Un-Dateable Page 5

  I thought for a moment, a fork full of fried rice hanging suspended in the air. “Damn... can’t think of a one.”

  “So we’re left with clergy and perfect strangers.”

  “Clergy?” I dropped my fork.

  “Sure. The ones not molesting kids are usually ready to explode from pent up desire. That makes a fine recipe for an illicit affair. And then they usually repent and run back into the safety of the church, all guilt ridden. So you don’t have to worry that they’ll get too attached.”

  “You’ve thought about this far too much.” I reached over, emptied my plastic cup of Coke and poured myself some of Bess’ wine. “No clergy.”

  “That’s okay,” Bess chimed. “I know lots of strange men.”

  ~*~

  The phone calls started two days later. The first was at work. My cell phone rang and some guy named Burt asked for me. “This is Dana.”

  “Oh great. Bess gave me your number. I was wondering if you were free for Saturday night?”

  “Oh, ah...” Okay, Dana, this is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. “Sure... Saturday sounds good.”

  “Great. So do you own a trench coat?”

  I mentally looked into my closet at home. I was pretty sure I had one of those in the back. “Sure.”

  “And fishnets with garters?”

  “What?” I started feeling a chill run down my spine.

  “That’s all you need to wear... unless you have a pair of edible panties.”

  “Umm... Saturday’s bad for me... I just remembered my sister’s getting married.” And click I disconnected. I felt dirty just having that pervert talking to me through my phone.

  The next call came while I was walking home from work. “May I talk to Dana?” a man’s voice asked. I cringed. Not another pervert. But I reminded myself that I was more than lonely, I was desperate—desperate enough to field a few calls and screen out the rotten apples.

  “I’m Dana.”

  “Hi, I’m Paul. Bess gave me your number—said you were interested in a blind date.”

  Silence.

  “You still there?”

  I had to force myself to answer. “Yeah, I’m still here. And... yes, I’m looking for a blind date.”

  “Me too.”

  “So, how do you know Bess?” I was hoping he hadn’t met her in a leather bar or some Erotic-S&M-Sex-Expo.

  “Bess sold me my condo. She really haggled down the previous owner for me.”

  Okay, he sounded normal enough. “So, do you want to meet me somewhere for drinks?”

  “No.” He suddenly sounded distant and cold.

  “Okay, then coffee?”

  “No. I don’t go out.”

  I laughed. “What do you mean?”

  “I haven’t left my condo since the day Bess sold it to me. I suffer from agoraphobia.” I heard a strange sound on the other end of the line, recognized it as a breathing inhaler. I listened as he took a few deep calming breaths. “So I was thinking I could cook you dinner... I just got The Forty Year Old Virgin through Netflix.”

  I stood there on the sidewalk in front of my apartment building with my mouth open. This had to be a joke.

  “You still there?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, groping around in my head for some way to get out of this conversation. “I can’t meet you. I have... xenophobia. I’m afraid of meeting strangers.”

  “Then why are you looking for a blind date?”

  “No, I’m afraid of... I’m afraid of going to stranger’s homes.”

  I held my breath as I waited for his next words.

  “And what the hell is that called?”

  I let my breath out in a disgusted sigh. Disgusted with myself. “It’s called I’m an asshole. Sorry for wasting your time.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “You are an asshole!”

  Click.

  ~*~

  That night, while stuffing myself with peach Häagen-Dazs, drizzled with chocolate syrup and smothered with Reddi-wip, I soothed my frayed nerves with a marathon of The Golden Girls on Life Time. I was halfway through the episode where Dorothy, Blanch and Rose compete for the eye of a famous sculptor—each posing nude for him—when my cell rang again.

  I stared at it chirping and vibrating across the surface of my coffee table. I had to remind myself that I had asked Bess to set me up. I cleared my throat, picked up my phone and answered.

  “May I speak with Dana Jamison?” His voice sounded nice, smooth and soothing. It would take a few more sentences, probably, before he showed his true colors.

  “This is Dana.” I gulped; I could feel my stomach churning up all that ice cream.

  “I’m glad I caught you. I’m Richard. Your friend Bess recommended that I look you up. She seems to think we could meet for a cup of coffee sometime. Maybe that new place on Madison?”

  Well, he hadn’t asked me for anything sexual, and he’d suggested meeting in a public place for something resoundingly normal. “Sure. Coffee sounds good. Umm... when would you like to meet?”

  “I’m free in the morning... if that’s not too inconvenient for you.” His voice was still silky smooth, and I had a sudden inexplicable feeling of ease.

  “I have to be at work by nine,” I said, silently berating myself for just agreeing to a meeting so soon. “How about eight fifteen?”

  “Sounds good.” There was a moment of silence. “Well, unfortunately I have to go, but I’m looking forward to meeting you tomorrow.”

  “Me too. I’ll see you... wait. I just realized I don’t know what you look like.”

  “Oh... yes. I’m a little over six foot, on the thin side and I have blond hair.”

  “Okay, I’m—”

  “Bess showed me a picture of you on her cell phone.”

  “Oh great,” I said, feeling kind of good about this guy. “I’ll see you then.”

  It wasn’t until I hung up that I started to wonder what picture Bess had shown him? Bess had a few different shots on her phone of me. But there was one that she’d taken on one of our trips to the beach in Jersey.

  I was topless with a beach ball balanced on my head.

  She better not have shown him that one.

  Chapter 7

  The dream came, and so did those hands, strong and yet so gentle. And this time I could feel the weight of the body they were attached to, sitting on the bed next to me. He was naked too—I could feel our bare hips touch.

  I lay there in mute ecstasy, unable to ask him who he was, or even to rub harder. Yet as if he could read my thoughts he indeed rubbed harder. Slowly, he worked down my back, caressing my every curve and muscle. When he got to my butt he pressed into the muscles hard, making me squirm.

  I felt his hands stroke my flesh, and then they gently, and oh so slowly, pulled me over to lay on my back. In the same motion he climbed onto me. I could see his body, strong and defined, his flesh moist and glowing, yet I couldn’t see a face.

  I also could feel his hardness grinding into my belly as his hands massaged and kneaded my breasts…

  And then my alarm went off, the plaintive screeching tearing me right out of my dream. I wiped the sweat from my brow, trying to shake off the overwhelming feeling of disappointment.

  I wanted this dream guy with the great hands to fuck me.

  It was just as simple as that.

  ~*~

  After a long, rather cold shower, I finally emerged from the bathroom awake, in tentative control of my now burning libido, and with my fingers all pruny.

  I let my hair dry as I got dressed. I slipped into my usual green scrubs and then tugged on my white tennis shoes. It was the end of the week, so I took my coffee by my window as I watered Ozzie and the African violet with Evian.

  It was about twenty after eight when I finally remembered coffee with what was his name? Robert... Richard... Raymond...

  It started with an R.

  I was sure.

  I grabbed my book bag and rushed out of t
he apartment, down the steps of my building and out into the mad chaos that is New York City rush hour traffic. In no time I was at my coffee house destination. I scanned the place for a tall, thin man with blond hair. Only one man in the room matched that description, and he turned and spotted me just as I spotted him.

  And he was pretty damn good looking.

  Only one thing. He was dressed in a rather expensive looking suit, his hair neatly swept back from his face, and he looked like a lawyer.

  I didn’t really like lawyers. They were always dirty in some aspect—‘twas the nature of their jobs. Plus they looked down on those that weren’t “working professionals.”

  But when I approached him he extended his hand and gave me a very friendly smile. “Dana,” he said in that same soothing voice from last night. “I’m glad you could make it. May I get you a coffee?”

  “Ah, sure. Black please.”

  He smiled and walked to the coffee counter. Okay I thought, he’s good looking and very polite—but the suit, at nine in the morning?

  Lawyer!

  And if Bess set me up with this guy, he had to be successful.

  I chastised myself for not giving him a chance. There could be another reason for him to be in a suit. And I had been the one to ask for Bess’ help.

  He came back and handed me a Styrofoam cup. I suddenly realized I still hadn’t remembered his name. “Thank you... Robert?” I tried to scrunch my face up to look sorry if I’d picked the wrong R name to call him by.

  “Richard.” He didn’t look too upset; actually, he gave me a rather sweet smile as he sipped at his own coffee. “So, Bess tells me you’re a physical therapist. That must be rewarding work, helping all those people every day.”

  “It is. I love my job.” This was good. He seemed genuinely interested in my work. A lawyer would have dismissed my vocation and started to tell me about his current case.

  “So, what do you do?” Please don’t be lawyer. Please don’t be a lawyer.

  “Oh… Bess didn’t tell you?” His smile evaporated and his cheeks flushed.

  I shook my head. “I haven’t talked to Bess yet today.”

  Richard took a deep breath and let it out, and then he seemed to regain that confident demeanor and smile again. “I’m a funeral home director.”

  I choked on the coffee I was sipping, coughing and sputtering and trying not to look too aghast. When I finally stopped choking I tried to smile. “You’re a mortician?” Visions of him embalming dead bodies danced through my head.

  “No, no... I don’t do anything with the dead bodies.” He looked grossed out by the very thought. “I’m a funeral home director. I handle the financial aspect, the planning of the ceremonies and the burials.”

  Suddenly the suit made perfect sense. So did the voice and the soothing demeanor. I tried to say something, but I was still too stunned.

  Richard saw I was stuck, so he tried to keep talking. “Yeah, I find people don’t think ahead enough, leaving the brunt of their final arrangements for their loved ones to handle.”

  I nodded my head, but still couldn’t speak yet. I felt so ashamed—at least he’s not a blood sucking lawyer!

  Yeah but...

  “Actually, if you’re not in a rush I could walk you through some of our more popular pre-arranged packages.” I felt my blood run cold and my eyes bugged out.

  “Oh god,” Richard said. “You’re turning white as a sheet.” He grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table and ushered me to sit down. I felt so cold all over, and the room, though glaring with morning sun light, was starting to get rather dark. “Just put your head down between your knees.” I felt his hand on my head.

  A few moments later I could feel the cold start to dissipate, and when I opened my eyes I was lying flat on my back, Richard kneeling next to me, and a crowd of coffee-toting onlookers towering above me.

  “I’m so sorry,” Richard croaked, shaking his head. “I always end up talking shop when I get nervous.”

  ~*~

  Richard and I said our goodbyes after he’d brought me a juice box and had deemed my coloring “normal.”

  Which didn’t say much.

  A funeral home director thought my coloring was normal.

  I had to get some more sun, maybe go to a tanning bed. Of course that would make me break out in thousands—no, millions—of freckles.

  I walked slowly and aimlessly down the street, only remembering halfway down the block that I needed to go in the opposite direction. So I trudged back up the street, dropping my head as I passed by the scene of my humiliation, and headed off to work.

  The waiting room was filled when I got there. I had a cup of coffee, hoping it would wake me up enough to do my job properly, but all it did was remind me of the coffee shop incident. I kept on seeing Richard looming over me, looking all guilt stricken.

  I was going to kill Bess. I know I’m desperate, and I’d asked her to help me out and find possible men to date, or whatever. But these guys so far had been totally whacko.

  Or was it me?

  Were all those guys just normal, perfectly acceptable date material types, and it was me that was unsuitable, the crazy one. What if even the agoraphobic guy was actually dating material?

  Maybe I could’ve been the woman to get him up and out of his solitary apartment? What if he would’ve been the one?

  I shook my head. That’s crazy talk, I told myself.

  What if you’re un-dateable?

  I threw away my now empty coffee cup and picked up the chart for the next patient. “Denny Rhodes?” I called when I opened the door leading to the waiting room.

  A nice looking teenage kid popped up from his chair and followed me into the therapy room.

  I flipped through his chart. “Says here you threw out your right shoulder pitching during a high school baseball game.” I smiled at him. “You any good?”

  “Sure am. I was all-state last year. Probably gonna get a scholarship this year... as long as I recuperate before the playoffs.”

  “The x-rays and ultrasound both came back negative, and you’ve had a couple weeks to heal, so I think we should be able to get you back into playoff condition on time.”

  Suddenly I realized the kid was smiling goonishly at me. “What?”

  “You’re the chick from the coffee shop on Madison, right? The fainting lady.”

  I felt my whole body tighten up. I was holding my breath. What were the odds that a patient here would witness my humiliation?

  I was about to open my mouth to explain, maybe just to lie, because the actual reason would be a much larger humiliation to admit to. But just then another voice spoke up from behind me. An older woman that Ricky was working the hip abductors on joined in.

  “Was that you, dear? My niece was bringing me here and wanted to stop for some ghastly concoction they’ve got her addicted to. I thought you might’ve died. I’ve run into dead bodies every day this week. I’m so glad you didn’t pass away.”

  “Thanks.” I think.

  “That was you?” Ricky looked like a hyena, a smile drawing up his lips and making his teeth look mean and sharp. “Radiology has been talking about that all morning. Said some chick in scrubs fainted at the coffee shop on Madison, that she was there on a date with a freaking mortician!”

  Oh god... “He’s a funeral director, not a mortician.”

  “Babe,” It was Bret, coming up behind me and slinging his arm around my neck, drawing me in to him. “If you were desperate for a date—”

  “I’m not desperate!” I elbowed him in the ribs but he wouldn’t let go.

  “Or if you needed some recreational way of relieving stress...” he continued. “I would be more than happy to give you a hand, or whatever part you needed.”

  I stomped on his foot and he finally let go. “You’re a pig!”

  “I was just offering to help, Dana.” And then he pulled out his cell phone and started texting.

  “You wouldn’t!”

 
But with a flurry of thumbs and then a completely satisfied look on his face, I knew he had. He’d messaged radiology that I was “Pass-out girl.” It would be all over the hospital by lunch.

  As Brett high-fived some of the guys I caught myself checking out his ass. It was tight and dimpled and really looked good in scrubs.

  Just the right amount of jiggle.

  Ugh! I was desperate, totally pathetic!

  Denny tapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, lady, my mom’s dated a bunch of freaks too.”

  Chapter 8

  Right before lunch I was sitting at the front desk filling out some forms for insurance when someone rapped their knuckles against the countertop. I looked up and a rather well-coiffed woman in her early thirties smiled at me. “Hi, I’m Linda Johnson from accounting.”

  I held up my paperwork and smiled. “I swear I’m filling out the right forms.”

  She smiled and looked at what was in my hands. “You need to fill out the box on top. You guys never do that.”

  I shook my head. “But it says ‘for office use only’.”

  She raised her eyebrows without losing her sunny smile.

  “We’re the office, aren’t we?”

  “Smart girl.” She leaned in a little closer. “But I didn’t stop by to give your paperwork a critique. I’m a friend of Bess.’”

  “Me too.” If I don’t end up killing her first.

  “She told me I should umm... see if you’d like to go out sometime?”

  I stared into her radiant smile for a moment not comprehending what she was saying. I was about to ask if she wanted me to fix her up with one of the goons from the therapy department when I suddenly got it. I gulped and felt my mouth turn as dry as the freaking Sahara.

  “You mean on a date, don’t you?”

  “Just something casual.” Her smile hadn’t dimmed a bit.

  “I’m really sorry,” I cleared my throat and tried to stay calm. “But Bess has the wrong idea... I mean, she gave you the wrong idea about me.”