Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
“ I ’ll have the tomahawk.”
Eli stared at his date as she closed her menu and handed it to the waiter. The tomahawk steak was the largest meat selection and the price was listed as “market,” which Eli took to mean probably cost more than the pants he was wearing, and possibly more than all the pants in his closet.
“Are you a carnivore?” he asked lightly, trying not to sound judgmental or horrified. Would he have to watch this woman rip meat apart with her bare hands, like a hyena? And was it wrong that he was vaguely turned on by that? Eli already felt a little betrayed by her stunning beauty. He felt like he was being reverse catfished. He had expected someone average, hoped for someone cute, and instead got this lovely creature, who looked like she’d been formed by scientists trying to hallmark every standard of modern beauty. So far Eli hadn’t been able to find a flaw, and that made him nervous. Of course he was only going by looks. They met at the restaurant and had barely sat or spoken hello when she ordered half a cow.
“No,” she said, holding his gaze like an unblinking challenge.
“Okay,” he drawled, not certain how else to respond. Were they about to arm wrestle? It felt like it. Worse, Eli wasn’t certain he’d win. Her perfectly sculpted biceps assured him she worked out.
“I know my worth,” Plushy declared.
Her name was Plushy. He knew that going into it, but assumed it was a nickname. It was not. Plushy the Tomahawk Devouring Lady. It sounded like a Stephen King novel, much like his life at the moment.
Before he could think up a response, Plushy leaned forward and spoke again. “How much do you make?”
Caught off guard by her sheer pluck and ill manners, Eli froze. “Er…”
“Because I won’t accept less than seven figures.”
“Accept less than seven figures for what? Are we entering into a publishing contract?” Eli said with a little chuckle that fell flat.
“I expect a man to make a certain amount, to finance all this,” she waved a hand, displaying her glorious face.
“Oh,” Eli drawled, as reality began to dawn. This wasn’t going well, and would not garner a second date. The most he could salvage at this point was a learning experience, a tutorial on what not to do next time. With that settled, he leaned back and determined to find enjoyment where he could, especially because he was about to pay a few hundred for the experience. “Are you in finance?”
Now it was her turn to blink, confused. “No.”
“What do you do?”
“I work at Sephora part time,” she said.
“Are you going to school?”
She blinked again. “No, why?”
“Usually when I encounter someone working part time, it’s because they’re also going to school, preparing for their future career.”
“I am preparing for my future career,” she assured him.
“Oh. As what?”
“A housewife.” She said it so deadpan, it left Eli nowhere to go.
“Oh, okay,” he said. “It must be difficult to meet eligible men who live up to your standards. I mean, seven figures, that’s a lot.”
She nodded. “You have no idea. It’s a pain, honestly. But I won’t settle. I know my worth.”
“So you said,” he remarked. Their food arrived. His burger looked like her mammoth steak had a tiny baby and wrapped it in a cute little bun, her plate so large it took the waiter both hands to heft it over. At some point she must have ordered a bottle of wine, because that appeared, too. After pouring her glass, the sommelier turned expectantly toward Eli.
“No thanks,” Eli said, waving him away. “The sulfites give me a headache.”
Plushy and the sommelier shared a look before the man tucked the bottle in its ice bucket and disappeared, as if Eli were the high-maintenance one in this scenario, and not the woman with the 200 ounce steak and bottle of something expensive from Italy.
“Is money the only factor you consider?” Eli asked, trying to enjoy his burger while her steak dripped and oozed copious amounts of juice.
Plushy sipped her wine as she considered. “It’s definitely the main one, but I’d like a guy who takes care of himself, too. Someone buff.” She eyed Eli, reminding him he was not buff. “What do you do?”
“I manage a chain of assisted living facilities,” he said.
Her perfect lip wrinkled. “Old people? Gross.”
Eli bristled. “I like my job, and I love the elderly.”
“Weird,” Plushy said. “Probably explains why you’re still single.”
“I’m learning a lot about why I’m still single tonight,” Eli said, but the subtle insult went right over her perfectly highlighted head. “So, let’s say for a minute that you find your perfect guy, someone who makes seven figures and is buff. What do you bring to the table?”
Arching an eyebrow, she once again motioned to herself. Eli knew enough men to understand she was probably correct—her honeyed looks would definitely be enough to suit the type of man she would attract.
“What about in thirty years, when your looks fade?” he asked.
“Of course they won’t,” she said, waving his concerns away.
“Wrinkles?”
“Filler.”
“Moles?”
“Surgery.”
“Weight gain?” he tried.
“Not possible,” said the woman with a steak the size of his thigh. Though, now that he took a good look, she’d only eaten one bite of it and appeared to be done.
“But don’t you want a man who loves you for you, who doesn’t care about the exterior stuff?” he tried, feeling a little desperate to find some snippet of humanity in this otherwise plastic person.
Her face fell for a moment, one which gave him hope that he might actually have reached her, but then she smiled and waved him away. “No, ew, gross. Who wants that? It’s so much more work. But this, keeping myself fit and toned and pretty, it’s a done deal.”
“Huh,” Eli said. At least he could appreciate her honesty. On that note… “Can I ask you one more question?”
“Sure, ask away,” she said easily, content for having taken him for as much as she reasonably could for an evening. “It’s your dime.” She tossed him a little wink.
He pointed to himself. “The braces, are they a deal breaker?”
She tipped her head back and forth studying him, and then gave him what he swore might have been a genuine smile. “Nah, they’re adorable. I mean, not for me, because you’re poor and weird, but for some girl? You go, Elrond.”
“It’s actually El… You know what? Elrond is fine.” He tipped his glass to her in a little toast. She poured herself another glass of wine, and he requested a box for her leftover steak, something he was certain he could get three more meals out of this week. All in all, it wasn’t his worst date.
How was it? Dying here!
Josie texted almost as soon as Eli paid his enormous bill and said goodbye to Plushy.
Pretty sure I met one of the future stars of the Real Wives of DC. I would have gotten her autograph, but she probably would have charged me for it, Eli responded. Possibly with some sort of blood oath.
Josie sent a sad emoji in return.
It honestly wasn’t so bad , he said and was glad he actually meant it. He’d gotten out of the house, watched a stunningly beautiful woman eat a teaspoon of steak, and lost half a week’s salary in the process. And yet he’d almost had fun. It had eased his nerves, because certainly this had to be the worst that was out there, a mercenary, shallow woman who judged a man by his bank account. And even though he hadn’t met Plushy’s standards, he hadn’t felt rejected by her, at least not personally. They weren’t what the other was looking for, and that was fine. She hadn’t met his, either, despite her devastating physical appeal. It can only get better from here, right? He didn’t bother texting that to Josie because she would agree, but her optimism couldn’t be trusted. She thought she and Tristan balanced each other, but really she and Gabe balanced each other. Josie was always bright and cheerful; Gabe was always gloom and doom. They were his Faustian angels, and he supposed he needed them both, even though Gabe was a pain ninety percent of the time.
As if to assure himself of what he already knew, he texted Gabe. Date was a bust.
Called it, Gabe predictably replied. Admit it, she was a dog.
Eli sent him a picture of Plushy. Gabe responded immediately, in all caps.
HOW COULD ANY DATE WITH THAT ANGEL POSSIBLY HAVE BEEN BAD?
She didn’t have a nice personality, Eli returned.
… I don’t understand, Gabe said after a minute.
Eli sighed. There was no way to explain to Gabe, who only ever believed what he was already programed to believe, never once considering that someone else’s belief might be equally valid or, more mind boggling, correct.
She wasted an entire steak, Eli finally said.
Deal breaker, Gabe returned. If there was one thing as reliable as Gabe’s obtuseness, it was his cheapness. Maybe the next one will be better, Gabe said, surprising Eli with the spot of optimism. But before he could ponder his friend’s change too much he followed it up with, But probably not.
With a sigh, Eli let himself into his apartment and tucked his leftover steak in the fridge, and then stopped short and made a slow circle of his apartment. Nothing was moved, nothing was out of place, but was something off somehow? The space felt different. If he believed in vibes, he would say his had been disturbed, as if the very air particles that comprised his abode had shifted unnaturally and for someone other than him.
“Hello?” he called, his voice echoing faintly in the stillness. After a few beats when no one answered, he shook his head and pushed away the paranoia. Of course no one had been in his apartment. What could they possibly hope to gain? A couple of mismatched juice glasses and a table from Ikea?
Assured he was losing his marbles, he locked the door and went to take a shower.