Chapter 1: Coffee Shop

Cole Magon

On a dreary day, gray clouds hovered over our little part of town in Woodland Hills, California. There might have been a sprinkle or two of rain, but the ground was dry. So were the brittle, dark orange colored leaves hanging on the trees by a wish and a prayer.

I needed to move from my palace of a place. It stood where all the other ex-professional sport players, retired actors or the semi-rich and famous went to live when their careers were over. Most days, I felt like I knew what it would be like to live in an old folk’s home. All the has-beens, including myself, were on the west side of town. In our mansions, that were mostly paid for, if we were smart, and I was. Our vintage cars if we were into that sort of antiques and our manicured lawns that were mandated by the Woodland Village Home Owners Association (HOA).

Anytime, I left the premises of the gated community, Val, our housing manager, knew to look out for my home. Well, every resident had an attendant who they trusted and Val was mine. Not because he was a diehard fan of the Colorado Stingrays, the team I played and retired from, but he was also a working father and knew my stats better than I did. My mother used to be my biggest fan and could rattle off any game, tackle and even the opponent. That was before the stroke and then her untimely death almost a decade ago.

Now, it was Val.

“Heading out?” Val tipped his head toward me as my car approached the small brick house that was created for the security team. The black steel gate lifted allowing residents or guest to come and go.

“Yeah, getting the hell out of here.” I waved. “See you later.”

“Will do, Mr. Magon.” The black gate tilted upward on an angle until it was clear enough for me to drive my 1959 BMW 507 Roadster underneath and to my destination.

I only planned to get a chai tea since I had yoga later with Sue Mae, the National Yoga Instructor, from China. She could always be seen running around the grounds in her tight spandex pants with matching tank top. She was another fellow football fan. We’d been good buddies for a long time since we lived there for over ten years. The small café, Beans & Things, was near a college town and it tended to always have a bunch of young, bright-eyed students around.

Today, just my luck, the university was on their fall break, so there were not a lot of people in the quaint coffee house. Entering into the cafe, I moved toward the counter, when I heard my name.

“Cole?” a man called. “Cole Magon?”

I swiveled around in the direction of the voice. I squinted at the image of a waving man who said again, “Cole?”

He stood up from his wooden chair, sending it back and causing it to screech against the floor.

The noise brought attention to him, which brought attention to me and I never liked that. I quickly scanned the room again to insure no one knew who I was or had a camera phone out or a crazy stalker fan or something. The worst thing was to make the news after being in retirement for some bullshit. Stalker fans, crazy family, divorce, a new job or anything that wasn’t favorable. Even the good things could be misconstrued to be a desperate attempt to get in the public eye or get news traveling about yourself. Nobody needed that shit.

The man reached me, which allowed me to get a better look.

“Man, what the hell?” I lifted my right hand to clasp his. “Rog, where have you been?”

Roger Weigman was one of the lawyers at the firm I employed when I played professional football. The man had grown to be a fierce ally as I made my way to the Hall of Fame, simply because he looked out for me. One of the lawyers was trying to broker a deal with my agent but Roger had advised me against it and showed me the fine print. If he was trying to buy my support, he got it that day. After I left the game, twelve years ago, we’d seen each other on occasion but it had been years.

“I knew that was you.” Rog laughed and pulled me into him as we embraced with our half man-hug. “You always have that walk, like you’re still the star quarterback, confidently walking on the field.”

Pulling back, squinting at the shorter man again, I said, “What? I am still the star quarterback.”

We burst into laughter as the man with the balding top shook his head. He still looked like he was in business with a suit and white crisp shirt. Only this time, his sleeves were rolled a quarter-length of the way up his arm. His circle-framed glasses sat on the middle of his pudgy nose and he was slightly pink.

“You live around here, I assume.” Roger stepped back to look at the length of me.

He must have noticed the casual jeans, the heather gray t-shirt and running shoes that had seen better days. My untamed, red facial hair no doubt matched the unkempt mess of short locks at the top of my head.

 I looked like I just rolled out of bed. Which, I did. As of late, I didn’t really care how I looked. My father had a saying, I’d adopted, ‘I’m a grown ass man’. I had very few cares in my world which was always a good thing.

“Yeah, I’m around the way. Not too far from here.” I confirmed. “What are you doing over on this side? Shouldn’t you be in L.A.?”

The door chimed to the left of me, signaling someone had entered the shop. I had never made it to the counter, so I moved out of the way with a nod.

The woman eyed me with an inviting smile as she walked past, leaving a mango scent in her wake. She was cute enough but there was something not right about her. Nothing sinister but just nothing for me.

“Here on business.” Roger interrupted my thought of the woman. “I’ve been running a successful one for about three years now. The base is here.”

“Cool,” I said as my mind reeled about what was specifically wrong with the woman that just passed.

There was nothing erroneous about her; she was at least five feet and nine inches. Had a runner’s body with shapely legs, long bottle blond hair, narrow nose and puckered lips. The boobs were probably fake as they sat up asking for too much attention and she had to be around her late twenties, maybe early thirties.

Maybe that was the issue, her age. I wanted a grown ass woman. Not one wet behind the ears. Not one for the cat and mouse games. Definitely not one that needed fake boobs because they felt it would make any man happy. My fingers were twisting nipples whether they were facing me or facing down. My teeth would bite them, my hands would squeeze them and my lips would suck on them too.

Mentally, I sighed because it seemed I was destined to live out my years with having accomplished everything but true love. From a child, I excelled at school and football. So much so that I was drafted to the National Football League my freshman year in college. My mom and pop were against me leaving college but my arm was so on point, at that time in my life, I was ranking in the top ten for NCAA. Once the New Jersey Reapers drafted me, I stayed there for a few years and then Colorado Stingrays brought me on and that is where I stayed for the rest of my career.

During that time, I was engaged twice. I had one long-term girlfriend, I was scared to ask to marry me. I thought it would end like my last two. One cheated on me by kissing another teammate of mine at an after party in New Jersey. After the biggest fight the team had seen, according to the coach at the time, he benched me and I took my starter position and went elsewhere. My contract was up anyway. The second proposal ended because apparently, Nadia was more concerned about her engagement ring and the wedding day than she was about me, as a person, human, or even her future husband. The long-term girlfriend wanted to get married, just my luck, and I wouldn’t even act like I wanted to pop the question. I told her that before we started but I guess she had a change of heart.

“Hey, you uh, single?” Roger asked, pulling me from my thoughts again.

“Yeah, why?” I asked.

“You’re shitting me!” His eyes grew wide as his voice went up an octave. “Okay, do you have a minute? I need to tell you about what I’m doing. Shit, you didn’t even get your drink yet. Hey, I’m right over here.” He waved me toward the counter. “Go handle that and if you have a minute, meet me over there.”

Roger pointed to the vacant space with a laptop and white papers surrounding the area.

“Yeah, okay. Give me a few minutes.” I nodded and made my way to the counter. The woman that had passed me earlier had moved down the line, waiting for her order but her eyes were on me. Taking a second look at her, I mentally shook my head. She wasn’t what I was looking for. I really hadn’t defined what I was looking for but I knew it’d be a waste to engage if it wasn’t going anywhere.

That was another thing I had no time for. Pointless encounters and one-night stands. In my younger heyday, sure. Nowadays, that was not me. I smiled at her and shook my head. One shoulder lifted as she nodded and turned her attention back to her incoming drink.

“Can I take your order?” The young man asked, not lifting his gaze from the screen in front of him.

“Can I get a medium chai tea and a lightly toasted cinnamon bun?” I reached in my back pocket to retrieve my light-weight wallet.

He gave me my total, in which I gave him cash and deposited the change in the tip jar. The woman was gone by the time I reached the receiving bar, which was fine by me. Persistent women, as of late, were also a major turn off. I was an athlete and a professional one at that. I understood what it meant to not take no for an answer. However, sometimes, ‘no I’m not interested’ or ‘I won’t marry you’ should be enough.

Once I had my tea in one hand, the bun in the other, I met up with Roger in his designated area.

“So, before we get into this, I must ask. Are you even interested in meeting someone?” he asked me.

“Roger,” I sighed and held up my hand. “We’ve known each other a while. So, if your propositioning me or something, then no. I’m not interested.”

The man, to my dismay, propped his glasses up further on his nose and with his eyes wide and mouth in an ‘O’ shape, asked, “You’re not even remotely interested in me?”

My head jerked back as I exclaimed, “Hell no!”

His face cracked and then all of his short teeth and pink gums were visible with a laugh.

“Man, I’m just fucking with you. That’s funny as hell. I don’t swing that way. But, I’m going to pretend to be hurt that you don’t even find me attractive.” He tilted his head down to view his laptop. “This, is what I wanted to show you.”

He swiveled the laptop around and I moved forward to see the smaller print on the screen with a familiar logo.

“Le One,” I read aloud.

“Yup,” he said with a bright smile.

The logo was a familiar but simple play on the two letter, L and E and the number 1. The number was between both of the letters.

“It means, ‘The One’,” Roger explained. “It’s mine.”

I nodded in acknowledgment but still wasn’t certain of the significance.

“I’ve seen the logo around,” I admitted.

“Yeah, I hope so. We’re doing pretty well, as a matter of fact,” he told me.

“Sooo, what is it?” I asked

Roger laughed out loud again, with his teeth on display again. He always had an infectious laugh.

“It’s a dating service.”  He threw both his hands out in front of him as if it was obvious I should have known

“I see.” That was the only thing I could think to say.

Roger must have picked up on my lack of enthusiasm for such a service because he said, “No, it’s not your typical sort of dating service or online dating. It’s actually a combination of both. You know how your friend is always saying they can hook you up because they know you better than you know yourself?”

The man was nearly bouncing in the chair with excitement. His face and hand were animatedly moving around as he tried to explain. Maybe I was sacked a few too many times because I did not understand.

“No, none of my friends do this,” I informed him.

“Well, normal people. Their friends do this and most of the time, it’s true. So, my service is for friends of the client to fill out the questionnaire after they have completed the application. This just shows they are on board with everything. But, it is their friends who select the actual candidates. Cole, it was a genius idea, and it has actually garnered many long-term relationships and marriages in just a few short years. We’re making a lot of traction and I’ve had to create a base, buy new servers and open satellite offices in major cities.

I nodded as I thought about how different the model was. Unfortunately, nobody knew me enough to know what I’d want in a mate, but it was a smart idea.

“Brilliant,” I said. “I’m happy for you man.”

“Yeah, thanks. Appreciate that.” He nodded his head. “Now, would you be willing to try it? I’ll make room for you as early as tomorrow.”

I was already shaking my head when he started that last sentence.

“Oh no, I don’t really do that?” I said with an upturn of my lips. “Not my thing.”

“Cole!” Roger exhaled as if he were talking to a child. “Man, just try it. What’s the worst that can happen. Shit, the first one is on me. You fill out the application and I’ll fill out your questionnaire. Once they pick the top three, you go out with them and if that doesn’t work. That’s it. You pay nothing. You won’t have to do anything but fill out an app and go on three dates. I swear.”

It sounded simple enough. But, if I learned anything after signing contracts on where I’d be for three to seven years of my life. Endorsements deals that dictated I wear only their brand the required months or years or drink certain products in public. There was a catch. I knew that for a fact.

“It ain’t that simple. Now, tell me what you have in mind.” I squinted, so he knew I meant business.

“Well, first of all. To show you, Cole Magon, had successfully used the program would send everything through the roof. You still look good and shit. Every woman will think athletes are using the system.” He shrugged.

“What if I don’t want that?” I asked because I did not want any of that.

Being in the limelight for using a dating service was just as bad as being the spokesperson for the insurance company. It bled of desperation and I wasn’t desperate. It felt like it, the fact I was considering his proposition, but I wasn’t.

“That would be fine. However, I’d urge you to reconsider. If you found love using Le One and after two or three years, you’re still with the one. Then, why not tell others about it. Publicly that is, that’s what I’m suggesting.” His eyebrows were attempting to reach his nonexistent hairline. “Right?”

“Right,” I agreed. “Two to three years would be the longest relationship I have ever been in. I’ll sign to that.”

“Holy shit.” Roger jumped up out of his chair. “Sorry, I get excited sometimes. My wife hates that.”

“I can see.” I laughed at the man.

“Great, let me tell you some more and we’ll start tomorrow.” Roger sat back down in his chair like a human.

“Okay, here goes nothing,” I said before taking a sip of tea.

The worst-case scenario was I would have three horrible dates. The best case, well, I decided not to think about that. There was no point in setting myself up for failure, again.