CHAPTER TWO
I walked into Perch ten hours ago, and it’s been a mile a minute ever since. This place is usually a busy date-night hub, and tonight is no exception. I’ve seen high-schoolers way too dressed up for our place, probably on their first just-got-my-driver’s-license “grown-up” date; married couples who’ve got Mom and Dad watching the kids and are looking forward to their first uninterrupted sex since, well, last Valentine’s Day; older folks enjoying the live jazz trio’s mix of pop standards and romantic showtunes. And speaking of trios, there’s even one party of three near the back, two women and a man. The guy looks happy enough to bust out of his skin, anticipating his Valentine’s Day menage a trois.
I don’t mean to, but I keep catching myself staring at these happy diners. It’s been a good while since I shared that crazy-in-love glow. Hell, I can’t even take my eyes off the threesome table. I’ve never been with two people at once. I can’t say for sure I’d try it, but I can’t say I wouldn’t, either, with the right guy and girl. Or even better, the right two guys. Feeling loved is wonderful, but so is feeling like your partner can’t control his passion for you, and to be with two men, both of them making me feel like that at the same time …. It’d be incredible.
“Now that, chica, is how you earn yourself twenty percent,” comes a singsong female voice that rouses me from my fantasy. Like a reflex, I cross my arms, covering the nipples I’m sure are now poking the thin cotton of my shirt.
It’s Lili, the server working the section next to mine, toting the receipts from a table that just settled up. She’s got a natural sashay that’s runway-ready, and if my dad thinks the way I dress for work is too “tomboy,” he should see Lili, whose style is the complete opposite. She looks about ready to lose an extra button on her shirt every time she breathes, and her bootleg-cut black slacks might as well be spray-painted onto her thighs and rear end. Of course, unlike me, she’s got the body to pull it off.
“Table 17?” I murmur, casting a discreet glance towards the back.
“I swear,” Lili says, “if I’d had to force a laugh at one more of that guy’s jokes, my funny bone was going to fall off.”
I look over at table 17, where there’s a couple not much older than me getting ready to leave. The man, a generically handsome power-lifter type, seems to be concentrating way too hard on fixing his tie. Anything to avoid the venom radiating from his date, who’s alternating between rifling through her purse and staring daggers at Lili.
“Geez, she looks pissed. What did you say to him?”
“You don’t have to say anything. With these tetas, a Little Miss A-Cups like that is gonna hate you on sight. Still, funny or not, catch me on the right day, I’d take that boy for a ride.” She can’t help herself, shooting Chisel-Jaw a little fluttery-fingers wave as the couple passes the bar, earning another scowl from his date. “I mean, look at those shoulders. Isn’t he steamy?”
Lili’s shamelessness finally forces a smile from me. “I’m sure Oscar would love you talking like that.”
“Oh, come on. Papi’s got nothing to worry about from some gabacho like that. He knows it’s all about getting that paper, anyway.” Lili shoots me an appraising up-and-down look. “You could be pulling some extra green yourself, if you just worked it a little harder.”
I roll my eyes. “Not this again, Lili. Please.”
“I’m serious! You got it going on more than you think. No reason you couldn’t put it out there a little, get it earning for you.”
I shake my head, closing the till drawer I was organizing when she walked up. “Lili, I am not having this conversation again. We’ve talked about it before.”
I head from behind the bar, but my co-worker hustles after me, huffing and puffing a bit to keep up. “Let me ask you this, then. What about Brian?”
I turn on my heels to glare at her. “What about Brian?”
“He came in here every other day for three months. Every single time, he sat in your section. I know the bouillabaisse here’s good, but it’s not that good. I saw how you’d light up when he came through. Heard you laugh at his jokes. And I mean real laughing, not Lili I-want-a-tip fake laughing. But then he asks you out, and you turn him down. What was that all about?” She stares at me curiously.
I hesitate for a moment because there really isn’t a great answer, not even a good one. So I mutter with my head down.
“Well, you know, I can’t really take the time. I mean, my dad, and -”
“What does he say?”
“What?”
“Your dad. What does he say about you skipping out on dates and turning down men because of him?”
A sigh escapes my lips. I’ve worked with Lili for almost two years now. If there’s one thing she knows about me, it’s that I’m a terrible liar.
“He says I need to get out and meet people,” comes my mumble.
“You see?” Lili puts a firm but comforting hand on my shoulder. “I don’t mean to be rough, but girl, if your daddy, who might be on his deathbed, is telling you you gotta get laid, you have to listen.”
I sigh again, chewing over Lili’s words. I know she means well, even if she has a mouth like a frat boy. It’s just that the idea of bringing a new guy into my life is tough to think about, or even talk about. My dad’s been ill for so long. I’m all he has. Truth be told, he’s all I have, too.
“My dad never said I should get…he just said I should meet people.”
“Well, yeah. Your father’s not going to say, ‘Sweetie, you need to go out and find a dick to work on.’” Again, Lili never holds back with the trucker talk. To make things even more ridiculous, she drops into a rumbly approximation of a man’s voice when she says this. It doesn’t sound anything like my dad, but it pulls another giggle out of me, even as my cheeks turn red.
“Seriously, though,” Lili states authoritatively. “Real talk. You’re a hell of a catch for any guy. But this is L.A. If you don’t put it out there, there’s literally a million other girls who will. And your dad…Sarah, he’s not going to be around forever. Your mom’s off running around God knows where, and you’re an only child. When Ralph’s gone, what happens to you?”
“Ex-cuse me?”
The grating voice turns Lili’s attention to a table of ladies’-night-out secretaries. The loudest one is waving an empty wine glass over her aggressively overstyled hair. “You’re not the only one having some girl time here, mamacita. I want another merlot, and a bottle for the table,” the middle-aged woman demands.
“Coming right up, ma’am,” Lili mumbles. She turns back to me, making a face and heaving a deep sigh. “Now, where are you heading when you leave here?”
I look down at the floor. “I told my dad I’d be home right after work.”
Lili answers with a sigh of her own. “Well, it’s Valentine’s Day. Ain’t no point in jumping in the deep end your first day back on the market. But if I ask you that question tomorrow, and you give me the same answer, you and me are gonna have words. Now you’ll excuse me, I got some merlot I gotta spit in,” she says airily, like it’s no big deal.
I watch Lili walk away. Even when she’s stomping off on a rage-fueled revenge errand, her hips still that come-hither swing. And I can’t deny that she has a point. It’s Valentine’s Day, and for the second year in a row, I have no plans. Nothing but work, staring at other couples in love, and brooding about my fate.
I’m a good daughter, and my father’s been good to me. We have each other, holding tight in this wild and crazy world. But one day Ralph will leave me, as morbid as it sounds. And what happens then? Will I turn into a crazy cat lady, spending my nights eating Haagen-Dazs in front of the TV with fifteen felines purring along? It’s scary to think about. But the way things are right now, it’s hard to see it turning out any other way.
* * * * *
I pull my iPhone from the pocket of my trousers as soon as I enter the back room. It’s nothing more than a small broom closet, really, windowless and airless, with a mop and bucket in the corner. But at least it’s private. Derek, the manager, usually won’t let us check our phones while we’re on duty. In fact, we weren’t even allowed to keep our phones on the floor with us, until I threatened him with HR to make him let me hang on to mine. Being distracted with texts and Twitter on the job is one thing. But a seriously ill parent is something else entirely.
I glance at the screen, and my chest seizes up. There’s four missed texts and one phone call, the latter from the landline at home. I always keep the ringer off, my one concession to Derek, but I must have put the volume down too far and turned off vibrate, too! Oh my God. What happened? Is Dad okay?
Trying not to panic, I go to voicemail first: “Hey, Sarahbelle, it’s me. Listen, give me a call when you get this. Got something to give you a heads-up on. Talk to you soon. Love you.” Then, like every man of his generation, he ends with a totally unnecessary, “This is your dad.”
I press the Call Back button, and as the phone rings, I flip through the four texts. They’re all from a name I don’t recognize, KCCash, and seem to be for another girl. Did this guy get me confused with someone else?
Hey, this is Kyle. Your dad gave me this number. So I was able to swing two at Petty Cash. Should have been impossible, but the owners owe me big time. 10 o’clock. Let me know you got this?
Leaving work now. Haven’t heard from you. We on for Petty Cash? Thx, Kyle
I know “ghosting” people is the thing now, but your dad said you’d be up for this. Haven’t heard back from you yet?
Are we still on? Sorry to bug you like this, but would like a reply. It’s Valentine’s Day. Have a heart. Kyle.
What is going on here? And who on earth is Kyle?
Finally, Dad’s hoarse voice answers on the other side. “Hello?”
“Dad, it’s me.”
“Oh, hey, sweetie. You got my -”
“Dad, what’s going on? I’m getting these texts from a guy named Kyle. He says you gave him the number. Do you know him?”
Ralph clears his throat loudly before speaking.
“Sweetie, remember what we talked about? You know, before you left for work?” Dad sighs. “Well, after you left, I wrote you an ad.”
“An ad? What are you talking about?” comes my puzzled voice.
“I just figured, I know all about what you like and everything. And you can change the pictures I put on there if you don’t like them. I mean, you probably like them. I got them from your Facebook.”
“Dad, what are you talking about?” My voice is slow, even as the dread begins building in my chest. It’s like watching a collision in slow motion. You’re expecting the worst, cringing, barely able to open your eyes, but there’s nothing that can stop the disaster.
And then...bam!
“I got on that OkEros site, started a profile for you. And you’ve got a lot of replies, just like I said you would.”
For a minute, I can’t say anything, mainly because I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Finally, my voice comes out, a low, shaky muttering. “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe you did this. Ohmygod, ohmygod...”
“Don’t worry,” Ralph says, his voice soothing. “It’s not like I told them I was you, sweetheart. I was very honest and upfront.”
“Oh, so you told this Kyle guy you were my dad while you were messaging him? That’s even weirder than you putting the ad up!”
Dad laughs a little at this, but I can tell from the edge he’s getting in his voice. He’s getting a little defensive here. “Look, I only wrote back to the four guys that really seem like they have something going for them.”
“You wrote to four guys?”
“Yeah. But Kyle’s the only one who said he could see you tonight, and I liked him best, anyway.”
I set the phone down on the counter and grip my forehead, doing my best to keep the room from spinning. Huge dark waves crash over my head.
Through the phone, I hear Dad say, “You should be a little open-minded here, Sarahbelle. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I pick the phone back up. “The worst that could happen is that this Kyle turns out to be a raving lunatic who drags me into a ditch and leaves me for dead. Did you think of that? How could you do this?”
Dad’s reply easy-breezy casual, not at all bothered. “Sweetheart, look at the big picture here. Is someone really going to kidnap you after chatting with your dad online? You should at least give this guy a chance. I mean, it is Valentine’s Day.”
I sigh heavily. “It being Valentine’s Day just makes things worse. What kind of guy spends Valentine’s Day hanging out on dating sites, chatting with sixty-year-old men?” I shake my head. “I just...I have no idea what you were thinking.”
For about ten seconds, the only sound is a vibrating silence. When Ralph speaks again, his voice has a soft but serious cadence. I know it well. I call it his I’m-Gonna-Level-With-You voice.
“What I was thinking is I’m tired of you spending every night watching Netflix and eating bagged salad after making full meals for me. I was thinking how much livelier, how much more alive you seemed when Chase was in the picture. I want my little girl to enjoy the world again. I know I’m dying in slo-mo here. I just don’t want to have to watch you doing the same thing.”
For all the suffering and pain he’s gone through, this is the first time I’ve ever heard Dad say anything about death. The truth of it leaves me too stunned to speak. But he goes on.
“Sarah, listen. I want what’s best for you, and being my full-time nurse is not what’s best for you. I thought this might be a way to help you out, but I never meant to piss you off. I’m sorry. I’ll write those guys back and tell them I was mistaken -”
My heart leaps heavily. He cares. That’s all this was about. My dad cares about me. He wants to see me grow and thrive, and this was all with the best intentions.
“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll look at Kyle’s profile, see what his story is. If he doesn’t look like a lunatic, well, then we’ll see.”
“Sarahbelle. You know I know better than that, right?”
I smile. “Yeah, Dad. You do. So...so what’s the username you made for me on that site?”
He gives me the username and password for the profile he made for me, and with that, we hang up. I look at the messages from Kyle again, pressing me for confirmation of a date I didn’t ask or plan for. Okay. Going along with this crazy blind date my dad arranged for me is one thing, but saying yes without knowing anything about the guy? That’s not going to happen.
I log onto the OkEros page Dad made for me (as “Sarahbelle,” of course) and examine the profile for Kyle, or “KCCash,” as he calls himself. His subheading is a little on the cheesy side, but undeniably intriguing: “I’ve made my billions but I’m still looking for ‘The One.’”
The rest of Kyle’s profile makes one thing very clear: My father doesn’t seem to have any idea what I look for in a man. I’ve always been a homebody type. My idea of a big night out is a movie and maybe grabbing some burgers on the way home. But almost all of Kyle’s photos are selfies from various high-end tourist destinations around the world, places like Versailles and St. Petersburg. And yes, that includes the seemingly mandatory dating-profile picture from Macchu Picchu, a fuzzy alpaca in the background.
From these pictures, it’s obvious Kyle takes good care of himself. His shoulders are broad, his arms tautly muscular. His legs are long, and the guy has shoulders as broad as a tank. Add to that coal-black hair and penetrating blue eyes, and you’ve got an all-around James Bond look … with a cocky smile to boot.
Okay, Dad, I think, you got me. This man is GORGEOUS. But that really gets me thinking. Whenever I see guys like this, on the boardwalk at Venice Beach or strolling around the Grove, the women with them always look like models. Then I look at the pictures Dad posted on my profile, and mentally cringe. Oh god, there’s the one of me in a bridesmaid’s dress at my friend Phoebe’s wedding, and you know what bridesmaid’s dresses make you look like. In other words, I basically resemble a giant creampuff, pretty much the opposite of a stick-thin model.
So who is this Kyle guy? And after seeing my pictures, why would he want to date me? I’m just not in his league physically, unless he likes girls who have curves that go on for days.
But something about me has got this guy interested. What could it be? Maybe his profile will have some more clues.
He lists his career as “Entrepreneur,” which my past dating-site experience tells me is usually a polite way of saying “marginally employed. But his profile actually gets into some detail. Evidently, Kyle got started on his career path back in high school, when he won a state science fair by designing and building an EMT-paging bracelet that self-charges by harnessing your body’s naturally stored static electricity. Okay, that is pretty impressive. From that little seed grew Channing Medical Innovations, the West Coast’s top creator and supplier of “techno-solutions for health, wellness, and better living from womb to tomb.”
So forgetting the possibly unwise use of the word “tomb” in a dating profile (and the even more potentially off-putting “womb”), there’s no denying Kyle’s work really is making people’s lives better, and maybe even the whole world. So why does it feel like this whole bio is just ad copy from his company’s website that’s been copied and pasted here, especially the part where he boasts about how much their profits have grown since the company started? It was probably only OkEros policy that kept him from posting his bank balance and leaving it at that.
This all feels very Type A alpha male to me, and again, not at all like what I usually look for in a guy. Sure, Chase was a partner at his law firm, but it was his father’s law firm so that doesn’t count. And my previous boyfriend was majoring in social work, hardly a recipe for landing yourself on the Fortune 500. And now, along comes this billionaire. Not my type at all.
But then, I can’t help but really think about Ralph, the way he was before the cancer changed everything. He was in charge at the steel mill way back when, and he was proud of their work. He took pride in what he clearly (and accurately) thought of as the best-kept house and most well-maintained lawn on our block. Leadership. Creativity. Satisfaction in a job well-done. That’s what my dad saw when he read Kyle’s profile: he saw himself.
And then, I can’t help myself. I look through Kyle’s photos again. The muscular shoulders. The flat, firm-looking stomach. The chest muscles that bulge underneath his T-shirts. And those piercing, electric blue eyes, that almost feel like they’re undressing me, even through my iPhone.
My dad would never come out and say it, of course, but maybe Lili is right. Maybe deep down inside, he knows I have needs a father never really discusses with his daughter. And maybe by writing to Kyle, and these other guys on OkEros, he was trying to meet those needs, too.
Weirdly gross, but still compelling.
I take a deep breath, and swipe my iPhone so that Kyle’s penetrating eyes fill the screen.
What’s the harm in going out on one date? I put on a dress, slap on a little makeup, smile, and be merry. After all, it’s Valentine’s Day, and maybe, just maybe, Cupid’s bow will strike just the right place.
I send a quick text:
Hey, Kyle, it’s Sarah. Sorry, crazy busy at work. Just got your text, and my dad told me the story. Sounds fine. I’ll meet you at Petty Cash at 10.
Then, after a minute, I think it over and send a quick follow-up:
By the way, thanks for not thinking my dad is crazy. Or me.
Okay then, “KCCash.” Let’s see if OkEros and Ralph Endicott know what they’re doing.