Chapter Four
Mindy
Sometimes, I feel like I’m the punchline to an intergalactic joke.
Case in point: tonight.
"Betty, you know I love you, but I want to strangle you right now," I hiss into my phone as I’m huddled in the fancy restroom of New York High. My old stomping grounds, now just another reminder of how much has changed. Betty, my forever bestie and online dating expert, set me up on a disaster date with a guy who makes me wish I’d stayed home. A guy named Nesbit McCullan.
"Oh shit! Is it that bad?" Betty’s concerned voice comes through the phone.
"Bad is a generous term for how this is going, Bets!" I snap. "I’m hiding in the restroom, just to escape this guy for five minutes!"
I know I’m being a mean bitch to Betty right now. She set me up on this date because she wants the best for me. I’m in no position to complain to her, but what am I supposed to do when this Nesbit guy makes me so angry that I could scream?
I quickly shut my mouth when the door swings open and a stunning young woman enters. Her face is stained with tears, her make-up smudged and running. She glares at me intensely, or maybe not; my perception could be distorted due to this horribly embarrassing date I’m on.
"I don’t get it," Betty says. I hear her typing on the other end of the line as she pulls up his profile again. "His username is TheUltimateCatch," she reads out loud.
I let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, that explains it," I say, rolling my eyes. "All he talks about is money, how his investments are doing, and not once did he bother to ask about me, my interests, or what I do for a living!" I grumble into the phone.
"I mean, is that so wrong?" Betty asks. "I was setting you up with a rich and handsome catch. A real up-and-comer."
"Well, if by ‘catch,’ you meant a self-absorbed, money-obsessed prick, then sure, Nesbit McCullan is the grand prize."
"Okay, okay, it’s one date! What if he’s not the one?" Betty persists. "Besides, consider the financial stability a man like him could provide. You could leave your boring accounting job behind and fully embrace being a fit and fabulous mother. No more worrying about money. And remember, RichMatch caters to the wealthy. My matchmaking business specifically targets affluent and self-assured single people in their thirties and forties."
Betty sounds as if she’s doing a sales pitch over the phone.
“Ugh, I’m sorry Bets. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. But you know I’ve never been the gold digger type," I whisper, trying to make sure the woman doesn’t hear me. "I mean, of course, it’s good when a guy is ambitious, but what good is it if he’s a douche? Seriously, just in the past thirty minutes, I got a crash course on cryptocurrencies, portfolio management, and S&P500! I can’t even keep up anymore!"
"I’m so sorry, Mindy," Betty says apologetically. "His profile looked perfect. Good-looking 35-year-old, financially stable, doesn’t mind kids, wants his own kids too…"
"Does his profile mention narcissism, egoism, and zero interest in anyone else but himself?"
Betty bursts into laughter. "Hold on, let me check again." She pauses. "Ok, here it is. His ‘About Me’ section says, " Ladies, your search for the perfect man ends here. I’m the kind of guy your mother warned you about - the irresistible bad boy with a heart of gold."
"Jesus, Bets," I say, grinning at the absurdity of the situation.
"Okay, maybe he changed a few things on his profile since I found him," Betty says. "Wait, there’s more here. Fun facts about me: “ I bought an island, because I could. I have a collection of cars that would make James Bond turn green with jealousy. I’m fluent in three languages: English, Money, and Sarcasm.”
"Oh my God, Bets," I grumble. "Seriously?"
Betty sighs. "Alright, alright, I admit. I’ll be more thorough next time. I’m really sorry babe. Are you able to make a run for it? Need an emergency extraction?"
Betty and I have a strategy in place for dealing with mishaps like this. When a date goes the wrong way or turns out ridiculous, we always text each other for what we call ‘an emergency extraction.’
"I do. Give me five minutes to get my stuff and you’re on." I say. "Thanks, Bets. And sorry for acting like a bitch. I know you just want the best for me."
"It’s alright, hon," she replies. "Honestly, I owe you one after you saved me from that guy who went into graphic detail about how he wanted to strangle his ex-girlfriend for cheating on him with her personal trainer."
"Oh, yeah. He was quite the charmer. Even more so than the one who wanted to have sex with you in public."
She laughs. "Alright, babe. Five minutes and I’ll give you the call. Be ready."
Ten seconds later, I’m out of the bathroom, walking back to the table where Nesbit McCullan is waiting for me. But as I walk back to our booth, a strange feeling begins to gnaw at me. Like someone is watching me. Which is pretty ridiculous considering we’re in a restaurant full of people.
I brush the feeling aside and sit down at the table, giving a half-smile to my disaster-date. "Where were we?" I ask as I begin to stuff my belongings into my purse. I better be ready for Betty’s call so I can get the hell out of here as soon as possible.
"I think I should pay you a compliment," Nesbit says out of the blue, grinning at me. "You look hot as fuck tonight."
At the neighboring table, the pearls on an older woman’s necklace clink together as she turns to give us a disapproving look.
"Um… thank you." I force a fake smile.
Nesbit seems pleased with himself, and he eagerly returns to the one and only topic he can talk about. "So, as I was saying before you went to the toilet," he continues, "I’m more of an altcoin person. First, I was into Bitcoin, but then I found out that I’ve got enough cash in the bank to tolerate a bit more risk. So, I took twenty percent of my liquid net worth and decided to…"
I nod and try to force a smile, wondering how much longer it’ll take for Betty to call me. It must be at least two minutes since I left the restroom. That means I have three more minutes left from this crash course on crypto-investing.
"...and let me tell you, Mindy, it was the best decision I ever made. My portfolio has grown exponentially since then."
My mind is spinning, and my thoughts are jumbled. My brain has shut down, I feel like I’ve mentally checked out, and left my body behind. I can’t possibly listen to any of this anymore.
As Nesbit continues talking, I feel a chill on my spine. The same chill I felt when I was walking back from the bathroom. Is someone watching me?
I instinctively turn around, but all I see is the same woman I met in the restroom. She is walking toward the other end of the restaurant and sits down at a table. Her eyes are locked on someone sitting opposite her. But her expression is far from joyful. I don’t know what it is about that scene that draws me, but I find myself straining to see who she’s looking at. Maybe I’m just so bored with Nesbit’s ranting that I’m trying to find myself a distraction.
"That’s great," I say turning back to Nesbit, trying to feign interest. "And what do you like to do for fun?"
Come on, Bets!
What’s taking you so long?
Nesbit looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head. "Fun? Mindy, time is money. I don’t have time for things like fun. Every waking moment is an opportunity to make cash."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Oh, right. How silly of me."
The waiter arrives with our drinks, and I’m grateful for the momentary distraction. But as soon as he leaves, Nesbit launches into another monologue about his latest investment strategy. I take a sip of my wine, wishing it was something stronger.
"You, my dear, need a man like me. A self-made entrepreneur," Nesbit boasts for what feels like the hundredth time. "Someone who knows how to pursue his goals." He grins. "And someone who has expertise in the bedroom as well."
I nearly choke on my drink. What the hell is Betty doing? I’m sure we’re past five minutes already!
When my phone finally starts ringing, it feels like the second arrival of the Messiah.
"Sorry, I have to take this," I say. "Must be the babysitter."
"Oh, you have a kid?" Nesbit's eyes open like saucers. "Why didn’t you tell me?"
"I didn’t get the chance," I mumble and speak into the phone. "Hey, Tania. Is everything okay?"
"Not really," I hear Betty’s voice. "I’m afraid you have to come home. Sharon has a fever."
"A what? Oh, my God," I say and stand up. "Don’t worry, Tania. I’m on my way."
"Hurry up, Mindy," Betty says, urgency in her tone. "It looks pretty serious!"
I hang up the call and slide the phone into my purse. "Sorry, I have to go," I say to Nesbit. "Thank you for your time. And the lesson about investing."
"Oh, when is our next one?" Nesbit asks. "We haven’t even gone to first base yet."
"Um… sorry, Nesbit," I tell him, not feeling sorry at all. "I’ll be very busy in the coming weeks. Months, I mean.” Years, decades, light-years. "Bye!" With that, I turn around and head to the exit as fast as my feet can carry me.
"I’ll send you my account details," I hear him call out. "You have to pay half of the bill!"
Jesus Christ, what a douchebag!
I storm toward the exit - as far away from Nesbit McCullan as possible - and only stop when the noise of the restaurant fades and the door is shut behind me. Once outside, I pause for a moment, taking a deep breath of the crispy air. The evening is chilly but the weather is nice, with only a few clouds staining the starry night sky.
Another disastrous date bites the dust, making it three in a row. The guy before Nesbit turned out to be gay and was only looking for a fake wife. The one before that was the textbook version of a sociopath.
As I make my way towards my car, for the third time tonight, a strange feeling catches my attention. Why do I feel like someone’s watching me? Am I becoming paranoid?
I look around me and my eyes land on a large black car. It is parked right next to mine. It is a robust, expensive-looking vehicle that probably belongs to a celebrity or a millionaire. I briefly catch a glimpse of someone sitting in the driver’s seat, just before the window is pulled up.
Strange. I remember Maron used to have a similar car. It had the same tinted windows just like this one. Even the license number seems familiar.
Shit!
This is Maron’s old car! I glance at the registration number again and my knees go weak for a moment. The car was probably sold after his death. It must be a cruel twist of fate that it is here now, bringing back unwanted memories of the man I once loved.
Dammit, Mindy!
Maybe it’s just my disastrous date that’s making me moody. I really need to tell Betty to stop setting me up with potential suitors. I’m sure her matchmaking business brings great results to her clients, but it looks like it ain’t for me.
I make my way to my parking spot and squeeze myself between my own ride and Maron’s old car. I let out a loud grunt as I struggle to open the door wide enough for me to get in. Maron’s old SUV is parked way too close, leaving almost no room for me and my single mom-butt. But I know there’s someone sitting inside. I saw them pull up their window, just as I exited the restaurant.
"Excuse me, would you mind moving your car?" I say as politely as possible, giving their tinted window a firm knock. I get no response. "Hello? I know you’re in there!" I tap the window again. Crickets.
Really?
It must be some entitled prick. Maybe some rich guy, screwing his Barbie doll girlfriend behind that window.
I let out an exasperated sigh and make my way around my own car. I open it from the other side and crawl in through the passenger seat. I don’t even care anymore. I just want to be out of here and forget about this disastrous date. But to my surprise, just as I slam the door shut and start my engine, the big black car roars to life and smoothly pulls out of its spot.
Seriously?
Whoever bought Maron’s old car is an asshat!
I stare after the big black SUV, dumbfounded. I shake my head in disbelief and mumble something about entitled rich jerks, arrogant snobs, and their complete disregard for regular people like me.
Never mind that, though. The evening is finally over. All that matters is that I can finally go home and kiss my daughter goodnight.