A Hire Love. Candice Dow

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      She laughed. “Most women these days do.”

      After searching through about eleven profiles, I selected two: One guy was a thirty-year-old business owner; the other was a twenty-nine-year-old banker.

      The next step was to contact them and let them see my profile. If they were interested, she would make the connection.

      Scene 2

      FATIMA

      In less than twenty-four hours, Gertrude called to say that one of the guys was interested. When I called Mya to tell her about my probable date, she teased, “Tima’s going to talk to a guy! That’s so funny.”

      I chuckled. “It has been a long time.”

      “It’s been an eternity. Do you even know what to say?”

      “Girl. Hopefully, he can lead the conversation, ’cause I don’t know what to say to a guy.”

      “Tima, that is messed up. Personally, I don’t like to talk a lot before I go out with a guy. If you talk too much and you meet him and don’t like him, you feel obligated to explain. If you just briefly discuss the details of the date, you don’t owe him anything if you don’t like him. Trust me. You remember all the times I had to tell a guy after the first date that me and my old boyfriend got back together.”

      “Why did you lie?”

      “’Cause I had sat up on the phone with the person, telling him that I was ready for a relationship. When I met him and didn’t like him, I had to say something.” She giggled. “For the record, do not tell anyone that you haven’t dated since your husband died. You should always have a recent old boyfriend or have a friend that you see off and on.”

      As I was schooled on the rules of the modern world, I laughed. “That is ridiculous.”

      “Play or be played.”

      “That’s a shame.”

      “Love is a game, baby girl.”

      My cell phone rang as I jotted down mental notes. When I didn’t recognize the number, I said, “Mya, I think that’s him.”

      She shouted, “Don’t answer!”

      “Why?”

      “Because you want to hear his voice first. Then, you call him back. I can tell from a guy’s voice if he’s someone I want to talk to. What if he sounds like Steve Urkel?”

      “Mya, you are making this way too complicated.”

      “Whatever—I’m just looking out for my girl.”

      “So, when do I call him back?”

      “After we listen to the message.”

      “We?”

      “Yeah. We’re in this together. You aren’t skilled enough in the screening process yet.”

      I called my voicemail and linked it with Mya. As I waited for the new message to play, I twiddled with my wedding ring. There was a short pause before he spoke:

      “Hey, Fatima. This is Damien. Looking forward to talking to you. You can hit me back on…”

      Mya said, “Well, at least he sounds sexy.”

      “Yeah, that’s a plus. So, when am I allowed to call him back?”

      “In ten minutes, but remember, get the details of when and where you’ll meet and get the hell off the phone.”

      “This is so silly.”

      “Trust me. You’ll thank me in the end.”

      “One last question.”

      “I’m listening.”

      “Do I really have to take my ring off?”

      “Is Derrick still wearing his?”

      I laughed. “You know what? I need to find better friends.”

      “Sike, I’m just playing, but it’s time to take it off. Your husband is gone. He can live in your heart forever, but no man will ever take you serious with another man’s ring on your finger.”

      “I’ll think about it.”

      “Baby, it’s your world. You can do what you want, but would you want to hang out with a man still wearing his wedding band?”

      “You’re right. Let me get ready to call this guy back.”

      Before I called him back, I went into my bedroom and searched for my ring box. When I sat the solitaire and the wedding band in the box, I felt naked. To appease myself, I slipped the diamond band on my right hand and tucked the solitaire away in my special drawer that contained a bunch of sentimental gifts from Derrick.

      When I returned Damien’s call, butterflies floated in my stomach. A piece of me prayed for his voicemail, but as I prepared my message, he answered.

      “Hello.”

      I stuttered, “H-hi. Ah. Damien?”

      “Yes. Fatima?”

      “Hey, how’s it going?”

      “Everything’s good. How are you?”

      “I’m fine.”

      “That’s good.”

      “So…”

      I searched for something, anything to say, but he relieved me. “So, when would you like to hook up?”

      Boy, did he get to the point fast. This divide-and-conquer method to dating is no fun. When Derrick first called me, we chatted for nearly four hours. Do people do that anymore?

      I said, “Uh, whenever.”

      “Maybe we could catch a movie on Saturday.”

      “That’s cool.”

      “Where do you live?”

      I thought it over and said, “In the city.”

      “I’m in Brooklyn.”

      I certainly wasn’t anxious about inviting a stranger into my hood, so I offered to meet him in his. He promised he’d give me a call before the end of the week with the movie times. Just like that, my inaugural speech was over.

      On Saturday, I stuffed some reading into my large Louis Vuitton satchel. While I sat on the train headed to Brooklyn on a first date, I got antsy. Didn’t want to read. It was like I was fourteen again. What should I say when he walks up to me? Hi. Nice to meet you. Good to see you.

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