Speed Dating

Like a fool, I decided to go to a speed dating party with my buddy Marcus. I was to meet him there at 7:30 to “check out the chicks before things got rolling,” he'd said. My cell phone rang as I entered Pickering's Bar, where the event was being held. It was Marcus. He had to work late and couldn't make it. I accused him of never intending to come.

“Are you kidding?” he said. “Have you ever known me to miss a party full of hot, lonely babes?”

I hadn't. Of course, I'd never seen him go home with any of those hot, lonely babes either.

I closed my phone and headed to the bar to buy my first dose of courage for the evening. It'd been three years since I'd gone looking for a date. The last time, I'd met Frannie. We dated until six months ago when she accepted a job promotion and moved to San Francisco. The night she called to tell me she was leaving I was sitting in front of the television admiring the diamond ring I'd picked up that afternoon.

Tonight's event was being held in a small meeting room. I entered the area and paused to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. Brown carpet, beige walls and sappy music flowing from four ceiling speakers set the mood. A bartender, dressed in a white shirt and black bow tie, stood behind a small bar situated diagonally across one corner flirting with three women waiting for their drinks. A waiter glared at the scene as the women paid for their drinks and put his tips in the bartender's jar.

A blond woman wearing a pink pants suit and pale blue blouse rang a gold-colored bell to get our attention and explained the rules. There were ten women and ten men. The gentlemen were to move from table to table. Each conversation was limited to eight minutes, signified by the ringing of the bell. Just in case we had forgotten what the bell sounded like, the blond rang it again. I didn't know which was more annoying, the tinny emanation from the bell, or the beauty contestant smile pasted on the blonde's face.

I didn't hear the rest of her spiel. I was busy outlining my plan to kill Marcus. Alternatively, I thought about slitting my wrists for listening to him in the first place.

“It'll be fun, and it only costs twenty bucks,” he'd said. “And the girls will all be looking for a good time after.”

Yea, right.

Actually, bachelorette number one was looking for a good time. Things went well until she blurted out that she was married and looking for a companion while her husband was on a business trip to Chicago. We chatted about her two kids, her husband, his job as a tile salesman, and anything else I could think of to fill the time. She mentioned she wasn't wearing panties. When the bell rang, I smiled, shook her hand, and moved on.

My dad used to sing “What Kind of Fool Am I?” whenever I'd ask for money, or to borrow the car. As I approached date number two, his voice echoed inside my head.

She sat primly in her chair, wearing black shoes, black slacks, black jacket, white socks, and a white, long-sleeved, ruffled shirt buttoned to her neck. Her hair was pulled back into a bun. Her almond skin was marked by acne, and her heavily mascaraed, Oriental eyes made her look like a zombie in a bad monster movie. She pushed her black glasses up on her nose, and smiled without showing her teeth as I approached.

“Hi, I'm Jack,” I said reaching my hand out. Her handshake was moist and limp. She wasn't wearing any rings, and I didn't see any tan lines where one might have been.

“Eileen,” she said. Actually, it sounded like Irene, but her name tag reassured me it was Eileen. “Nice to meet you, Jack.” Her high-pitched voice cracked when she said my name.

Eileen turned out to be shy and more uncomfortable than I was. I asked questions, and she answered without elaboration. I felt like a burned-out school teacher trying to get his class to answer a question about the previous night's homework. I glanced at the clock over the table at the far end of the room and noticed we still had three minutes to go.

“I'm sorry, Eileen, but I really have to go to the bathroom.” I excused myself and headed out of the room. By the time I returned, everyone had changed places. I grabbed a fresh Miller Light from the bar and headed to the table in the back where number three waited.

Her name was Joyce. My knees went limp when she shook my hand. It turned out she was a competitive bodybuilder and had been for ten years. She told me that beer was poisoning my body. I put the glass on the table without as much as a sud touching the entrance to my sacred temple.

“I hope you don't have any tattoos,” she said.

I assured her I didn't, thankful that she didn't suggest doing a strip search to make sure.

Her husband left her recently for an aerobics instructor. Beer spilled on the table when she emphasized the word bitch with a fist to the top of the table. I rubbed a phantom itch on my forehead as everyone in the room looked to see what had happened. I only nodded and uttered an occasional uh-huh for the rest of our "date." When the bell rang, Joyce stood to her full six foot five height and embraced me, holding my head to her small breasts. I was fine with it until she started moving my head from side to side across her muscled chest. She thanked me for the great conversation and said she hoped to see me later.

“Uh-huh,” I said as I moved on.

The next six dates went no better. I thought number seven might have potential. We had an interesting conversation and found we had many of the same likes and dislikes. If only she hadn't farted the whole time. She said she shouldn't drink beer and eat pickled eggs, but she couldn't help herself.

I wearily plodded to number ten anxious for the evening to be over. She looked good from the back. A green, tailored suit adorned a slender body. She had runner's calves and red hair that fell in curls past her shoulders. I couldn't wait to see her face.

“Hi, my name is ... Frannie?” All the feelings I'd felt when she left came back. “I thought you were in San Francisco.”

The tips of her perfect white teeth peeked out from behind pert lips as her green eyes melted me into the chair across from her.

“Hi, Jack. I didn't expect to see you here.” Her smile morphed into the cutest pout ever known to man. Well, to this man. She placed her hands on the table and steepled her fingers.

“Ditto.” I waited to start breathing again before I went on. “What happened?”

She didn't respond. I wanted to hold her and tell her I loved her, but I didn't want to scare her away. So I sat with my elbows on the table, my chin resting on my knuckles, and waited for her to speak.

“I didn't exactly get a transfer.”

I could tell this was difficult for her. I reached for her hands and was glad when she didn't pull them away.

She looked at me for the first time since I'd sat down. “I did go to San Francisco for four months on a temporary assignment. But I'm back now.”

“I don't understand. You told me you had to move to San Francisco, and you wanted a fresh start.”

“I didn't lie about the job. I just didn't tell you it was temporary.” She paused as if to read my eyes. “I was afraid you were going to ask me to marry you. I could tell by the way you'd been acting. Why do you think I never agreed to move in with you? I didn't think I was ready for us to be ... permanent.”

I started to tell her about the ring, but decided against it.

“I guess I'm marriage phobic.” She glanced at our hands. “I watch my two sisters with their families, and it makes me sad. They have everything and nothing. Margie adores her two kids, but they take so much of her time. And Bill and Jen are always fighting.”

“I never realized there was a problem.” I moved my chair closer to her. The bouncer started toward our table, but Frannie waved him back with a smile and a nod. “I should have paid closer attention.”

“You did better than I expected from a hotshot investment banker,” she said with a smile.

“It wasn't good enough.” I loved her smile. I loved her eyes. I loved everything about her. I hadn't realized how much until she left. “Can we start over, Frannie? Not go back to where we left off. Start from the beginning.”

“I'd like that,” Frannie said as the final bell rang.

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