‘The date’…
Staring at the man sharing a table with me I couldn’t argue the logic that there was someone for everyone.
I mean, if his mother could find it in her to love him …
“How much have you had to drink?” he asks, eyeballing my cocktail. Truly, it’s a fair question. Considering I’d started drinking out in the lot prior to, odds were good he could smell it. So I went with honesty. Most days, I was honest to a fault, which is probably why I’m single and haven’t been laid in twenty-two months. Yes, I said twenty-two.
“Prior to our date? Or today, total?”
At a loss, he continues to blink at me wondering if I’m going to laugh and say, “relax, I’m kidding.”
When he realized I was serious he leans in and says, “Your profile said you drank socially.”
“I’m very social, obviously,” I explain waving at my adorable self. “So I drink, a lot.”
“What’s a lot?” he asks reaching for his water. Water. Who the fuck drinks water on a first date? Or, ever?
Water is for dirty dishes, making coffee, or washing evidence from a crime scene. Not consumption.
“I guess a lot depends on the person,” I shrug. “But I find life’s easier with some liquid courage. Well, that and I’m a functioning alcoholic with a gambling problem. I’m really more of a doer than a thinker, Randy.”
Unsure how to respond he says, “Tell me more about you. What are your long-term goals?”
This guy was totally going about this all wrong. I wasn’t here for a job interview. Shit, at this point I was willing to forego the free meal too.
The only reason I’m still seated is because there happens to be a man at the bar, with his back to me that is listening to my every word. I know this because he’s subtly leaned in to eavesdrop, carefully rotated his stool a bit and cannot stop bouncing his big shoulders in laughter.
At least this guy thinks I’m funny…
And he wore a suit.
A lost art, really.
“What was the question?” I mumble tapping my temple. “Right, long-term goals. Uh, the same as anyone else, I suppose. To be a stay-at-home mom, minus the kids.”
“That was a joke, right?” he asks screwing up his face which was not doing him any favors, believe me.
The man at the bar thought so. I mean, if his mumble of ‘fucking funny’ was any indication. I was really starting to like that guy.
“Your profile mentioned you’re an accountant,” I toss out. “That’s almost interesting.”
“I love numbers,” he smiles proudly and I didn’t feel like pointing out he had food in his teeth. Which was super gross since we hadn’t ordered. “Yours tells me you’re a private investigator.” This he said with a giggle. A fucking giggle. Being laughed was a sore spot for me which meant someone was going home with a limp tonight.
“That’s funny to you, Randy?”
“I mean,” he motions to me from head to toe. “Yeah.” He was that ignorant. “Come on, look at you.”
“It’s funny I hold two degrees? Became a detective, a damn good one, before going into business for myself. Which since I have, I feel I should inform you is nearly the most successful firm in the city. And you cannot even count the competition because he can barely get out of his office chair let alone chase down a lead. He blows all his cash on cheesy commercials which fine, are catchy, but doesn’t pay the bills. So help me out here, pal, exactly which part of what I just said amuses you?”
“Your temper and ego may be why you’re single, Marcy.”
Leaning over the table I correct, “My name is Mercy. With an E for exceptionally tolerant. It’s not Marcy, or Macy or fucking Marge. It’s Mercy. And maybe my ego is too much for you Randy but, for a guy who loves numbers your debt to income ratio screams co-dependent. Your obsession with your mother and her cats deserves its own TV show. Oh, and let’s touch on your porn addiction. Seriously, I’ve got the time and the questions. Hang on, I want to take notes…”
“Wait,” he begs when he realizes he’s just bit off more than he could chew.
“Honey, I barely scratched the surface, okay? But, I can guarantee those are just a few of the reasons you’re about to be single again.”
Still not catching on, he sputters, “You-you looked into me?”
“A girl can’t be too careful when she swipes right,” I admit. “Though, for a guy who makes eighty-two grand a year, you spend your money on weird shit. Like five-hundred a month on live porn. I don’t get why you would willingly pay for porn at all. I mean, a stable of hookers is more cost effective and they at least let you stick it in.”
“Did you only come here to make fun of me?” he seethes in embarrassment.
“Actually no,” I sigh. “I was just bored.”
“You were bored,” he sneers gripping his glass of water. And since it wasn’t holy water it wasn’t going to save him.
“It needs to be said, kinda getting bored here again, Randy.”
“You’re a bitch!” he whisper yells which is so passive aggressive.
“Getting paid for it too,” I wink. “Don’t forget that. Oh, and your girlfriend just texted me.”
“What –” he cries out.
“Yeah,” I say slowly, taking a cue from Office Space. “She might have watched all this play out live. So, if you could stop by on the way to your mother’s and get your shit from her curb, that would be grrrrreat.”
Pushing out of his chair quickly, he bolts from the table and because I’m a nice person I yell out, “It’s okay, Randy! Furry porn is everyone’s favorite!”
While the customers close by cheered me on, I graciously stood and took a bow. As I was taking my seat, I look up and see the man at the bar had nearly fallen off his stool. And since I had been curious about him and his shoulders, I ask, “Do you think he’ll call me for a repeat?”
Turning to face me, I gulped at the man wearing a crisp white tailored dress shirt and gorgeous grey suit coat wondering how he squeezed those massive shoulders in. Then, I swear this weird time warp thing happened where we just stared at each other. I didn’t know him, he didn’t know me, yet everything in me said you’ve met your match.
And I was too busy wondering what in the fuck I was supposed to do to about that when he draped his coat over the vacant chair. When he sat down placing his elbows on the table I was transfixed by his large forearms.
“I don’t know, how severe is this gambling problem?” his voice…ugh, I was a fool for baritones that dressed well.
“Have you ever been to Greektown Casino?” I manage to ask despite my tongue being suddenly severely swollen.
“Yes.”
“Have you ever played the Ellen slot?”
“Actually,” he smiles beautifully. It was beautiful because it was crooked. “I have.”
“Then yes,” I admit unapologetically. “I have a serious gambling problem. And you can’t play Ellen sober. I’ve tried. It’s an impossibility. But she’s big on kindness and I feel like giving her all my money is essentially being a good person by extension.”
“I see. So, do you lead off all your dates like that or just Randy’s?”
“It was a set up,” I felt the need to share. “My friend Ember has a friend who’s been dating that idiot for two years. Word is he’s been unable to get it up lately. Probably all of the porn. Anyway, she felt something was off and asked me to look into it.”
“You can look at him and see something is off,” he remarks.
“True,” I agree. “But from what I hear, love is blind. Anyway, I love Ember and she likes this chick so I agreed. Randy was an easy nut to crack.”
“I, for one, enjoyed your date,” he grins leaning closer to me and the liquor on his breath was intoxicating.
Jesus, I wanted to get drunk off his lips.
“That makes one of us,” I reply easing back out of self-preservation. “I’ll be thinking about Randy humping stuffed animals for weeks. Moving on, do you always eavesdrop?”
“I couldn’t have tuned you out even if I wanted to. You have a beautiful voice.”
“Thanks,” I say while digging in my bag for cash. Tossing some on the table I extend my hand offering my best, “It’s been real but I have to –” and bailing mid-sentence.
I couldn’t afford to invest in a well-dressed man who found me entertaining and smelled like commitment.
Even though a big part of me wanted to stay, another part knew it was a matter of time before I saw him again.
And I’d need that time to get my shit together.
Which included fixing my past, and this wedgie, like yesterday.