by Glynis Astie
After six months and ten awful first dates, I came to the conclusion that either all the bad men had followed me to California or good men were a seriously endangered species. Whatever the reason, I no longer felt the need to look for one of the good ones. Despite Kate’s best efforts, my optimism was nowhere to be found.
A few months later, Maya set me up with a friend of her brother’s. And when I say set me up, I mean she literally SET ME UP. After my series of disastrous blind dates in the past year, I was not a willing participant in the dating process. So my good friend, Maya, invited me to her apartment, introduced me to Mark, my date, and then raced out for an “emergency” bikini waxing. As she ran out the door, she informed me I wasn’t the only one who would be getting lucky. “Mark”, she whispered to me, “is a sure thing.” She left me with a crimson face and butterflies in the pit of my stomach.
Mark was nice and easy going, but he had the strangest sense of humor I had ever come across. I never got his jokes, which revolved around hunting ‘gators, but I laughed anyway. I think I was ecstatic to have someone semi-normal take me out on a second date, I overlooked a lot. And I do mean, a lot! He was twenty-seven years old and still lived with his mother, had spent his life savings on a pick-up truck and thought a romantic date was free hot dog night at the monster truck rally. I was so desperate to be “in love” like everyone else I knew, I moved in with him after six months of dating and hoped for the best.
Unfortunately, three months later, I found him in bed with Tiffany and Tammy, the ticket takers at the monster truck rally. Evidently, they all had a lot in common and the girls moved in to my beautifully decorated apartment two days later. (I had high tailed it out of the apartment that night with nothing but my clothes, books and pictures. I had no desire for any of the furniture or linens as I had no idea what kind of...residue...might remain from their activities.) A year later I heard they started a matchmaking service for threesomes. Who knew there was a market for such a thing? Shortly after this bizarre news, I received a muffin basket with a thank you note from the “wonder threesome” as I now refer to them, stating they owed me a debt of gratitude for being so undesirable. Ouch. That was going to leave a scar.
Fresh out of my “relationship” with Mark, I met James, a much younger man. He was my roommate in a very hastily found rental following the discovery of the wonder threesome. I actually had five, no six, roommates. I had almost forgotten how one of the girls smuggled her boyfriend in every evening, apparently to both satisfy her needs and to eat the contents of our fridge. Alone and scared, I enjoyed the attention from this eager young college student and eventually gave in to his advances. It was fun sneaking him into my room late at night for some very satisfying alone time.
A short while later, I realized our conversations consisted of the latest Survivor contestants and his deep and abiding love for Bob Marley. What the hell was I doing? After a group of sorority girls came over one night and gave me extensive advice on how to make myself over to be a suitable date for James’ upcoming fraternity formal, I was done. Honestly, what twenty-four year old professional woman wouldn’t be? I told James it wasn’t him, it was me, packed up my meager belongings and found an apartment for adults. That’s right! I moved in with two professional women. Jess and Maggie were Stanford graduates and were very active in the local alumni association. Jackpot! I would definitely meet a much higher caliber of men hanging out with these two. I was full of hope for the future.
For the first few months, things were looking good. My new roommates had wine and cheese parties and invited over many interesting young men. Then I started to notice the men I was interested in always seemed to be escorted by their brilliant girlfriends. The single men were...well, let’s just say they were single for a reason. I don’t like to think of myself as a shallow person, but isn’t it possible for men to be intellectually stimulating as well as moderately attractive? I don’t need gorgeous, but there has to be some kind of spark.
Was I being too picky? Kate was always telling me my standards were too high. That was rich coming from someone who was married to the most seemingly perfect man on earth. She told me he had a series of flaws, but I had yet to see them. I think she made it up to make me feel better - and possibly to convince herself she was normal. As if!
I had nearly given up hope, when one evening, Maggie introduced me to her former coworker, Alex. He was attractive, funny and incredibly smart. He seemed....too perfect. Seriously, what was wrong with me? I decided to turn my brain off and enjoy dating Alex. We had a great time whenever we went out, but I couldn’t bury the feeling something simply wasn’t right. We had many a romantic evening in front of the fireplace of his condo (No roommates!) and he took me to the nicest restaurants in town. He gave me a beautiful necklace for Christmas and told me he loved spending time with me. I finally started to relax. Maybe this was the real thing!
Shortly after Christmas, Alex told me he had planned the perfect New Year’s Eve for us. A few of his fraternity brothers had rented a suite at a fancy hotel in San Francisco and were hosting an elegant dinner to ring in the New Year. Alex was in full party mode that night. I had never seen him drunk before. It was actually kind of cute, right up until the moment he asked me to give him my favorite bra and panty set and to call him Alicia. I didn’t sleep much and was desperately hoping we would laugh about it the morning. Instead, Alex told me he had been working up the courage to tell me about his lifestyle and hoped I would be a part of it. Had I ever thought about dressing up as a man? OK. That was it. I was officially done.
Fine. I was never going to meet the perfect man, but did the men I met have to have this many flaws? I mean, come on, give me something I can work with. Was it just me? My friends seemed to meet decent guys. In fact, more than half of them were already married. Why was I always behind? What did I have to do to find someone reasonable? Was I destined to be an old maid? Was I going to be the crazy old lady who lives with her sixteen cats and tells stories about them like they were her children? I do love cats (they’re great listeners), but they’re hardly suitable companions to parties.
My only option was clear. I was going to have to learn to live without male companionship. Certain aspects of this were going to be very frustrating, but there are stores which can help...
Chapter Three
Following that colorful, and very real, recounting of my history with men, you now have a clear idea of why I wanted nothing to do with any of them. I firmly believed I was better off alone. Any man I met was painfully dissected and deemed unworthy. I think I was too scarred by the experiences of the last few years to see even remotely clearly. It was going to take a miracle to save me. Little did I know this miracle was just around the corner. Damn it, Kate. Why are you always right?
I will never forget the first time I saw Louis. It was a Saturday night in the middle of the summer and Maya was dragging me out yet again, full of positive words about meeting “someone special.” She even pushed me to wear something a little...OK, a lot, out of my comfort zone. I had on snug fitting jeans which hung slightly below my hips and a black lace tank top which ended about two inches above my jeans and was not lined in the back. Since my breasts are fairly small, no bra was necessary, but I felt totally on display. I kept pulling the tank top down, but it kept popping back up. Why did I let Maya talk me into this? I could be at home watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
“Will you stop fidgeting?” Maya scowled at me.
“I should have worn the red scoop neck. In fact, I can run home and change...” I turned away from the door and tried to walk back towards the car.
Maya grabbed my arm. “Don’t even think about it, Syd. It was enough of a struggle to get you here; there’s no way I’m letting you go now. Just relax! You look awesome.”
That was easy for Maya to say. She always looked flawless. She had short dark hair, perfect olive skin and a petite stature. She also gave the impression of having her own stylist as well as hair and makeup t
eam. It was not uncommon for men to stop their conversations and gape when she walked by. Somehow, she was completely oblivious to it. For someone with massive insecurities, this was rather irksome.
I rolled my eyes at her and she grabbed my hand. “Stop and listen, Freak. You look gorgeous. Let’s try to have fun, OK?”
I was pretty sure she would say anything to make me feel better because she needed a wingman, so I reluctantly turned back towards the club. As I tried to console myself with the idea of a hot bath later, I glanced up and saw Louis walking towards the club from the other side of the street. Our eyes met and I completely lost my train of thought, as well as my motor coordination. I tripped on the curb and almost fell flat on my face. Fortunately Maya caught my arm before I could do any damage. I righted myself, tried to restore what little dignity I had brought with me and turned my gaze back to Louis.
It wasn’t just that he was handsome; he had style! Style like none I had ever seen before. He was at least six feet tall and was wearing, I kid you not, a pale blue suit, complete with matching pale blue sweater underneath. He had accented this ensemble with a large silver chain, massively spiked dark hair, a perfectly sculpted goatee and, wait for it, pale blue sunglasses. Clearly this guy took coordination to a whole new level. It was immediately obvious he was either gay, not from this country or both. If he turned out to be gay, all the better. A new friend with great hair and makeup tips was always a good thing.
As I mulled this over, I noticed he had made his own assessment as evidenced by the slow, sexy smile he gave me. OK! Most likely not gay, unless he really likes my outfit. I returned the smile and told him I liked his suit as Maya and I followed him into the club. Maybe Maya was right. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe it was possible to meet “someone special.” It was a whole lotta maybes, but what did I have to lose at this point?
A few drinks and a few conversations with men trying to get into my pants later, I decided to approach the “flashy foreigner” as Maya and I had dubbed him. I started walking over to the edge of the bar where he was standing, when I panicked. What should I say to him? Maybe I should borrow one of the opening lines I had been the recipient of that evening...
“My heart is aching from the sight of your awesomeness.” Um...no.
“I don’t need drugs to get high. I can look at your face. Want to see my van?” Definitely not.
“Come here often? I have since I divorced my cunt wife, but all the bitches have turned me down ‘cause I told them about my crooked penis. Can I buy you a drink?” Wrong on so many levels.
Oh, the hell with it!
“What are you drinking?” I said and smiled, hoping I didn’t look deranged after one too many shots.
He grinned at me. “It is called a coffin.” Oooh, what kind of accent is that? I swear, I felt my knees buckle a bit from the sound of his velvety voice. Please don’t be gay, please don’t be gay, please, please!
“Sounds pretty deadly.” Wow, Sydney. How original! I felt heat instantly flood my face, confirming my suspicion that it had turned bright red. The verdict was in; I was officially going down in flames.
He took off his sunglasses and continued to grin at me. “Not as deadly as you. You are very beautiful.”
Hmmm. Is he as full of it as the rest of these guys? Does his incredibly sexy accent make it sound better? I’m going to reserve judgment for the time being. Maybe he is actually sincere. Unlikely, but I’ll go with it for now.
“You’re too kind.” I dropped my gaze to the floor.
“No, not kind, just honest.” He put his finger under my chin and pulled my face up until I was looking directly into the most achingly beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen. Whoa. Was it the alcohol or the fact that I hadn’t had sex for such a long time? I felt like my thighs were on fire. Get a grip, Sydney!
“My name is Louis.” He pronounced it “Louie.” His accent was mesmerizing. “And you are?”
“Dazzled.” Oh. My. God. I think I’m actually going to die. I did not just say that. A cross between a hysterical giggle and a cough escaped my throat. I couldn’t think clearly when he looked into my eyes.
I studied my shoes. “My name is Sydney. Sydney Bennett.”
He waited until I met his eyes. “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Sydney Bennett.”
He then took my hand and kissed it tenderly. I started to think he was totally cheesy, but the sensation as his lips touched my hand drove those thoughts out of my mind and into oblivion. I was completely mesmerized.
After a couple of moments, I realized I was staring at him. Will I ever stop embarrassing myself? This is crazy. Think, Sydney, think. I said the first thing which came into my head.
“Where are you from?” I think I actually batted my eyelashes at him. I’m hopeless.
He chuckled. “You cannot place my accent, can you? Many people have had trouble with this since I arrived.”
It seems I may have a bit of competition. No big deal! I CAN do this. (Clearly the alcohol was working its magic.)
“Really? Let me guess...are you from Germany?”
“I am not, but I do speak German. This knowledge helped me out of a few tight spots with the police.”
OK! I had found myself a near convict. Good going, Sydney! He must have seen the look on my face because he quickly backpedaled.
“Please forgive me. I am sorry if what I said was inappropriate. I am beginning to think I do not know how to speak to American women. I have only been in the country for two weeks and I have seen many of those looks.” He shook his head ruefully. “I am from France. I grew up in the south, but I work in Paris for a small software company. They sent me here to set up a few things in the San Jose office.”
Rats. He won’t be here for long. Well, there’s nothing wrong with a little fling right? Except for the fact that I don’t know how to do flings, managing to get my heart broken every time I try.
I cleared my throat. “How long are you here for?”
“A couple more weeks. Then it is back to Paris for me.” He gave me his slow smile again.
Even through my drunken haze, I could feel the fear coming. I knew nothing about this guy. He was leaving in two weeks with no plan to return. He was looking for a fling. I couldn’t do this. I had to run. It was the safe thing to do. Come on, Sydney! Race you to the door!
Something was keeping me there, standing in front of this man, gazing into his eyes. Why couldn’t I just walk away? It was the easy way. It had worked for me very well over the past few years. No risk, no pain. That was the way I needed it to be. But I couldn’t get my body to agree with me.
“May I buy you a drink? I would like to know more about you.” He pleaded with his beautiful blue eyes and I felt my willpower draining.
“OK, one drink, but perhaps one less deadly than what you’re drinking.” Seriously, Sydney, you need professional help. Just stop talking. He’s going to change his mind!
“Would you like a rum and coke?”
“Please.” Keep it simple. Excellent idea. This will greatly reduce your chances of saying something stupid.
Despite my usual moronic tendencies around attractive men, talking to Louis turned out to be pretty easy. (I’m sure the alcohol helped.) He told me about growing up on a farm in the south of France, his collection of motorcycles and his hobby of building computers. He asked all about my family, my job and my childhood. Before I knew it, two hours had passed. Maya came over and tapped me on the shoulder.
She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “I’m so sorry to do this to you, but I’m totally exhausted. I need to go home.” She turned to Louis. “I’m sorry to take her away from you, but it’s getting quite late.”
He grinned at her. “Please do not apologize. I have had a wonderful time with Sydney. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Louis Durand.”
Maya blushed. Ha! I knew it! It was those eyes. I’m not totally ridiculous.
“My name is Maya.” She giggled. I felt infinit
ely better.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Maya. I am happy you convinced Sydney to come out tonight. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
Maya blushed again. This just got better and better. “You’re most welcome.”
I sighed and stood up. “I’m sorry, Louis. I have to leave.” I think I was actually pouting. Isn’t that what French women do? His Frenchness was rubbing off on me.
Louis stood up and took my hand. “You have filled me with sadness, but I understand. Please give me your phone number so I may call you. I must see you again.”
Was this guy for real? Did he feel obligated to ask? It was clear at this point, he wasn’t getting lucky tonight. No matter, Sydney. Just give him the number. Why not pretend?
With no pen and paper available, I told him my number and he swore he would remember it. “I could never forget something so important.”
OK, now I know he’s full of it. I wonder if this is how he gets his kicks. I’m sure this will give him a good laugh for weeks to come. He and his French coworkers probably joke about the desperate, gullible American women they meet each night. Oh well! I guess I’ll be one of them. It wouldn’t be the first time I was the unintentional source of someone’s amusement.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, Louis.” I felt tears come to my eyes; sadness that none of this was real. I put my arms around his neck, planning on giving him a brief hug and running away when he pulled me in tight and held me for a few minutes. We just fit. It felt right. And he smelled amazing... Between the alcohol and his incredible scent, I had forgotten I was supposed to be in a hurry and jumped when Maya called my name.
“Be right there!” I called to her. I turned and smiled at Louis. “Take care of yourself. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Why do you say this? You sound like we will not meet again. You are an incredible woman, Sydney. I will call you tomorrow.”
