17. A Dateable Man Out of You
A Dateable Man Out of You
“I don’t know about this,” Angie whispers in my ear. “The universe hands him two horny women, and he manages to screw it up. I know you’re fond of him, and I have to admit, he has his moments, but I’m going to say it: hopeless. He’s hopeless!”
“Shh,” I cock my head toward the living room where the hopeless man in question was assembling our new bookshelves. “He’ll hear you.”
If Rhys could hear us, he doesn’t show it.
Our walls are paper thin, I have no doubt he can hear every word.
Angie’s whispers are not actually whispers.
To his credit, Rhys keeps his head down, intent on his work, but there’s been a permanent cloud over his head ever since he fumbled his opportunity with the cougars.
A week has passed since the debacle at Coyote Flame, a night which shall go down in infamy as the weirdest night of our lives.
But we survived it. I went to work, pretending nothing had happened and counted my lucky stars that Sam wasn’t there (he’s never at the office unless there’s a board meeting).
He hasn’t contacted me personally or asked any weird questions about my itch or renewed his offer to lend me his balm.
As far as I’m concerned, last Saturday night happened in a vacuum, and we’ll just continue pretending he didn’t grab my ass.
That being said, I definitely felt the phantom imprint of his hand, and it makes me boil inside.
“How’s it going there?” I call. “Need any help?”
“It’s a bookshelf,” Rhys says. “I can handle it.”
I turn to Angie, shaking my head in pity.
I’m not the only one raging inside. He’s probably kicking himself for his fumble while I’m kicking myself for allowing my ass to be grabbed.
In my situation, however, Sam materialized out of a dark parking lot while I was puking and felt me up, much like the perps the evening news warns you about.
It wasn’t like I could stop myself mid-vomit and shuffle away from the hand that I didn’t see coming toward my ass.
Rhys’ screw-up, however, was his own doing.
I feel bad for myself; I feel even worse for him.
Imagine striking out with two lovely (and willing) ladies who required absolutely nothing of him except, perhaps, his willing and able body.
Even so, he failed the simplest test. This doesn’t bode well for when he meets a woman who requires sufficient romancing to be swept off her feet.
Rhys is a long way from sweeping anyone off their feet.
While I’m ready to accept defeat and regroup, Angie is ready to throw in the towel.
“We’ve got to cut our losses,” Angie says, laying out sliced zucchini on a sheet pan for roasting. “That boy is feral.”
“Rhys is anything but feral.” I grab a knife, slicing the tip off a Japanese eggplant. Hopefully, the sound of chopping will drown out our words. “He’s just a diamond in the rough. Just like Aladdin.” I wave the halved eggplant in her face, taunting her with the blunt end.
“You’ve always had a thing for Aladdin, haven’t you?”
“Girl,” Angie props her hand on her hip, unamused. “Aladdin was the smoothest talkin’ prince in the whole pantheon. He knew how to sweet-talk Jasmine, and this ain’t no Disney movie, or else your boy is ... Quasimodo.”
“You take that back,” I whisper, poking my head around the corner. He’s fiddling with the steel cross braces, and his back is hunched almost to an exaggerated arch. “After my makeover, I’d say he resembles a live-action Dimitri. Who wouldn’t want to date him?”
“Anastasia is not a Disney movie,” Angie reminds me, “and Dimitri was another smooth talker. Anyway, I meant he’s like Quasi in charisma, not in looks.”
“What are you talking about? Qusai was the most charming hunchback in France and, least we forget, he was a good person with a heart of gold,” I add. “I believe that deep down, Rhys is all that. He just needs more polishing.”
“How much more polishing? He’s a ticking time bomb. Show him a woman, he’ll insult her. He can’t help himself. The misogyny runs too deep. Face it, C…” She lays a consoling hand on my shoulder. “He’s a lost cause.”
She has a point. It’s become clear that Rhys needs more work.
A fancy haircut, a new wardrobe, and a few hasty lessons on dating etiquette were not going to cut it.
I’m going to have to roll up my sleeves and work smarter, really pinpointing the problem areas.
One thing I’m not going to do, however, is give up on him.
I’ve grown accustomed to our weekly meetings.
In some strange way, he’s become a friend.
A prickly friend, yes. But I will say a few things in Rhys Stiltskine’s favor.
He’s always been honest with me. Brutally honest to a fault.
He’s never tried to grift or defraud me.
He’s never flattered me to my face and then turned around and trash talked me behind my back.
He’s never attempted to grab my ass. In fact, he’s never presented himself as anything other than what he is.
Friends are hard to come by nowadays, so yes, I consider him a tentative friend.
And I don’t give up on my friends.
“I’ve never found a lost cause I can’t fix,” I declare, dumping my eggplant slices onto the sheet pan.
“Hm,” comes Angie’s trademark note of disapproval. “You’re gonna need a lot of fixing because that boy’s truly lost.”
“Says you. He’s salvageable in my book.”
She rolls her eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve done your end of the deal. If he can’t score, that’s his problem. I don’t know why you’re going above and beyond fixing this fool’s love life. What’s it to you, anyway? Why does any of this matter?”
“Angie,” I motion for her to lower her voice even more, “when I met him, he was a despicable human being and a failure of a man. And now look at him…”
“I still see a failure.”
“No,” I insist, angry now. “He’s not. He’s leagues better than his baseline level.
Look, he asked me to help him. He wants to change.
Don’t you see how rare that is? And if I pull off this transformation, if Rhys succeeds at actually dating someone, anyone, and they both sail off into the sunset together, then I’ve made a contribution to womankind.
I’ve removed an asshole from the world and introduced an eligible bachelor to the dating pool.
So don’t you see?” I take a deep breath, winding down from my outburst, “Rhys finding his happily ever after… it matters very much.”
Angie listens to my impassioned speech with a skeptical tilt of her head. “He’s right,” she says at last. “You really do have a lot of free time at work.”
“Shh.” I bump her on the shoulder.
“All finished,” Rhys says, his eyes downcast, his tone decidedly neutered.
“Thank you, Rhys,” we both mutter before descending into silence, an awkward silence punctuated by multiple throat-clearings and a three-way gaze avoidance triangle.
There’s a huge elephant in the room, except I can’t put my finger on what that elephant is exactly.
For Angie, it’s Rhys and why he’s hanging around our apartment after he clearly failed to clear the easiest hurdle.
For Rhys, it’s his failure to get to first base with a pair of middle-aged women.
I’ve failed in this endeavor, too, and failure is something I’m not accustomed to.
Perhaps it’s because I threw Rhys to the wolves (cougars, in this case) with a quick makeover and some pithy pointers, but did I do my due diligence in sufficiently preparing him? It’s possible I may be a crap mentor.
Just because I’m a savant at giving presentations based solely on improv doesn’t mean that I can expect Rhys to be as quick on his feet. I have the gift of gab. Rhys is not as blessed with the ability for small talk.
Some people are just socially inept and need more confidence to truly step out of their comfort zone.
Now I’m even more determined to help him.
Call it a ‘fairy godmother complex’ but I can’t help smacking him repeatedly over the head with my magic wand in the hopes of exorcising the incel right out of him.
God, he’s so pathetic. How can Angie suggest we abandon him now?
The hangdog slump of his shoulders tells me he’s pretending he hadn’t heard us talking about him. But will he confront us?
I don’t think he’s in a position to confront anyone.
After his abject failure with his cougar dates, I think Rhys is still recovering from a metaphorical kick in the balls.
He’s not as prickly as before; his bark has no more bite.
I wouldn’t go as far as to say I miss the old Rhys, but I’m a tad worried about the defeated version.
He’s even less confident now than ever before. If he can’t charm women who were ready and willing to be charmed, how in the world is he going to deal with my new plan?
I slap my hands together and focus on Rhys with all the peppy energy I could muster. “So I talked to Michelle,” I say, “and she’s willing to give you another shot.”
I couldn’t tell you who was more thunderstruck by the news.
“Really?” he squeaks, turning ashen.
“Seriously?” Angie shakes her head in disbelief. “So he screws up with two women who want to like him, and your plan is to throw him in the deep end with a girl who currently hates him?”
“Go big or go home.”
Angie does not share my enthusiasm. “Make it make sense.”
“It doesn’t need to make sense. I saw an opportunity and seized it. Now, we just have to succeed.”
Angie pinches her brow. “What’d you say to that girl?”
Rhys gulps. “Yeah,” he licks his dry top lip, “what did you say to her?”
I shrug nonchalantly. “We just had a little chat. I told her how much you’ve changed and how sorry you were for calling her fat.”
“I didn’t actually call her ‘fat,” Rhys interrupts. “I said—”
I clear my throat, withering him with one glance.
“Sorry.”
“As I was saying, Michelle has her doubts, but she trusts my judgement. You’ve changed, Rhys. I gave her my word.” I glance down at my cuticles. “She’ll have lunch with you on Saturday. A quick probationary lunch, and then we’ll go from there.”
Angie whistles in admiration. “I don’t know how you do it, C. You can charm your way out of a snake pit. Problem is,” she cocks her head in Rhys’ direction, “he doesn’t have half your charm. He doesn’t even have a fraction of it.”
“Tell me about it,” Rhys mutters, tugging on his collar. “She’s right. I get into trouble every time I open my mouth.”
“Yeah, C,” Angie purses her lips, “he’s suffering from a terminal case of foot-in-mouth syndrome.”
“Ever heard of the strong and silent type?” I peer from one confused face to another. “That’s our new rebrand for you, Rhys. Every time you think about speaking your mind, don’t. Let silence be part of your mystique.”
Angie looks a little less skeptical. “Could work.”
“I have intel that says Michelle loves the strong and silent type,” I add.
Rhys considers this change of course… silently.
I poke Angie with my elbow. “Do you see what I see?”
She makes a sound of grudging approval. “It’s amazing. He’s just become ten times more attractive.”
“I have?” Rhys asks, bewildered.
“If you say nothing,” I say, “there’s no cause to dislike you.”
“I’ll be…” Angie shakes her head. “So there’s a method to your madness after all.”
I fight the urge to say, ‘I told you so.’ Instead, I humbly shrug. “I read people for a living.”
Rhys practices the art of silence. It’s quite a miraculous transformation. His facial expressions are inherently pleasant, and his lips have a natural upward curl like the Mona Lisa.
Finally, Rhys nods, signaling that he’s onboard with my rebrand. “So Michelle Santos, huh?”
“The one and only,” I say.
“Was she at your birthday party last year?” Angie asks me. “The one with the big brown eyes and the...” she mimes an hourglass figure. “That red dress.”
I nod. “Isn’t she pretty?”
Angie whistles again. “Ooh, she’s fine. Shoot... what am I wasting my time dating these loser guys for? I’d date her.” With Michelle’s hotness in mind, she looks Rhys up and down and makes another low-throated sound of disapproval. “Batting above your weight, aren’t you?”
Rhys doesn’t deny it. “Way above.”
“Don’t you think you need to start him off with someone at his level?” Angie asks. “The boy has never played baseball before, and he’s fumbled the cougar toss big time. Throwing him at someone as hot as Michelle is like making him play pro when he’s never played little league.”
I glare daggers at Angie. “Not helping.”
She shrugs. “I’m just being realistic.”
“She’s right,” Rhys nods. “I... I don’t think...” His breathing becomes shallow, and he really does look ill.
“Whoa. Whoa.” I guide him toward the sink in case he blows chunks. “Take a deep breath. Exhale. Breathe through your nose... yes.” I rub his back. “One more time. Everything is going to be okay. We have a week.”
“I need a year!”
A year would be nice. Given his personality defects, I’d say he’ll need two. “Well, a week is all we have. We’ll make it work. In fact, you’re already halfway ready to date Michelle.”
“What do you mean I’m halfway ready?” Rhys snaps. “I’m not even a fraction of the way ready. I’m going to screw this up again.”
“With a loser mindset like that, it’s no wonder you never got anywhere.
” I tap my temple, preparing him to think like a winner.
“Nobody really knows what they’re doing until they do it.
Did I know what I was doing when I added ‘ASSET expert’ to my résumé?
Did I know what I was doing when I told HR that I was highly proficient in the ASSET?
No, I didn’t. And now look at me... I’m giving a presentation.
I’m on the way to being barely proficient. ”
Angie snickers. “She has a point.”
Rhys blinks, speechless. He takes a minute, letting my words marinate. At last, he nods. “I never thought I’ll say this, but you make sense. You actually... make sense.”
“Give me a week. I’ll make a dateable man out of you if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“Famous last words.” Angie hands him a big glass of water and watches him gulp it down. “If only you could go on his date for him...”