Page 32 of Single-Minded
“Make it happen,” says Darcy.
“Kai the tantric yogi is on board. I gave him Alex’s number this morning; he’ll be calling in the next day or so.”
“I’m really not comfortable with meeting some strange guy just for sex,” I say.
“Oh, he’ll take you out for dinner too.” Sam laughs. “Hope you like vegan.”
Ick.
The four of us have emptied Darcy’s bottle of wine, and Michael pulls another one from the fridge. The laptop dings with window after window from men requesting chats with me. We’re talking and laughing, listening to Darcy’s latest story about one of her clients’ (who remains unnamed) unfortunate incident with his friendly neighborhood drug dealer.
“Fucking Democrats,” she says. “Just because you’re for legalizing pot doesn’t mean it’s okay to go out and score some.”
“You should write a book,” says Michael.
“Maybe I will.” She laughs. “Of course, I’ll have to change all the names to protect the not-so-innocent.”
I tell Darcy, Sam, and Michael about my Closr back-to-back dates with Ferret Guy and Dr. Creepy, and the four of us laugh so hard it feels like old times.
“A few rules going forward since you’re new to this. No Closr,” says Darcy. “You’re lucky you didn’t end up covered in feathers and peanut butter in some weirdo’s storage unit.”
“Don’t communicate online with anyone who doesn’t post a photo; you don’t want to end up with whoever’s lurking behind door number three,” says Sam.
Michael nods. “And remember, no crying on dates. It sends the message that you’re a basket case.”
“I am a basket case,” I say.
“No asking about the five-year plan,” says Darcy. “It freaks them out, makes them think you’re desperate to nail them down and get married, and before you know it you’ve triggered some sort of pre-traumatic shock disorder.”
“That’s crazy,” I say.
“Oh yes,” agrees Sam. “Your poor date is instantly transported into a hallucinogenic nightmare where you rip off your normal date-night outfit to reveal full-on wedding gear, complete with the white gown cascading in layers of tulle, glowing devil-eyes behind a veil, complete with steel-toed wedding shoes.”
***
“And then you shackle him,” laughs Darcy, “and not in the good way, and drag him down the aisle, where he suddenly finds himself clad in a sky-blue tuxedo and ruffled shirt. The orchestra is warming up to play “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” and a clan of onlookers cackle as he is dragged to the altar, where he, who was expecting nothing more than linguine and clams, and maybe a movie, will be sacrificed to the She-God of Matrimony.”
“I should write this down,” I say, grabbing the iPad from my tote.Don’t be desperate.
“Don’t tell them that your husband cheated,” says Sam. “It makes them think that you hate all men.”
“Seriously?” I ask. “Wouldn’t they just assume I hated the guy who cheated on me?” Michael’s face fell. “No offense,” I say.
“No, they’ll think you’re a bitter man-hater. Be fun. Laugh a lot,” says Darcy.
We haven’t quite finished the second bottle of wine when Michael announces he has to leave. “I’ve got a trip scheduled tomorrow.”
“How long will you be gone?” I ask, trying not to sound at all like his wife.
“Three weeks,” he says.
“I should get going too,” says Darcy. “I’m heading back to D.C. tomorrow, and I need to finish packing.”
Darcy, Sam, Michael, and I hug goodbye at the door. Over on the dining table, my laptop continues to ding every few seconds.
“Sounds like we’ve got some winners,” says Darcy as she heads out the door. “Stick to the Naughty Nine types. Start with the bad boys. Not only will they suck you right into the present, but they’re easy to spot because all they post are shirtless selfies.”
“Save any hot selfies for me,” Michael says, kissing me on the cheek. “Good luck, sweetie. Remember: no crying on your dates!”
