I’ve tried. I really have. Since diving into this online dating thing, I’ve been on twenty-three first dates and only three of those guys called me for a second date. The score drops to zero for the number of third dates. Yup. My track record is awful.
“Tell me about it.” Is that Nikki? How can a gorgeous and outgoing woman like that need to resort to online dating? “A year ago, my older, shy, introverted sister, Melanie, became freaked out after celebrating her twenty-ninth birthday. Here she was nearly thirty and she was still single.” Oh, that explains it. It’s her sister who’s desperate. “Completely panicked, Melanie created a profile on a popular online dating site—which will remain nameless—and after a few months she was so discouraged, she was bordering on depression.”
“I felt exactly the same way,” I say, wiggling my body in the cobalt-blue evening dress Nikki selected for me.
“Not that I’d know from personal experience, but I can totally understand how it can be deflating. All those coffee dates or meeting for drinks without any guarantee you’ll find the right one. Melanie kept lamenting when she came back from her dates with these losers. I’d be on the phone for hours consoling her. It was heartbreaking.”
She has no idea. “Nikki, I can assure you, it’s not fun.”
“This is why it’s a win-win situation for you to let Kevin hook you up with one of the hunky guys he knows tonight,” Jess says.
“I’m not sure, Jess.” I hesitate.
“What other choices do you have?”
“I agree. LA is as tough of a market as New York for us single women,” Nikki starts. “I’ve never done online dating, but from Melanie’s experience and what I know about men, you want to be able to weed out the good ones from the bad ones as quickly as possible. It’s truly a jungle out there and you have to be armed. When you meet them in person, that’s totally doable. Online dating makes it easy—too easy—for people to create a false persona, which makes your job a whole lot harder because it might take you four or five dates to find out if the guy is bullshitting you or not.”
I step out wearing Nikki’s first selection. “What do you mean?” I ask, fascinated by her observation.
When I look around the boutique four pairs of eyes are focused on me. They’re all hugging their coffee cups and one by one they shake their heads in disapproval. I roll my eyes, turn on my heel and step right back inside the changing room.
“Try the short lacy bronze one,” Nikki instructs from the other side of the door. “It might look cuter. The first one looks way too matronly. You’re young and we need to showcase that,” she adds. “And, to answer your question, when it comes to finding the potential Mr. Right in a city overshadowed by Hollywood’s smoke-and-mirrors effect, men typically fall into four basic categories: the slut, also known as the manwhore; the porn-girl seeker; the daddy’s boy; and the Powerball.”
“Is that factual or did you just come up with that on your own?” I giggle before sliding on the dress. I struggle with the zipper and the second I have it all the way up, I stop breathing. This is at least two sizes too small.
“It’s a little bit of both.”
“After ten years in LA and most of those as a single woman, I have to agree with Nikki’s theory. Once you understand it, you’ll never look at men the same way ever again. The best part is you’ll save yourself a lot of time and a lot of unnecessary heartache.” Even as a stunning model and actress, Michelle has had a hard time dating in Los Angeles. Her comment has me even more intrigued now.
“Okay, I want to hear all about it, but first I’m coming out,” I announce, pushing the door open.
“Too tight,” Jess exclaims, shaking her head.
“God, no. I can see your underwear underneath that,” Ray says horrified.
“No way.” Nikki frowns. “At least we know now what doesn’t work. Try this one,” she says, handing me another design.
“Sequins?” I ask.
“It’s black.”
“Okay,” I say, a little worried, but I’m willing to give it a go. “Nikki, please don’t stop. I want to hear all about your theory on men.”
“Ah, yes. Let’s start from the top. The slut is easy to spot. He’s usually extremely handsome, very successful, very fit, very cocky and he knows every woman on the planet wants to fuck him. Granted, there are many advantages to sleeping with a slut because they’re usually freaky in bed. It’s not guaranteed he has what it takes to make you climax, because many are clueless when it comes to women’s bodies. It’s really all about them. Never about you. That said, since most are more flash than substance, they make for great arm candy.”
“That’s hilarious,” I cheer, zipping up the third dress.
“Miranda, I think that describes your Julian to a T,” Jess shouts.
“You’re right.”
“Then you have the porn-girl seeker,” Nikki continues. “There’s really no point in wasting too much time with him because this guy has spent way too many hours watching porn and thinks that women make all those ridiculous sounds in bed the second he touches them.”
“That reminds me of Thomas Decker,” Jess says.
“You mean the guy you were seeing just before meeting Kevin?”
“Remember how I told you he could never do it unless he had porn playing in the background?”
“Oh, yeah.” I laugh.
“Stay away from that type of guy at all costs because he’s a lost cause. When a guy thinks it takes that little work for us to climax, you know you’ll be sexually frustrated.”
“Well, one of the guys I met during the time I was doing online dating wanted to know if I was open to the idea of him using nipple clamps on me. Can you imagine? He asked me that question on our first date. I hadn’t even been sitting there for fifteen minutes when he blurted it out. I didn’t even know what the hell nipple clamps were at the time, but it sounded sordid.” Four voices roar with laughter on the other side. “I’m glad I’m able to provide you guys with some comic relief,” I say, amused.
“What a vivid example, Miranda,” Nikki says. “At least he was up front about his penchant. Let’s move on to the third type of guy. There are many advantages to dating the daddy’s boy simply because money is never an object, since he’s usually burning his father’s cash. He’s either still living at home or Daddy forked out the dough for his expensive penthouse. I found that usually this type of guy tends to be a wimp in bed. Let’s face it, the daddy’s boy doesn’t have to work for anything in his life because it’s handed to him on a silver platter. Why the hell would he bother making any effort to satisfy you in bed? Sure, you end up going to the most expensive restaurants in the city and he usually showers you with lavish gifts that he charges to the Visa Black Card or American Express Centurion card Daddy pays for, but sexually, there are few advantages to dating him because it’s doubtful he’ll stay the course until you climax.”
“God, that sounds like Matthew Brewis,” Ray interjects. “It even happens in the gay community, ladies. Don’t think we’re immune to lazy lovers. Matthew’s father owns a luxury car leadership in Beverly Hills and I swear to God the whole time I was with him he always acted as if I should be honored just to be seen with him. In bed, I had to do all the work.”
Too much information. “All right, I’m coming out again. I’m really not sure about all the shimmery fabric on me, but I’m sure you guys will let me know.” When I step out of the changing room I’m greeted with four thumbs down. “It’s not very flattering?” Four heads shake at the same time. “Crap. Let me try the next one. Hopefully that one works.” Even before trying on the next dress, I’m already defeated.
“The white dress has a slight hipster style. It has a little vintage flair to it, but it could be totally cute on you. Let’s see if it works on your body shape.”
“From the sound of it, Nikki, I don’t think so, but I’m willing to be a good sport about it and try it anyways.”
“Don’t sound so discouraged, we’l
l find the right one.”
“Sure,” I respond, unconvinced. Hoping Nikki’s entertaining story might distract me from my nightmarish shopping experience, I ask her to continue. “Wasn’t there one more type of man on your list?”
“Absolutely. Obviously a lot of guys fall between these categories, but these are the biggies. Some might even have all three traits. Think manwhore who still lives at home but only fucks porn-star wannabes. You get the picture.”
“God, that sounds scary.”
“This is LA. He’s out there.” I’m sure she’s right. “I left the best for last for a good reason. The Powerball.” She sighs.
“Just the way you say his moniker sounds dreamy,” I marvel.
“Wait until you hear his description. Your tongue will be hanging out of your mouth like a poodle in heat.”
Nikki is such a beautiful woman she doesn’t have to make much effort to attract men’s attention. You’d never imagine she has such a crazy sense of humor.
“Please don’t keep me waiting. Reveal his identity,” I mock.
“The last man on the list wears his name very well. Just like winning big at the lottery, finding the Powerball is the ultimate for any girl lucky enough to cross his path and to capture his attention. In the animal kingdom, think of him as a white lion with blue eyes—rare, striking, fierce. But there’s so much more to him than just raw primal sexiness. He has impeccable manners, which makes him an instant favorite with your parents. That’s a biggie in my world because my mother always used to say, ‘Money has a smoke-and-mirrors effect, but manners make or break the man.’ He’s smart and he’s funny. He’s richer than the daddy’s boy’s father will ever be, he’s very experienced sexually—think of the slut, but without the sleazy parts. He’s oozing with class. He’s extraordinarily confident. He knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to take it without asking for permission. He’s drop-dead gorgeous. He has a body made for sin. He’s versed at dirty talking as if it were a second language and he can go on all night long fucking you like the Adonis god that he is. Oh, did I mention that he’s able to give you the type of mind-blowing orgasms that make you forget your own freaking name?”
Jesus, that’s quite the man. No way I’d ever be lucky enough to meet one.
I’m so riveted by Nikki’s description that I barely peek at myself in the mirror. Still in a daze from her vivid depiction of Mr. Amazing, I reach for the handle, turn it, open the door and step back into the boutique. I look around me, but it’s as if I’m in a haze with Nikki’s words still ringing in my ears.
“I’m going to have to disagree with Nikki on that one. Miranda, that dress is way too bohemian on you. It’s shapeless and it swallows you whole and doesn’t showcase your figure.” Michelle’s fashion verdict is the last thing on my mind.
As I flash back to my morning at the Santa Monica food market, my thoughts are racing at warp speed and my heart is beating even faster when it hits me. Good Lord, so much of that describes Hunter perfectly. Of course, I wouldn’t know anything about the whole god of sex part, but something tells me he’d be a master at inflicting an insane amount of pleasure on a woman’s body. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. The realization washes over me like a Malibu wave.
“Okay. It was a bad call on my end.” Michelle chimes in. “This lacy white dress does absolutely nothing for you. I agree it looks a little frumpy and it’s more suited for an afternoon picnic than a glamorous party, but Miranda, you don’t have to look so shocked. It’s just a dress. We’ll find you the right one.”
I shake my head. “That’s not it.” My eyes bounce from Jessica’s, to Ray’s, to Michelle’s and finally to Nikki’s. I swallow hard and I muster up the courage to continue. “I think I spent the morning with a Powerball and he wants to see me again on Monday night after work,” I blurt out.
“You what?” The four shout so loudly, the reverberation from their voices threatens to tumble me over.
“Are you shitting me?” Jessica is on her feet in a flash and she almost sprints towards me. “I thought you spent the morning buying fruits and vegetables? When did you have time to meet a man? Let alone a Powerball? I’m your best friend. How dare you keep something so monumental from me?” she scolds.
“With my bad luck with men, I wasn’t going to say anything until I hooked up with him again on Monday. You never know.” I shrug. “So much can happen until then. Not to mention when we meet again, maybe it’ll be just like it is with all the other guys. Maybe it won’t go anywhere.”
“Before we tackle that negative statement you just made about yourself”—Jess purses her lips, displeased, like she always does when I say this sort of thing—”start from the beginning and spill out all the details about this Powerball.”
Over the next thirty minutes, I relive every single tantalizing moment of my time with Hunter. As I recount the story, I realize how much of an effect he had on me. I’m doing my best not to get my hopes up, but if I’m totally honest with myself, I can’t wait to see him again. I enjoyed my time with him so much. I still can’t believe some of the things he said about me. About my body. I don’t know if he really means them or if he was buttering me up, but hearing them coming from him was such a turn-on.
When I finish telling my story, no one says a word. It’s as if what I just shared isn’t only a big deal for me, but also for each one of my friends staring at me in disbelief. It’s so quiet in the boutique you could hear a pin drop.
“Does he have a brother or a cousin who’s gay?” Ray’s joke breaks the silence.
“So just like that you drop the hot barista from across the street for a relative of a Powerball?” Michelle mocks.
“Uh-huh. Miranda’s guy sounds dreamy and if he has a male relative who prefers cock to pussy, I’ll certainly be the first standing in line.”
“Sheesh, you’re easy,” Michelle says.
We all laugh.
“You kill me, Ray. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t think so. Just like me, Hunter’s an only child. We didn’t really talk much about his extended family, so I’m not sure how many cousins he has.” I force myself to smile. “I’m not even sure this will go further than one date.”
“Miran—” Jess starts.
“Jessica, let me have a go,” Nikki interrupts her.
Jess has always exuded confidence—from the age of twelve when I first met her. Now as an adult, I doubt that her unshakable belief in herself is entirely connected to the fact that she stands five-eight or that she’s as thin as a railing. It’s far more than that. She’s never been afraid of putting herself out there or going after what she wants. When we’re hanging out together, she’s one of those women who can strut around naked and feel like a goddess. I’m not saying I hate my body, but I surely don’t have half of her self-assuredness. She’s as bold in her love life. The second her eyes connected with Kevin’s she knew she’d have him… and she did.
“Be my guest,” Jess says, stepping aside. I know my best friend well enough to know she’s upset with me. The exasperation in her voice is unmistakable, but I’ve been disappointed too many times to be unrealistic.
“Miranda, sweetie, when a Powerball asks you out, it’s a big fucking deal,” Nikki says, shaking her index finger at me in a motherly way. “This is LA, a.k.a. the land of plenty when it comes to women willing to bend backwards for a man. I won’t even tell you what some would be willing to do for a Powerball. Who cares about your past history with men? Obviously, you’re exuding a different vibe or else your Powerball wouldn’t have bothered looking at you twice. I think you’re selling yourself short.”
“He did make me feel special.” I flash back to when he revealed the only reason he didn’t kiss me was because he didn’t want to get me in trouble.
“That’s because you are. Inexperienced boys like your Julian Wilkas don’t hold a candle next to a Powerball.” Jessica has always been convinced I was wasting my time vying for the attention of a man for whom I�
��ve been practically invisible. Julian has been the object of my affection for a very long time, but now thinking about Hunter, I realize there’s a whole lot better out there.
“Have you ever been with one?” I ask tentatively.
Nikki flashes me a sly smile. She inhales and looks straight into my eyes. “I’ve crossed the path of a Powerball once in my life and I’ve never been the same woman ever since.”
“What happened?” I press, eager to know more.
“I was only nineteen. He was a much older guy—more than twice my age. The huge gap scared me. He was divorced, but he had kids who were older than as I was. He was incredible, but it was all too much for me at the time. I walked away. I’ve never been with a man like Richard ever since. Alas, he’s remarried now. I had a Powerball right in the palm of my hand and I let him go because I wasn’t ready… or so I thought.”
“Wow. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. It’s my own doing. I was young and I guess a bit stupid. I should’ve never cast him aside like I did. Who knows? Maybe in time I would’ve grown blind to the age difference.” She sighs. “Is this guy you met today close to your age or is he older?”
“He’s older than I am, but I think he’s younger than Kevin.”
“You’re in luck then. If he’s interested and you guys click, run with it.”
I pause for a beat, overwhelmed by Nikki’s confession. “Something interesting happened.”
“What?” all four of them ask in unison.
“While there were tons of sexy women at the market, he was fully present the whole time. I mean, he wasn’t distracted. He wasn’t looking around. He seemed to only have eyes for me. I’ve never had that kind of devoted attention from a man before.”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Nikki cheers, high-fiving me. I clap her hand and we hold hands for a few seconds.
“Oh. My. God.” Jess’s jaw drops. “Your bad juju karma with men is turning around.” She claps her hands. God, she’s more excited than I am about this.
Fixated Page 8
