others there for the same purpose: meet, mingle and hope.

  Inside has been converted into a twinkling winter wonderland. Amidst the greenery and boughs adorning the ceiling, sparkling angels fly. Potted mini Christmas trees sport real Christmas lilies and exotic ornaments hang. The smell of pine is everywhere, and set back in a corner a three-piece band plays holiday songs.

  My mood perks up as I watch the crowd on the dance floor. People are determined to have a good time. Arms are in the air and hips are swaying. I smell beer. The group seems very young to me. What am I doing here?

  “Come on,” Margot says. “Let’s circulate and check out the possibilities.” She is on a high again.

  I follow her through the crowd, an eye out for available seating. After a while I decide it’s not in the cards and head for one of the bars with Margot trailing me.

  It takes us almost twenty minutes to get drinks. We’ve had a few men approach with keys and in the spirit of things we’ve held out our locks. There’s been no fit so far. The banter back and forth is quick, light and upbeat. But none of the men are what I have in mind. I want what the rest of the world wants—tall, dark, handsome and more than gainfully employed. I have a business to protect.

  “Time to move on,” Margot says, nudging me along with that determined gleam in her eye. I’ve gotten used to her rapid mood changes.

  Lock held above her head, Margot whips her way through the crowd.

  “Yo, yo, yo! Where you two fine ladies heading?”

  A giant stands in our path, preventing us from moving forward. He has smooth dark-chocolate skin, a body that looks as if it was hewn out of stone and light gold eyes. It is the “Yo,” that gets to me. It doesn’t match his corporate attire.

  But Margot is smiling up at him and holding out her lock. The giant quickly obliges by inserting his key. This has become a mating ritual.

  “Think you and I might fit better?” he asks, winking at Margot and taking her arm. “Dr. Theodore Fitzpatrick. Theo to you. I’m a gynecologist.”

  Score one for Margot. They are growing doctors differently these days. This one, professional as he appears on the outside, definitely sounds like a homeboy.

  Margot is already preening like a lapdog. The “doctor” before Theo’s name will keep her at his side. He is probably as good as it is likely to get tonight.

  I decide to move on and let them become acquainted.

  Despite the cold temperature outside, it is starting to feel muggy. Too many people. Too much body heat. I find a spot in a corner where I can people watch and sip on my Bellini.

  “I’ve got the key if you have the lock.” A clipped male says from behind me.

  Despite the cheesy line, I can’t help smiling. I look into a pair of eyes so dark they are almost black. My new friend is of average height and build and seems as uncomfortable about being here as I must look. But at least he is trying.

  “So where’s your lock?” he repeats, waving his key at me.

  I reluctantly produce the lock I’ve hidden behind my back.

  After inserting his key he shakes his head ruefully. “Jeez, no fit. How about we just agree that it fits.” He winks at me. “It’ll save you and me the painful process of having to work our way through this crowd. I’m Keith by the way.”

  “Roxi,” I answer, clasping the hand he holds out.

  “Roxi? Let me guess, short for Roxanne.”

  I nod.

  “What say we get another drink, Roxi?”

  Over my shoulder I hear, “Roxanne, who would think we’d run into each other here.”

  I don’t place the voice initially but curiosity prompts me to turn around to see who it is.

  “George Foster, remember me?”

  I quickly scan my memory then it comes back. George is the restaurant owner I’d met online. Trying to get together had been a challenge. There’d always been some problem: broken cell phone, bad hard drive, meetings out of the country. Finally we’d done dinner. And, by George, my George had found the waitress’s belly button ring more fascinating than my conversation.

  Between courses he’d stuck a finger in the woman’s navel and the two had forgotten I existed and begun flirting outrageously.

  That as far as I was concerned was the end of the night.

  I’d stormed out of the restaurant and he’d shouted after me. “Roxanne, baby, what have I done wrong?”

  And now here he was standing, waiting for me to say something.

  CHAPTER 11

  “George, ah, George. Of course. I remember you.” I manage a smile.

  He bends over to kiss my cheek and I almost puke. Why am I making the effort to be gracious?

  “We lost touch,” he explains to Keith when he straightens up. “She’s a wonderful girl.”

  I am nobody’s girl, and this isn’t exactly true. Right after the belly-button incident he’d called and I’d told him I never ever wanted to see him again, not in his lifetime or mine.

  Keith, picking up on my discomfort, hooks an arm through mine.

  “We’re on our way to get a drink,” he says breezily, dismissing George with a nod. I like this guy.

  “Have fun. Merry Christmas,” I say, shoving off.

  I ignore George’s frosty stare.

  When I wrap my palm around another drink, I look around hoping to spot Margot. She’s lost amidst the sea of eager young women looking for locksmith assistance.

  After a few more minutes of uninterrupted conversation, Keith and I are approached by a group of men and women hoping to find a match. The conversation is lighthearted and easy, even silly, but we are laughing a lot. Some are on their way to inebriation and I’m starting to get depressed, which comes from knowing that no one here is going to make my heart go pitter-patter.

  But people are starting to hook up. A few are already heading for the door and on to more-intimate locations. Others, figuring why wait, are already in lip locks. Keith is now talking to a full-figured light-skinned woman with a mane of hair. She is making no bones about letting him know she wouldn’t mind taking him to bed.

  I leave them to it. It is late. I am tired. And frankly I’m feeling down. The place is really beginning to empty out. The dance floor now holds only a few drunken swaying couples. There is still no sign of Margot and her self-proclaimed doctor.

  I get out my cell phone and punch in her number.
It rings forever. Right before voice mail kicks in Margot picks up. She sounds fuzzy, as if she’s been drinking.

  “Roxi, I swear, I’ve been trying to call you, I just couldn’t get through.”

  Right!

  “Where the hell are you?” I ask, skipping the niceties.

  Wherever she is there is virtually no background noises which makes me suspect—Actually it is none of my business.

  “Uh,” she says—the woman’s not stupid. “Theo and I left to get a drink. It was too noisy in there.”

  That can mean just about anything. For all I know she could already be at the doctor’s place, and I strongly suspect she is.

  “Listen,” I say. “I’m done. I’m going to try to catch the 11:05 p.m. train home.”

  Margot’s voice is a murmur as she consults her doctor. She comes back on the phone to say, “Go ahead if you want, Theo will drive me later.”

  I bet he will. I hang up without saying another word. This isn’t the first time, nor will it be the last time, she abandons me. Margot has her priorities.

  I go out front where several cabs are lined up and I get into one.

  “Penn Station,” I tell the driver.

  The Long Island Railroad I can count on, barring no strikes or breakdowns it will get me home.

  Two days later, Bacci, Carlo’s cat, gets dropped off by Alexandra. The feline weighs easily twenty pounds and immediately begins following me around the house. I soon get the feeling I’m being stalked. When she isn’t roaming, sniffing and marking territory, she makes herself at home in my walk-in closet and takes to peeing on my shoes. Once I’ve sniffed out this problem I warn her that she’ll become chop suey if she continues. I stuff her into the laundry room where there is tile and she can do minimal damage.

  I’ve already said a tearful goodbye to Lindsay yesterday when she’d spent the night. We did some serious mother-and-daughter bonding, and I am slowly getting over what I consider her abandonment of me.

  Margot, I haven’t spoken to since the night of the lock-and-key party when she’d bailed on me. She’s called several times but I haven’t been in much of a mood to talk to her.

  My landline rings now and I groan. Margot is relentless, a bulldozer at times. I’m resigned, might as well get the confrontation over with now, rather than push it off until later. It is the season to be charitable. I go off to answer.

  “Okay, girl,” I say, “I accept your apology.”

  “Roxi, this is Lydia.”

  I heave in a breath. I suspect I know what is coming next.

  “You’re calling to check on your schedule,” I say, and wait.

  A gigantic pause follows. “I’m calling to quit.”

  I feign surprise. “Why? I thought you were happy. Are you having personal problems? If so, we can work something out. You are planning on giving me two weeks’ notice?”

  “I’m sorry I can’t.” She sounds as if she is choking.

  Despite my vow to remain calm, I lose it. “What do you mean, you can’t give me two weeks notice? Is this a family emergency? Are you leaving the country? What?”

  “I found another job,” Lydia admits reluctantly. Now it’s my turn to be silent. Let her squirm. “They’re paying me a lot more money than you are,” she wails. “Please try to understand. I need the money.”

  “Since when?”

  Lydia is a rich girl from Connecticut. This college kid drives a BMW.

  “Who is they?” I pry. “They wouldn’t by chance be Karen Miller and Tamara Fisher?” When she doesn’t answer right off, I go for the jugular. “I saw you coming out of Service Not Incidental’s offices recently. Are they who you’re going to work for?”

  “They called me. I didn’t go to them,” Lydia blabbed.

  I smell my ex-employee Kazoo behind this migration. Will Vance be next? “Fine,” I snort. “So much for loyalty and for being decent.” I can counter with more money but don’t want to. I no longer trust her. I just want her gone.

  “Try to understand. I really need the money,” Lydia pleads. “My dad expects me to contribute to next semester’s tuition. Karen and Tamara are offering me a salary plus commissions.”

  “I’ll mail your check,” I say, and slam the phone down. I am short on patience.

  My business is slowly falling apart. And now I don’t know who to trust. My best friend has abandoned me for some guy she picked up and my employees are dropping like flies. Vance will probably be the next to quit. I’m desperate. I need to do something quick.

  Bacci meows behind me. She’s escaped the laundry room again. I find some momentary comfort as I scratch the corpulent cat behind her ear. My thoughts then shift to her attractive owner. Is Carlo enjoying the holiday with an attractive woman? A man who looks like him must have several ladies on a string. I feel a rush of excitement as I think about him. It’s a hopeless crush, and I doubt it will ever be requited.

  “What am I going to do?” I say to Bacci, who is staring at me and rubbing her furry side against my leg. “This is my busiest season.”

  Because I know she can be counted on in a pinch, I give in and call Margot. She picks up on the first ring.

  “Good, I’m finally off your shit list,” she says. “What’s up?”

  I tell her that Lydia has quit.

  “Why, that rotten little bitch. I hope you make her wait for her paycheck.”

  “I need you to fill in,” I plead.

  “You know I will. I’ll just have to pop a couple of happy pills. Your customers will get the best service they’ve ever experienced.”

  “I can’t thank you enough, girl,” I lob back. “It’s just until I hire someone. Christmas is a few days away, and I have a long list of people who need to be shopped for. Thank God you love to shop.”

  “Until I drop,” she assures me.

  As much as she sometimes frustrates me, Margot can be counted on to watch my back. It is one of the reasons I love her. When I really need her she is there.

  The conversation shifts. She gives me the 4-1-1 on Doctor Theodore Fitzpatrick who she claims has more stamina than any man she knows. She goes on and on about him until I have had my fill. Too much information. I’ll never be able to look the man in the eye again.

  “You are the best,” I say, ending the conversation. I’d like to hug her but she isn’t here. “Come by tomorrow and I’ll give you the job list and my corporate card. And, Margot, I want you to buy something special for yourself.”

  “You know I will, girl. I need something hot to wear to that Christmas dinner party. You are coming with me?”

  I almost forgot. My gift is going to cost plenty.

  Feeling a little better, I check on Vance. He assures me he is still with me and has no plans to leave.

  “You gave me my first good paying job, if I’m not loyal to you, my mama will have my hide.”

  To keep him loyal I give him a huge raise and the promise of commissions on future jobs. He seems pleased.

  I then call my new employee, Paula. When I identify myself she sounds a bit strange. I suspect that either Karen or Tamara has gotten to her. I do what any desperate woman would do given the circumstances. I resort to old-fashion guilting. I remind her that I’d hired her when she was in need. And then for good measure I give her a raise, too, and also dangle the promise of commissions in front of her. Hopefully that will be enough to keep her with me at least through the season.

  After all this convincing I am burnt. I need something mindless and entertaining. What else is there to do but to log on?

  I’ve gotten a few winks from guys who’ve posted their profiles but are too cheap to subscribe. They’re commitmentphobes or just plain cheapskates I decide.

  Delicious’s name pops up, and I do a quick intake of breath. He is beginning to grow on me and I am concerned when I don’t hear from him. But there is a consistency to his inconsistency. His e-mails so far have been bland but classy. He usually tells me what he’s up to and inquires about how I am doing.
He never probes or in any way crosses the line. I wonder what he really wants, since he never comes right out and says so. But he does give me his phone number this time.

  I type back a few quick words and add my phone number. Max’s total disappearance has left me wary. I’ve decided if you’re interested in me then you need to put yourself out a bit. I’m not being overaccommodating.

  My doorbell rings. I rise and put my eye to the peephole. I don’t recognize the man, but he is burly.

  “I’ve got something for Roxanne Ingram,” he says.

  I don’t see an ID nor does he look like a postal worker. He is wearing a nondescript ski jacket and drab brown pants. It is the holiday season and he could be a con man, plus my house has recently been broken into.

  I grab a broom. I’ll use it as a weapon if I have to. I inch the door open and am handed a legal-size envelope.

  “Have a good rest of the day, ma’am,” the man says before I can close the door on him.

  I take the envelope with me into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of tea. Then I get a knife and insert it under the flap. I withdraw an official-looking piece of paper.

  When I glance at it I almost have a heart attack. I am being taken to small claims court by an upset parent who claims her toddler’s clothing is ruined and her child’s head messed up, and all on account of the drunken clown I’d hired to entertain at that party in Lawrence.

  Ms. Betsy Nelson’s child had been so upset she’d lost control of her bladder and ruined a three-hundred-dollar party dress, her undergarments and patent leather shoes. Since that unfortunate event, the Nelson child has become a bed wetter. In total, the Nelsons are suing me for two thousand dollars, which includes the price of the gift for the birthday boy and the psychologist’s bill to date.

  Someone up there is conspiring against me. If this streak of bad luck continues, I’ll be needing a shrink.

  I punch in the number for my attorney and wait for a secretary to pick up. While the phone rings on the other end I mumble a silent prayer.

  “Please, God, let this be over with soon.”

  CHAPTER 12