Excerpt
Don’t Answer that Call © Talia Pura
This excerpt may not be used for any purpose whatsoever. Rights to produce, in whole
or in part, by any group, amateur or professional, are retained by the author.
So what’s a girl to do? I’m flipping through the newspaper about six weeks
ago when I reach the personals. Now, I never read the personals, but, it’s
Saturday morning. The kids are with Bob, I have that let down, empty house
feeling and I start to read. The more I read, the more I think, ” Hey, these
guys don’t sound like creeps. They sound really normal. In fact, one or two
sound really good.” So, I think. “What have I got to loose?” I call the 1-900
number. I get a voice inviting me to browse through this week’s listing of
available guys.
At 2.29 a minute, I decide to go right to the voice box of,
ROMANTIC WHITE MALE, 38, PROFESSIONALLY EMPLOYED,
EMOTIONALLY SECURE, who is inviting me to follow my dreams. I get
his personalized message. His voice is deep and well modulated. It has these
sexy undertones and he doesn’t stutter at all. He tells me that he works with
computers, but loves to communicate with people. Sounds like me. I leave
my first name and number and hang up before I can change my mind. Then I
think. “What am I, nuts?” I just gave my number to a total stranger. What if
this is jerk number two? Still, the idea of pages of available males all
looking for that special someone is too tantalizing to pass up. What to do?
Take out my own ad. That way guys will have to phone me and leave their
numbers. Let them be the vulnerable ones. So, I have to make up an ad.
What to say? I check the WOMEN SEEKING MEN column for a few ideas.
Hmm, let’s see.
LOOKING FOR MY PRINCE – oh gag. SOMEONE TO HANG
WITH – please, this is the nineties. GET YOUR ENGINES RUNNING? – oh
really. Look at this. JANE SEEKS DICK… FOR PLATONIC
FRIENDSHIP. – Ah ha. ATTRACTIVE CHRISTIAN MOM
PRAYERFULLY SEEKING SPIRIT FILLED CHRISTIAN MAN TO BE
OUR HIGH PRIEST. – I think I’ll just figure this out on my own. So, I write
out something that I hope will attract the kind of guy that I want and call the
1 800 number to place my ad. I was surprised at what they won’t let you
print. What’s wrong with BUNS OF STEEL? It’s been on video covers on
Supermarket shelves for years. I finally settle on PETITE POWERHOUSE.
I know, a little corny, but I like alliterations. They catch your attention and
stick in your mind long after the page has passed from your sight.
So, I place my print ad; record my 2-minute voice box message and sit
back to wait for those hunks to call in. And they did. Well, not all of them
were hunks, but I did get a lot of calls. I couldn’t believe how many. And
they all sounded really nice. I know, wait for the
chemistry, listen for the red flags and watch out for jerks, but they all
sounded really nice. I’d listen to their message a few times, jot down a few
notes and call them back after the kids went to bed. Well, my ad didn’t
mention the kids. I don’t want to scare them off. Besides, I told you, I was
looking for a friend, not a father figure.
So, we’d chat for a few minutes and set up a meeting for my next free
weekend. Actually, since the ad only ran for a month and Bob just sees the
kids every other weekend, I kind of really packed that first weekend.
Friday night, Coffee with Randy at seven, after I drop off the kids.
Drinks with Greg at nine-thirty. Saturday morning coffee with Edward,
lunch with Steve, tea at the park pavilion with Patrick at three. Juice Bar at a
Fitness Club at five-thirty with Brian. Coffee with Philip at eight. You want
to avoid the dinner thing altogether. You don’t want to have your first chat
with someone when your mouth is full of pasta with sauce dripping down
your chin. Also, dinner is a minimum two-hour commitment. Way too long.
I scheduled them two or three hours apart to allow for travel time, but after
the first weekend I cut back to an hour and a half. That’s more than enough.
Three seconds. That’s what it takes to know if you ever want to see him
again. That’s just chemistry. If it’s not there, it’s not there. The first few guys
took half an hour, but it’s like any other skill. You do it enough and you get
good at it.
Of, course, there’s always the excitement just before you spot him
across the room. Will this be the one? Which one is he? That gorgeous, tall,
dark haired man in the Italian suit? No, he said he’d be wearing red. It’s the
guy with the receding hairline in the red, plaid, flannel shirt who just stood
up and is waving and smiling like mad. I gave the man his three seconds,
turned out to be more than enough. As I put in the prerequisite polite half
hour, I drank my cup of coffee, counted the strands of hair he had combed
over his bald spot and contemplated setting him up with Norma Jean.
The thing is, they were all nice, sincere guys, with normal lives. Well,
there was Garry, but he was the exception. I didn’t know that anyone was
really into Amway anymore. I don’t think that he was really looking for a
date, just another recruit.
Other than that, they were all really nice guys, but no spark. Well,
except maybe Steve. He passed the three-second test with flying colors. It
was then that I discovered the wisdom of putting in that full half hour. Steve
was a newspaper columnist. That sounded pretty exciting. I don’t get the
other paper so I’d never actually read his work. The lunch started out
pleasantly enough and I was feeling a bit of a spark. Not fireworks exactly,
but worth investigating none the less. But the longer we talked, the less I
liked him. I’ve never met anyone so opinionated. No matter what the topic,
he had an opinion. Not just any opinion, but the right opinion. And there was
no shutting this guy up. He obviously loved to hear himself talk.
Never mind the rule against dinner on the first date, lunch was an
eternity. I was thinking about faking a seizure to get out of finishing the
meal when his pager went off and he had to leave. Thank God. Even though
he did stick me with the check.
So, mostly nice guys, but no spark. No flash of recognition that this
was a man that I’d swim through tidal waves to get close to. Whose smile
would leave me weak at the knees. Whose kiss would turn me into a puddle
of butter on the floor. Where was he? He must be out there somewhere –
looking for me.
It was getting pretty discouraging. I had pretty much given up on the
whole thing. During the last week of the ad I didn’t even bother calling back
any of the messages. Sure, they sounded nice enough, but so what? Then I
got this call. It was the guy from the first ad that I had called before I placed
my own. He apologized for not returning my call sooner. He said that he had
tried a couple of times, but it kept ringing busy. The kids are always on the
phone. I used to have call waiting, but it bugs everyone I know to be put on
hold and the kids just ignore the beep anyway, so I got rid of it.
His name is Eric. He sounded nice, what else is new? How could I
tell him that nice wasn’t good enough? It’s one thing to not answer calls, it’s
another thing to be rude on the phone and refuse to give a guy a chance, so I
agreed to meet him for lunch last Saturday. I know, lunch isn’t a good idea,
but I was meeting my aunt downtown at one-thirty anyway, so I’d have an
early escape plan in place. Saturday arrives, I’m really getting into a good
book and consider calling and canceling, but since I have to meet Aunt
Helen anyway, I put away my book and get ready to go.
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