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Date 4: Calling Birds
When did dating become confused with The Shopping Channel? I spend ridiculous amounts of time every day scrolling through photos of men, reading their sales copy and evaluating their merits the way I’d judge, say, a new cell phone plan, or a toaster oven. It’s like we’re birds doing a mating dance, putting on the bright plumage and fanning out our tails.
I even logged on to the dating site as a fake man so I could check out my competition. Frankly, based on my own marketing copy, I sound pretty good. I’m getting a lot of action online. Luckily, I took Stephanie’s advice and I weed the possibilities down by talking on the phone. Still, I’m spending a lot of time on my two dates a week. Tonight’s the fundraising gala. So that’s three nights given over to finding my Christmas date.
I hope no one recognizes my old bridesmaid dress from my online photo. It’s the only true designer dress in my wardrobe. Fortunately, Emily’s all about sleek lines so you’d never know the dress started life as part of a wedding party. I put my hair up and wear the diamond earrings my parents gave me when I graduated from college.
The gala is – well – it’s a gala. Everyone is dressed to the nines and coiffed to within an inch of their lives. My diamond earrings look like grains of sand compared to some of the rocks sparkling and flashing.
I grab a flute of champagne from a waiter with a passing silver tray.
Stephanie’s everywhere at once. That woman is efficiency in heels. And she makes it look effortless. She passes me and says, “I swapped the place tags around and put you beside a very eligible bachelor. His name is Emilio. His family made billions in oil. But he’s cultured. Funny. I think you might like him.”
“Thanks.”
I wander around the room, cruise the silent auction table. Wish I knew a few people and then suddenly I realize I do. There’s my cousin Emily, not ten feet away. With her equally successful cardiac surgeon husband Errol. They are the picture of the power couple. Of course, I should have realized they’d be here at a fundraiser for heart disease. And I’m wearing my bridesmaid dress from their wedding.
I turn, hoping to avoid them and almost crash into a nicely built man in a tux. “Sorry,” I mumble and looking up, realize it’s Barry, the disappearing doctor.
He stares at me the way you do when you know someone but can’t place them, then he smiles and says, “Lucy, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been meaning to call you,” he says. Maybe to apologize for standing me up?
I smile sweetly. “Maybe we could go out on your boat sometime.”
He looks blank for a second then says, “Sure thing I’ll call you next week.”
I’m still trying to figure out what game he’s playing when Emily appears at my side. “Lucy,” she cries. “I thought that was you.” She doesn’t so much as glance significantly at the dress, which is nice of her.
She and Barry nod at each other and he touches my shoulder and says, “I’ll call you,” before walking away.
After I congratulate Emily on her pregnancy and hear that she hasn’t suffered a moment of morning sickness, she says, “How do you know Barry?”
“I—“ Can’t tell the truth, obviously. “I’m interviewing him for my health magazine.” Which, actually, isn’t a bad idea.
“Oh, good. I thought you might be dating him.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
She leans closer. “Promise you won’t print this, but he’s got a drug problem.”
And now I know why he not only stood me up but clearly forgot he’d ever done so.
My ego is mollified but I realize I’ve got to do a better job of screening candidates.
At least Emilio, my tablemate is nice. He’s well groomed, has very white teeth and Steph was right. He may come from oil money, but he’s clearly more interested in arts and culture.
We talk about books and opera (well, I mostly listen to the opera part) and finally ballet, which I’ve adored since I first saw The Nutcracker as a kid.
Turns out he’s on the board of a Pacific Arts Ballet Company. At the end of the evening he asks me to be his date for the opening night of Swan Lake a week from now.
He’s so close to perfect I can hardly stand it. He’s witty, urbane, cultured. Rich. I have no desire to take him home and rip his clothes off, but he’s the perfect Christmas date. Things are looking up.