A Hire Love. Candice Dow

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СКАЧАТЬ don’t know who you are. They just know how you look. You don’t have to give them your phone number. They email you through the website. So, they don’t have your direct email. It’s just a picture. All the people in New York, no one will ever recognize you.” She chuckled. “My picture was out there for three years and no one ever approached me and claimed they saw me. If you don’t put a picture out there, you’ll be wasting your time.”

      I performed a search as if I were a man searching for a woman. As I paged through hundreds of profiles, I was amazed at the competition. There were beautiful, successful women sprawled all over the site. You’ve got to be kidding me. If they weren’t embarrassed, why should I be? Before I realized it, I was on the Kodak website uploading photos of me and deciding which one to post.

      By the time I got off the phone with Mya, I had written my personal statement and selected what I wanted in a man.

      This was much cooler than Black Love. I could select color, height, job description, salary. This is great for us superficial folks just out for a date. When the results returned, my mouth hung open. Several attractive men appeared.

      In thirty minutes of posting my profile, over ten guys already emailed me and dozens had cyber-winked. As flattering as their messages were, I wanted to take control and select the men that I wanted to correspond with. While I sent several “thanks, but no thanks” messages back, I chuckled. There is just something about feeling desired, even if you’re not interested.

      This was my source of entertainment during the entire day at work. I can’t remember when I’d had so much fun flirting. It was the coolest thing. Immersed in my online rejection correspondence, I pushed today’s deadlines to tomorrow.

      Of all the men in my search, there were only two that I was compelled to approach. Something in their profiles stepped off the pages; whether it was the fine smile, salary range, and the arrogance to title his profile “Young and Successful” of one, or the sexy picture and the poetically written personal statement of the other. My enthusiasm slightly diminished when neither had responded and I noticed they both had been online.

      When I got home, I checked again, but my inbox was loaded with junk from a bunch of ugly ducklings. What’s up with that? This is just another hoax to play with people’s emotions. Fine men post their pictures just to have their egos stroked. Hi I read your profile. I thought you were so gorgeous. In reality, they know they’re not having trouble finding dates. It wouldn’t surprise me if one of them compiled all the emails he had received in a book and titled it, “The Words of Desperate Women.”

      It pissed me off that I had subscribed to this. That is, until I walked into the office the next morning to an email from “Young and Successful.” Kia stood in front of me explaining something as my ego was resuscitated. Thanks for expressing interest. I loved your profile. You’re beautiful. It looks like we have a lot in common. Tell me more about the life of an editor.

      Kia posed and waited for me to stop gloating. When I glanced up for her to finish, her eyes danced in her head. I smirked. She quickly altered her expression. “So, what’s up?”

      She repeated herself as I planned my email response. She asked, “What do you want me to tell her agent?”

      Clueless of whom or what she was talking about, I said, “Tell her…”

      “I’ll come back when you get settled.”

      “That would be good.”

      I replied promptly. After a few emails, he asked if we could instant message. After consulting with Mya, I downloaded Yahoo! Messenger and BackInAction chatted real time with Young and Successful. By noon, I knew that he lived in Brooklyn, worked for Morgan Stanley, no kids, never married. If he was actually the person in his photo, he was also fine. We even discussed the death of my husband. Our correspondence was loaded with thought-provoking topics. By the end of the day, he asked if it would be okay to have a real conversation.

      After consulting with Mya, I agreed. He told me he would call around ten and he kept his promise. I picked up like I’d known him for years. “Hey, Young and Successful.”

      “Ms. Fatima. Please call me Nate.”

      Our real chat was equally as enticing as our cyber-chat. We disregarded the divide-and-conquer rule and talked for over an hour. His appealing voice made me eager to meet him in person and we agreed to meet for drinks the next evening.

      Mya willingly accompanied me on the date with “Young and Successful” just to provide real-time coaching with managing my expectations. When we arrived at the empty happy hour, I realized I’d picked the wrong club on the wrong evening. The techno-music attacked me the moment we entered. We had fifteen minutes before he arrived, so we ordered drinks to take the edge off. He walked in at seven-thirty on the dot, and Mya nodded.

      His tailor-made suit impressed me and his nice teeth added to the package. He introduced himself and appeared distracted by Mya’s presence. I said, “Nate, this is my girl, Mya. I asked her to tag along. I hope you don’t mind.”

      “I don’t mind. It’s cool. I don’t know about you guys, but this music is driving me crazy.”

      Mya said, “It’s killing us, too.”

      “Why don’t we get out of here and go somewhere else?”

      We shrugged our shoulders and followed him out of the club. He paid for the ride to the next spot, but it didn’t appear he gave the driver a tip. Then again, maybe I’m just suspicious.

      We found a loveseat to accommodate all of us and I conjured up a discussion about love and relationships with hopes to gain insight on the male perspective. He touched my leg occasionally as he spoke. As my body became reacquainted with the touch of a man, I realized how much I missed it and how much I longed for it. Mya and I exchanged approving nods throughout the conversation. The game isn’t so bad. After two dates, I met someone that I could definitely consider seeing again.

      When the check came, I looked at it. Mya looked at it. Nate didn’t as much as glance at it. Mya put her credit card inside the folder. I clutched my purse. Nate seemed unfazed. The waiter asked if we were ready. Mya said, “No, not yet.” She leaned over me and dangled the folder in Nate’s face. “Did you see the check?”

      “Fatima’s going to take care of me.”

      I smiled. Mya’s neck rolled. “No, she isn’t, because I’m taking care of her.”

      He repeated, “And she’s taking care of me.”

      I giggled while he kidded with Mya. She rolled her neck again. “I know you better be joking.”

      “I paid for the taxi over here.”

      Mya said, “Are you friggin’ kidding me?”

      My knee tapped his knee. “Stop playin’.”

      “You can get me tonight. I’ll get you next time.”

      My blood pressure began to elevate. Did he really believe there would be a next time if I took care of him tonight? There’s no way in the world he was serious. I said, “You’re funny.”

      Mya huffed and puffed in my ear. When the waiter came, she handed him the check. Up until the waiter carried the check away and Nate didn’t chase him down, I thought he was a prankster. Turns out that СКАЧАТЬ