Chapter Nine #2
The restaurant hosting the singles event has the perfect romantic atmosphere.
The tall, plush velvet banquettes and round tables give the illusion of privacy, while the single red roses and flickering tea lights on each table lend a certain warmth to the air.
Tickets for the event were forty-five dollars, and in return, participants get hors d’oeuvres, two drinks, and if they’re lucky, the phone numbers of the people they matched with.
From gazing around the room, there seem to be an equal number of men and women, ranging in age from twenty to mid-thirties.
Some are obviously anxious from the way they’re biting their nails or how they’re stooped over like they’re trying to make themselves invisible.
Conversely, there are the alpha males that are easy to spot because they spread their arms and legs to take up as much space as possible, or the boss women who stare at you coolly, without blinking or smiling.
I’ve hosted plenty of singles events in the last eight years, so I know what to expect. They’re always exhausting because there’s so much planning that goes into them. By the time they’re over, I need at least a few days to recover.
The woman running it tonight has always been a little lukewarm toward me. She was one of the first to ignore my messages after the Schwartz fallout, so even though I’m in a disguise and using an alias, I’m still nervous that she’ll figure out who I am.
She claps to get everyone’s attention, and then explains what to expect.
Every woman is assigned to her own table and card, and the men will rotate between them at ten-minute intervals.
By the end of the night, participants hand in the cards with checkmarks next to who they liked, and if both people put down a check, then it’s a match, and they’re provided with each other’s phone numbers.
For better or worse, I’m seated next to Sissel’s table. She keeps giving me the side-eye and doing weird hand gestures to get my attention as the woman talks. I pretend not to know her and scooch a little further away.
Finally the event begins, and I straighten in my chair as the first man approaches. He’s handsome and you can tell he knows it too. He’s got a certain look in his eyes that screams confidence and a swagger to match.
And great taste in shoes.
“Love the cowboy boots,” I say as he takes a seat. I touch the business cards in the pocket of my sweater to double-check that they’re still there.
“’Course you do. I could tell the moment I laid eyes on you that you’re a woman of high standards.” He winks.
“I don’t know about that.” I smile. “I think my standards are pretty low. As long as there’s no obvious food stains or holes, I’ll wear it.
Unless I haven’t done the laundry in which case, I’ll probably put on something with food stains.
” I take out a card and lay it on my lap.
Should I slide give it to him now or wait until the ten minutes are up?
“Baby girl, no. A woman like yourself deserves to be in designer fashion and displayed on a pedestal.”
My eyebrows lift at being called baby girl, but maybe it’s a Southern thing? And what’s with the displayed on a pedestal part? Do I look like a doll? “A throne, yes, but pedestal?” I shake my head. “That sounds too much like giving up my power.”
“You don’t need power, darlin’. What you need is a man to take care of you so that you can stay home and raise the kids.”
I sit on my hands so I don’t accidentally slap him. After all, there are plenty of women—and men—who thrive in the stay-at-home parent role. But this guy is setting my teeth on edge.
“What if I want to work outside the home?” I don’t know why I feel the need to test him, but there’s something about him that just doesn’t sit right with me.
“You wouldn’t need to if you had me.”
“But what if I wanted to?”
He heaves a sigh that comes from the sole of his boots. “Careful now,” he says, shaking his finger. “You’re starting to sound like one of them liberated women with hairy armpits who doesn’t appreciate a man’s guidance.”
I’m desperate for business, but not this desperate.
“You know,” I say, leaning forward. “I think you might benefit from taking a deconstruction class of toxic masculinity—”
“Good Lawd,” he cries, slapping the table. “Is there any woman out there that hasn’t lost her damn mind? I’m sick and tired of this crap.
“How’s about I just chop off my testicles and serve them up on a tray, baby girl? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Actually, I’d prefer you sign up for the class.”
“That’s not going to happen, sweet thang.”
I tilt my head and study him. “Are you some kind of method actor? Because you’re very good if you are.”
“What role would I be playing?” he says, looking bewildered.
I shrug and lift my hands. “A chauvinist pig?”
He pushes his chair back and stands up. “I think we’re done here.”
“It was nice meeting you. And remember what I said about those classes,” I call out as he walks away. He gives a backwards swipe in the air which I take to mean that he probably won’t, but hey, at least I tried. Sissel gives me a smug look as if to say at least I haven’t scared mine away.
I write ‘NO’ next to the cowboy’s name. Seven more minutes left. I wonder if I set a record for the shortest date ever. Oh well. You can’t win them all.
Maybe the second guy will be the charm.