Man of Her Dreams

by Tina Martin

  “I know...green eyes, light skin, abs to die for, a perfect nose, a tight lil’ manly muscly booty, blah, blah, blah.”

  I grin. “I never said anything about a manly booty.”

  “Well, with a list so detailed, you may as well tack that on, too, don’t you think?”

  “Whatever.”

  “If you stayed away from these stupid reality shows, you’d know men like that don’t exist. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe that’s why you call this man the man of your dreams and not the man of your reality?”

  “Huh? That sounds stupid. Nobody says man of my reality. There is no—” I pause because she just told me that my dream man doesn’t exist and I’m looking right at him. He’s looking back at me, staring. Green eyes, smooth-shaven, light skin – the whole shebang.

  “Elsie,” Priscilla says, calling out to me.

  I break my trance with dream man to look at her. “Yes?”

  “Why are you suddenly looking like you’re possessed?” she asks.

  I can’t see my face, but I know I’m looking all kinds of crazy, and Jesus, I can’t find my voice. You know a man is fine when he makes you forget how to talk.

  “Elsie Evans, what’s come over you?” Priscilla asks.

  I glance at my cup, then look up at her to ask, “Am I dreaming?”

  “What?”

  I’m staring at her lips when I ask again, “Am…I…dreaming?”

  “No,” she grins. “You’re not dreaming. I picked you up from your apartment and now we’re about to eat. What’s come over you?”

  I adjust my glasses and glance over at the guy again. He’s looking directly at me. Again. If I’m not dreaming, what the heck is he doing here?

  “Okay, Elz, what gives? You’re freaking me out.”

  I blink a few times to clear my field of vision, look at Priscilla and say, “Oh…my…God. I’ve dreamed him to life.”

  “You dreamed who to life?”

  “The man—th-the-the fictionary man I always told you about. He’s here, Priscilla! He’s right here in Sausageville.”

  “Baconville.”

  “Whatever! He’s here! Do you hear me?”

  Priscilla erupts in laughter. I take it as her not taking me seriously, but she needs to.

  “Priscilla, I’m dead serious. He’s here.” She moves her body in her seat like she’s about to turn around to get a glimpse of the guy and I stop her. “Don’t look now. Are you crazy?”

  “No, but apparently, you are,” she says, steadily cackling. “I need to see who you’re talking about.”

  “Priscilla, don’t—”

  And before I can stop her a second time, she turns around and looks at the guy, then turns back to facing me again. Her eyes grow big. “Holy smokes!”

  “I told you! So, you saw him too, right? I’m not imagining this?”

  “No. He’s sitting right there at the back, and when I turned around, he was looking right over here.”

  I glance up to see if my man – I mean the man – is still looking at me. He is, and this time he does something that nearly makes me faint. He waves. I don’t wave back. My initial reaction is to look behind me to see if he’s perhaps waving at somebody else, say a woman who’s meeting him for breakfast. That’s more likely. However, when I glance over my shoulder, no one’s behind me. He was waving at me.

  “Priscilla, you’re not going to believe this.”

  “What? Is he coming over here?’

  “No. He just waved at me.”

  “He did? Girl, you better wave back.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No. I didn’t come here for a connection. I’m here to eat. Where’s the food for crying out loud?”

  “Sitting over there staring at you,” Priscilla answers, then laughs. “Girl, he is fine...looks like everything you want. My goodness. I need to take another look.”

  “No. The waitress is coming with our food, anyway.”

  “Here we are y’all,” she says, leaving plates in front of us before taking off.

  I look down at my plate. Waffles, sausage and grits.

  “Look at that,” Priscilla says. “We come to a place called Baconville and didn’t order bacon.”

  “That’s what has your focus?” I ask. “What you need to do is hurry up and eat so we can get up out of here.”

  “Oh, relax,” she says, drowning her waffle in syrup, then pick up a drenched piece with her fork and stuffs it inside of her mouth.

  I’m too nervous to eat. I’m literally being stared down by a pair of blazing green eyes.

  Just stop staring. Please…

  “Eat, Elsie. Or is he still looking?” Priscilla asks, waggling her brows.

  Yeah, he’s looking. I don’t have to look to know he’s looking. But why pay so much attention to me? I took a sink bath for goodness sakes, have on a wrinkled red sweater and a pair of jeans I’ve worn twice before without washing them. My hair – that’s a catastrophe all on its own. So, I have no idea why he’s all over here staring at me. Then again, what does that say about me if I don’t think a man like the man of my dreams would be remotely interested in me? Am I that hard on myself?

  I make the choice to ignore him from here on out. Besides, Priscilla is making all kinds of moaning sounds while she’s tearing up her waffle and now, I want to enjoy my breakfast. And that’s just what I do. I peel open some butter packets and squeeze syrup on my waffle. Then I begin eating, paying strict attention to Priscilla, though I can tell green laser beams are locked in on me.

  “This is totally uncomfortable,” I tell Priscilla. “I hate it when people stare at me.”

  “It’s your own fault. You should’ve waved at him.”

  “No, I should’ve stayed home.”

  Priscilla shakes her head, then sips coffee. “If it was me, I’d hit him with a girly finger wave.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not you, and you know I’m not good at flirting or anything of the sort.”

  “See, this is that nonsense I’m talking about. You always talk about meeting your perfect guy and here’s a man who fits the bill and you ignore him.”

  “Will you let me eat my breakfast in peace, please?”

  “Nope,” she said, her mouth full of grits. It’s amazing that she’s married as sloppy as she’s eating. “You’re full of it, Elsie. You said you didn’t date because you were waiting for the right guy and here’s one who’s all up in your grill and you’re scared.”

  Now, she’s pissing me off with how much she’s tossing this in my face. Do we not have anything else to talk about? “Will you stop it? You act like life is all about dating and men. Can’t we just enjoy some food without discussing my love life or lack thereof? I get it…you’re married. Woo whoo for you. Be happy and run through fields of lavender with Billie-boy and let me worry about me.”

  “Okay.” She wipes her mouth and throws back the rest of her coffee like a shot. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me about any more elevator encounters with other women’s boyfriends.”

  “Deal,” I respond, then make a mental note to not talk to her about my struggles with missed or botched encounters. She must think I’m stupid to forego this particular opportunity with—

  I glance up. He’s still looking at me.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I tell her when I’ve had just about enough of the staring. It’s one thing to look and look away but staring – that should be a crime.

  “You haven’t finished your food yet,” Priscilla says.

  “I don’t care. I’m ready to go.” I call our waitress over for the check. I don’t even look it over for accuracy before handing her my credit card. She tells me she’ll be right back.

  To get the unwelcomed heat of this guy’s eyes off of me, I make a quick bathroom run, figuring I’d check my face and hair while I’m in there. It’s pointless. There’s no fixing to this messy bun and the closest thing to makeup in my purse is a small tube of cherry ChapStick. If I though
t I looked like something, maybe I wouldn’t dread being stared at. Either way, I wasn’t expecting to be eye-stalked by a man who’s not even supposed to be real. I can’t wait to get out of here.

  On my way back to the table, I see the guy heading straight for me – well for the bathroom. I cringe. I can see how tall he is now – a perfect 6’4” roughly. And he’s dressed nice, too – has on a white sweater, brown chords with matching Timberlands. He’s looking – no – staring at me as he gets closer to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms.

  I turn away because that’s what I do when I encounter men. I clam up, keep my head down and hope that I’m somehow plain-Jane enough to not spark any interest. On second thought, I am plain enough. I mean, let’s be real here...

  “Excuse me,” he says.

  I swear his voice is deeper than ocean depths. I quiver like his voice has literally taken on a physical form, left his mouth and crawled all over my body. I have a feeling he’s talking to me. I glance up at him but don’t make eye contact. To an introvert, a man’s eyes are like the sun and you’re not supposed to stare directly at the sun, right?

  “Excuse me,” he says again.

  “Are you—?” I look around and then continue, “Are you talking to me?”

  He smiles.

  My heart skips a beat. Maybe like five beats.

  “Yes. I was trying to get your attention earlier. Don’t I know you?”

  “Uh…I don’t think you do. You must have me mistaken for someone else. Sorry.” I take a step away hoping to make a clean break.

  “No, I’ve seen you at Uptown Place Business Pavilion. You work there, don’t you?”

  My heart is pounding in my ears. This man knows where I work, actually remembers the building, and I’ve never seen him before. “I do. I work in the mailroom.”

  He smiles.

  I look at his teeth in amazement. His smile. His face. Lips. Mustache. He is the exact man I dream about. I still can’t believe he’s here and actually talking to me.

  Crap, he’s talking to me!

  “Right,” he says. “I was in a conference room on the eighth floor when I saw you walk by.”

  I crack a smile. I have no idea what to say next, so I rattle off a miserable, “Well, enjoy your day,” then I leave him standing there and run off to the table where Priscilla is giving me googly eyes.

  “Here’s your card,” she said. “Since you were busy talking to dream boy, I went ahead and filled out the receipt. I left the girl a five-dollar tip on your card. Is that cool?”

  “Yeah, now let’s get out of here before he comes back.” I turn around and look behind myself like I’m running from a killer. Relief settles over me when I don’t see him anywhere. Thank goodness since Priscilla is taking her sweet time getting up.

  “Come on, Priscilla. I know what you’re doing,” I tell her. She’s moving intentionally slow so I can run into the guy again. “Let’s go.”

  “Okay, okay,” she says, sliding her skinny butt out of the booth where we were sitting. It’s not until we’re outside that I feel like I can breathe. A cute guy actually talked to me and here I am running. But that’s better than making a fool out of myself, isn’t it?

  Chapter 4

  Trevor

  Well, that didn’t go as planned, Trevor thought on his way home to resume packing. Priscilla’s friend Elsie was just as Priscilla had described her – overly shy. She wasn’t bad looking. She had potential. She just didn’t come across as the kind of woman who went out of her way to ensure she looked presentable to the world. And there was nothing wrong with being plain. There was something refreshing about it, actually. It was better than being painted in makeup. But looks aside, something about her was seriously off. The woman couldn’t even look him in the eyes. And when he waved at her, she didn’t bother waving back.

  Usually, women nearly broke their necks to get his attention. Not Elsie. And when he ran into her outside of the bathrooms, she barely looked at him and had absolutely no conversation after he’d given her an in to break the ice.

  Trevor took a roll of packing tape and sealed a box of pictures. Everything in the living room of his apartment – the figurines, coasters, pictures, books and vases – were all packed up in four boxes. He’d start on the kitchen next, but not before taking a break.

  While sipping soda, he leaned against the counter, checking his phone. Browsing through social media, he saw a message from Priscilla. The green dot next to her name was an indicator that she was still online. He clicked on the message:

  Priscilla: You didn’t ask her? What gives?

  He assumed she meant that he didn’t ask Elsie on a date earlier at Baconville so he responded:

  Trevor: You tell me. Your friend’s mouth was glued shut. You told me she was shy, but jeez...communication is a two-way street.

  Priscilla: Just tell me what happened.

  Trevor: She was too shy to talk to me. I made up a story about seeing her at work and she bought it, but she had no conversation after that. She could barely look at me.

  Priscilla: I told you that’s how she was. And why were you staring at her so hard?

  Trevor glanced at a box on the table he’d been looking for earlier – a small box where he kept everything ex-fiancée related. Ex-Rachel related. Anything she purchased for him over the course of their relationship was in that box. And the engagement ring he’d once slid on her finger was in there, too.

  Ping! Ping! Ping!

  He returned his attention to his phone and saw three back-to-back messages from Priscilla:

  Priscilla: Elsie’s an introvert

  Priscilla: She doesn’t know how to talk to men although she denies it

  Priscilla: Weren’t you paying attention at the coffee bar??!

  Priscilla: Get with the program business consultant…

  He smirked. Who did this woman think she was talking to?

  Trevor: 704-555-3726

  Trevor: Call me. No more messaging.

  It couldn’t have been five seconds later and his phone was already ringing.

  “Trevor speaking,” he answered.

  “Is anything registering now or, did you want me to call you so we could walk through this all over again?”

  “I wanted you to call because all that messaging was as annoying as your tone is right now.”

  “Uh, excuse me?”

  “Look, Priscilla, I’m playing along with your game, okay, but don’t for once think you’re in control of anything.”

  “You’re backing out?”

  “Nobody said anything about backing out.” He scowled. “Listen, I know you’re the opposite of your friend, right? She’s everything you’re not, and while I can usually tolerate assertive, independent women, you’re starting to work my nerves and my sanity, so turn it down a notch, okay.”

  “I’ll do no such thing, and as long as my husband likes the way I am, that’s all that matters.”

  Poor fellow, Trevor thought. “What I was trying to say earlier was, I walked up to your friend at the restaurant and she was severely shy—I’m talking like a little girl hiding behind her father’s leg shy.”

  “Yep, that’s Elsie.”

  “Where has she been hiding?”

  “In her apartment. She goes to work and back home. Her parents were very strict when she was growing up she told me. She talks about them sometimes. Not much.”

  Trevor took a knife and cut the tape that secured the ex-box shut while asking, “Have you thought about what this could do to her mentally? If I ask her out and she says no as you claim she will, and I go away never to be seen or heard from again, I think she will regret saying no. And what would that do to help boost her self-esteem or help her come out of her shell because I think it will make her situation worse or do you not care about that? I get the feeling that proving your point is more important to you than how she feels about anything.”

  “It’s not. I—”

  “I’m a complete stranger and I�
�m more concerned about your friend than you are.”

  “You’re not, and I actually know her, so don’t get it twisted, Trevor. Remember, I’m the originator of this little arrangement we have going on here. I’m the boss. You work for me. If you want the consultant job, just fall in line and follow through with what you agreed to do. That’s all. Anything else surrounding how you think Elsie will take this or that—that’s for me to worry about. Not you.”

  “Sure, boss,” he replied with a hard edge to his voice.

  “Now, when can you meet up with her again? It needs to happen soon.”

  “I’m not sure unless you would like for me to wait outside of her building like a stalker.”

  “That would be perfect,” she said excitedly.

  And he was being sarcastic...

  “You’re serious?” Trevor asked.

  “Yeah, why not? Make it seem like a second-chance encounter,” she said whimsically. “You know where she works, right? Uptown Place Business Pavilion? Just Google it.”

  By this time, Trevor had checked out and was so busy looking through the ex-box he wasn’t paying Priscilla any attention. He picked up a card that Rachel had given him on their six month anniversary. He hadn’t acknowledged six months of dating as being a celebratory milestone, but she had – and probably most other women did, too. At any rate, she’d given him a card with a picture of red roses on the front. He opened it and could hear her voice in his head as he read the words she’d written:

  It’s only been six months, but I know this – you are my forever. Happy anniversary, Trevor.

  -

  Love Always,

  Rach