Man Seeking Woman

by Leah Holt

It could be a nanny job, or a housekeeper. . .

  No, don't be stupid. Kayla's right, it's probably just some guy looking to get laid.

  Placing it back on the table, I laid my arm over my head, covering my eyes. I had to really come up with a plan, I needed steady work and I needed it fast.

  I could waitress, or maybe get a part time job at the bar up the road.

  Peeking under my arm at the newspaper, the urge to look at the ad again was too much to ignore. Picking it back up, I opened it to the classifieds section, and read the ad for man seeking woman again. The more I read it, the only thing I could see was the money. It was a job, a job that could give me an income, a position that might help me stay afloat until teaching started to pay the bills.

  I'm not going back home. A job is a job.

  Tapping the box, I bit my lip as my eyes kept scanning the small type. The ad could be innocent, it could be a position for a house cleaner or someone to run errands, maybe he was a single dad and just needed an extra hand. The list could go on and on.

  What could it hurt to just find out more?

  What do I have to lose?

  Calling doesn't mean I'm obligated to do anything.

  Picking my phone up off the coffee table, I put in the number, letting my finger hover over the green call button. My heart was racing and I wasn't sure why. It was just a phone call, there shouldn't be anything nerveracking about a damn phone call.

  Just do it. What's the worse that could happen?

  Click.

  And that's when I heard it ringing.

  Chapter Three

  August

  Sitting behind my desk, I felt my phone vibrate in my jacket pocket. Pushing the papers away, I placed my pen down and pulled it out. I didn't recognize the number, it wasn't familiar and the area code was one I didn't know.

  Fucking telemarketers.

  Lately, for some unknown reason, I had been getting a lot of those automated computer phone calls, telling me my factory warranty was about to expire and this was their last and final attempt to reach me. It was becoming annoying as fuck.

  "Hello?" I said, resting back in my chair, my tone unfriendly and not welcoming at all.

  "Hi, my name's Ella Day, I'm calling about the ad in the paper."

  Sitting up straight, I pushed the phone closer to my ear because her voice was so soft. "I'm sorry, you said you were calling about the ad?"

  "That's right." I could hear an audible exhale and sense the nervousness in her voice.

  "Well, the position is still available, if you're interested. We would just need to sit down and go over a few things together first."

  "I actually wanted to ask about that. What is the position for, exactly? The ad doesn't really say, so it's hard to know what the job is."

  Clearing my throat, I tried to pick my words wisely. I had learned from past responses to my ad that it wasn't a good idea to just lay it all out up front. There was nothing conventional about the position, and it definitely wasn't a conversation for over the phone.

  "Well, to be completely honest, before I get into all the details, I prefer meeting with potential canidates in person. It really helps me to see if you're a fit for this."

  "Um, okay. So, you want me to come in for an interview?"

  An interview wasn't the word I would use to describe the meeting. This had to do with more than just what she knew, what she was good at, and what skills she had. This was more personal.

  "Let's do this, I'm free tonight, how about we do dinner? Six o'clock at the Red Tavern sound good?" There was nothing but silence filling the receiver, and it made me wonder if she was even still there. "Still with me?" I asked, giving a little chuckle.

  "Uh, yeah, I'm here, sorry—it just seems like an odd request is all. Most interviews are done in an office or a home if it has to do with child care or something."

  Pushing my chest against the desk, I looked out the big window beside me. "Well, what I can tell you is this isn't your typical job. But it is important for me to meet you before I can make any decisions."

  "I understand that, but dinner seems really personal. I'm going to ask you upfront, this isn't an ad for sex is it? Because I'm not a call girl, I don't do things like that."

  "No, no, no," I said, unable to hide the laughter in my voice. "Dinner is just so we can meet and I can tell you in person what I'm looking for."

  "Why can't you tell me over the phone?"

  Letting out a soft breath, I laid my head back against my chair. "I understand that this seems awkward, but in order for this to go any further, we need to meet in person."

  "Alright," she said, her tone uncertain.

  "Alright, you'll meet me for dinner?"

  "Yeah, we can meet."

  "Perfect, I'll see you tonight then."

  Pulling the phone from my ear, I heard her call out. "Wait!"

  "Yeah?"

  "How will I know who you are? I don't know your name or what you look like."

  "My name's August, just tell the hostess you're meeting me, she'll bring you to the table." Hanging up the phone, I had a glimmer of excitement run through my body.

  It had been weeks since anyone who sounded serious actually called about the ad. Most of the women I heard from where exactly what Ella questioned me about, they were prostitues looking to make a quick buck.

  That wasn't what this was. This was serious, this was business, this was my future. I didn't want a quick roll in the sack, I wasn't looking for a single night of fun to get off.

  This had to do with my life as I knew it.

  Through the intercom, I heard my secretary ask, "Mr. Burke, are you available right now?"

  "What is it, Diane?"

  "Your mother is on line two."

  Sighing loudly, I reluctantly agreed. "Yeah, I'll take it," I said, picking up the phone and hitting the red flashing button. "Hey, Mom, what's going on?"

  "August?" she asked, frantically, as if she didn't realize it was me.

  "Yeah, Ma, it's me. What do you need?"

  "August, is that you?"

  "Ma, it's me, you called me at the office, remember?"

  "Oh, good, it is you. I thought maybe your secretary sent me to the wrong person." Letting out a relieved breath, she said, "You sound different, why do you sound different?"

  "I sound the same as I always do. But I can't talk long, I'm in the middle of something. What do you need?" I was trying so hard to not get annoyed with her, but that was difficult to do.

  My mother was not your typical mother. She wasn't someone who coddled you when you got hurt or snuggled you when you got sick. My mother was a whole different breed.

  When I was nine years old I fell off my skateboard, cut my knee open pretty bad, and needed stitches. My mother's tender touch was a fifty dollar bill and a cold facial eye mask.

  She kept insisting that it was perfectly suitable to use the eyes mask because it took the swelling down from under her eyes, so it was going to work for my knee too. It didn't do shit.

  One of the maids had to drive me to the hospital and got my knee taken care of. My mother was lucky that we were Burke's, anyone else would have been charged with some form of child neglect.

  "Don't talk to me in that tone, you know how I feel about it."

  "I'm sorry, but I'm at work, and I'm in the middle of finalizing next weeks orders."

  "Well, listen to you, Mr. I'm too good to talk to his own mother."

  Hanging my head, I ran my palm across my jaw. "Did you need something?"

  "Is it a crime to call my only child and see how he's doing? I mean it's not like you make time for your mother anymore. I hardly even know what you have going on in your life."

  "You're being dramatic."

  "Am I, August? Am I really?"

  "Look, as much as I love our little chats, I have to get this done because I have dinner plans tonight."

  "Dinner plans?" she asked, her voice low and curious. "Girl or guy?"

  "Ma, I'm not havi
ng this conversation again."

  "August, it's an innocent question. You know it's fine either way, I won't judge you. Some of my favorite hair stylists are gay. And let me tell you, those men create magic."

  "It's a girl, Mom."

  "Do I know her? Is it Michelle Rivers? You know how much I love her, her mother and I still—"

  "Good talk," I said, rolling my eyes and not letting her finish. "Mom, but really, I need to get back to work."

  "Where did I go wrong with you? You know Michelle tells her mother everything, there's no secrets between them."

  "And that's good for them, but I'm thirty-four years old, I don't need to tell you everything anymore."

  "You really like cutting my heart out of my chest, don't you? You know losing your father was hard enough on me. I don't ask for much, August, but you could be a little nicer to your own mother."

  Here we go again. . .

  The poor me card had been played out for years. If she didn't use it for every little thing in her life, I'd probably feel bad for her and have more compassion. But this wasn't new, it was how she got her way.

  The sad part was it worked her whole life on everyone else, I just wasn't that person, and I knew it bothered her. She couldn't get to me with her grief striken pleas, no matter how many times she tried.

  And as much as I knew it hurt her when my father died, she acted as if they had still been married when he passed. The truth was they had been divorced for over a decade, and until his death, all she would do was criticize every little detail of his life.

  He had too many girlfriends, too many cars, too many Armani suits, too much this, and too much that. It was an endless game for her of how much she could shame him in his choices, and make herself look like a saint.

  Suddenly, he was gone and now she talks about him like he was a damn angel and had never done anything wrong to her or our family.

  "Alright, good talk, I'll call you later." Quickly, I hung up the phone, not giving her time to say anything else.

  She was a tough woman to get along with, an even tougher woman to live with, and the worst person to be required to love.

  Don't get me wrong, I loved her because she was my mother, but it was hard as fuck to balance the natural love you have for the woman who gave birth to you, and the person they actually were.

  Self-centered.

  Materialistic.

  Cold-hearted.

  And, full of drama.

  Spell that out and you get Fran Burke, my mother.

  "Diane," I said into the intercom.

  "Yes, Mr. Burke?"

  "No more calls today, I need to finish the invoices for next weeks orders and get out of here on time."

  "Sure thing, consider it done."

  I spent the next hour typing in orders and emailing invoices to the various bars and restaurants we supplied. With no distractions, I was able to finish everything in record time, leaving me plenty of time to run home and get cleaned up before meeting Ella.

  I wasn't getting my hopes up with this one. After multiple disappointments with previous women, I was starting to doubt I'd be able to make this happen.

  But I always got what I wanted, no matter how much I had to fight for it.

  This was no different.

  If I liked her, I planned on taking her.

  Simple as that.

  Chapter Four

  Ella

  Ringing the doorbell, I waited anxiously outside.

  I agreed to have dinner with a man I didn't know. With a man who I had barely spoken to for more than five minutes. With a man who placed an ad, for lord knows what, in the paper.

  "Who is it?"

  "Kayla, it's me, I'm sorry I didn't call first, but I need your help."

  The door buzzed, letting me inside, and I was almost in a full sprint as I crossed the lobby of her building to get to the elevator. Slamming my thumb repeatedly on the button for the eighteenth floor, I couldn't stop my hands from trembling at my side.

  What the hell are you doing, El!?

  You shouldn't be doing this!

  My brain was firing off in succession, screaming at me to be smarter, to use my damn head, to realize that there was something not right with this. But I wasn't listening, because I had tunnel vision. All I could see was the possibility of a paycheck.

  "Come on, come on," I said to myself as I watched the lights blink with each floor it passed.

  A part of me wondered if I was showing up at Kayla's so she could talk me out of going. But that fucking curiosity was a killer, and I knew it wouldn't matter, because I was at least going to see this through and find out for myself if this could be my golden ticket to stabilty until my dreams came true.

  The elevator came to a stop, my legs already launching forward before the doors were even fully open. Squeezing through the partial opening, I stalked down the hall to Kayla's apartment.

  Knocking quickly, I stood still for a split second, then slapped the door loudly with an open palm. "Kay, it's me, open up."

  "Alright, alright, give me a second," she said as she turned the deadbolt and pulled the door open. Stepping to the side, she eyed me curiously. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

  "I did something," I said as I walked past her into the apartment, raking my fingers through my hair. "I can't believe I did it, but I did."

  "What did you do?" she asked, her words drawn out as she followed closely behind me.

  Turning to face her, I held my hands against my mouth and bit my bottom lip. I wasn't sure how to tell her that I had actually called.

  "I, uh, I need to borrow a dress and some shoes. I have a. . ." Pausing, I rocked my head on my shoulders. "A dinner date of sorts."

  "A date?"

  "Not a date, date, but yeah, a date."

  "What the hell does that even mean? Either you have a date or you don't." Kayla placed her hands on her hips, her lids thinning.

  Spinning back around, I took a few steps into her living room and sat on the arm of her couch. "I called." Tipping my head into my chest, I looked up at her.

  "You called? You called who?"

  Nodding, my lips turned into a frown. "You know, and he wants to meet for dinner tonight."

  "You're messing with me right?" Holding out her hand, she bounced it in the air as she shifted in place. "Please tell me you're messing with me." Scrunching up my mouth, my brows furrowed apologetically. "Oh my God, El, you didn't. . ." Gripping her forehead, she shook her head side to side.

  "I know, I know, and I'm sorry. I just need to see what this is, I have to. You saw the letter I got, you know how bad I need a job, maybe this could—" The toilet in her apartment flushed, causing my back to stiffen. Driving my hands into the tops of my knees, I sat up straight as Justin walked into the room.

  Are you fucking serious?

  Justin had his usual piss on your parade smile on his face, his hair perfectly manicured like he stepped out of GQ magazine. On the outside he had all the appeal that would draw women to him; the piercing blue eyes, the smooth skin, the deep sexy vioce, but his personality sucked ass.

  All the looks in the world were worth nothing if the personality behind it was about as sexy as a wet paper bag.

  Shooting a look at Kayla, my eyes were wide and confused. Arching her brows, the look on her face said everything. . . He talked his way back in.

  "Ella, Queen Of The Under World, has a date? That guy must not have his head screwed on straight." Justin chuckled, walking to the fridge and taking out a beer.

  Fuck you.

  "Done with your hissy fit, Justin?" I asked. "Did your dick finally come out of your ass long enough for you to realize that you're not God?"

  "You just wish you could see my dick." Scoffing, he tipped his head as if he had just put me in my place. "Kayla and I decided we were going to work things out, so long as she can keep her hands to herself and her legs closed."

  "Right, because she's the one who has a problem. It couldn't be your domineering persona
lity and fear of not having total control."

  Stepping between us, Kayla held out her arms. "Stop it you two. El, come pick out something." Nodding her head for me to follow her, we went into her room.

  My mind was in a tailspin. I couldn't understand how or why she would let him weasle his way back into her life. Justin wasn't worth it, she could do so much better.

  I had so many questions for her, but now was not the time to dive into a heart felt conversation with my best friend about the baggage she was choosing to carry around. That was something that I'd have to do when I had more time and it was just the two of us.

  "So, this dinner, is it to go over company policies or to go over sexual expectations?" Closing the door, she crossed her arms over her chest and eyed me.

  "To be honest, I'm still not sure what the job is. But I did tell him I wasn't a call girl, and he still wants to meet." Kayla pulled open her closet doors, so I started sifting through the dresses. "I just want to wear something that's nice and doesn't scream soon to be broke because I can't find a job."

  "I don't like this, El, it's weird."

  She's right.

  "It's fine, Kay, it's not like I'm going to his home or something. I'm meeting him at the Red Tavern, it's a public place." Taking out a few different dresses, I laid them on her bed. "I'm not going to leave with him, and I promise, I won't take a drink from him if the waiter didn't bring it or I didn't see it being made."

  "You say that now," she said, plopping onto her bed and stuffing her hands under her thighs. "Until you wake up in a house you don't know with no idea how you got there."

  "Kay—"

  Cutting me off, she tried to give me a smile, but I didn't believe it. "I know you're smart, and I know you wouldn't put yourself in a position like that. But I'm sure everyone else who has been there thought the same thing."

  "Got it, thank you date police." Holding up a deep purple dress, I arched my brows. "What about this one?"

  "I'm not going to be able to change your mind, am I?" Standing still, I kept the dress up against my chest. Softening her expression, she let out a slow breath. "It would look nice on you." Pointing at her closet, she waved her finger in the air. "There's a pair of silver heels in the back that go great with that dress."