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They arrived at Owen
Mackanin’s Ole Irish Pub at one minute before seven. Phil and Luke were given their
numbers at check-in and each assigned a small table about the size of a round patio
table. The bar area was filled with about thirty people of each sex.
The first woman designated to him was tall and young, with red hair.
Phil liked her long black dress, but didn't like her big nose. It would have been an
understatement to say that the conversation was forced. Phil handled it like he was in a
job interview.
"So, what do you like to do?" he
asked.
"Read. Go to the beach. Swim. You?"
"Same. Do you
like animals?"
"Yes,
you?"
"Same…Smoke?"
"No,
you?"
"Yes."
"Oh,” she nodded.
"Oh,
what?"
"I just don't like smokers. I don't like how it smells. I think
it's bad for you. Makes your clothes stink."
"Do mine
stink?"
"Actually, I didn't notice." The redhead looked around the room
and yawned. Neither of them said anything for a bit.
"Time's almost up,"
Phil said.
"No. Still about two and a half minutes."
"Oh,
God, really? Tell me something. Have you ever done this seven minute thing before?"
"No. Kind of awkward, don't you think?" she
said.
"Definitely."
"I think you're a nice enough guy,
but I'm not interested in taking it further. I'm supposed to give you my number --
hang on, it's 17 -- but don't check me because I don’t think I’m going to put you on my
list, okay?"
"Fine. I got nine more to work with," Phil
smiled.
"See you," she said.
"Wait, we have another minute
or so."
"Okay." She sat there for the last minute, didn’t move and
didn't say anything. When the bell rang she stood up quickly.
His next
date was very chatty. Her conversation bolted through her yellow teeth. This, he
concluded, was the reason why she was still single. She talked mostly about herself,
where she had been, what she had been doing and her plans for the future. She wanted to
get her Doctorate in Psychology. She wanted to drive across the country and have
children. Did he want to do that, too?
"I don't think I could spend that
amount of time in a car with one person," he lied, not addressing the childbearing issue.
The truth was, he'd be sick of her before they were through Connecticut. He already was
working on a headache from the six minutes he'd just spent with her. Still she told him
just how wrong he was about traveling the country, and just how open and liberating the
experience would be. If she were studying to be a Jungian, she wouldn't make it
through one semester, he thought.
"I need the man in my relationship
to be skilled in the art of conversation," she said. "Sorry, but I feel that I've been
doing all the talking. I need more stimulation." The bell rang. "Sorry again," she
said.
Phil's third date of the evening was five foot, one inch, with wavy
light brown hair. She wore a tight white stretch top with an unbuttoned fleece sweater
over it. Phil thought she was cute, showing a great smile as she sat down. "So what do
you do for work?" she asked.
"I'm a contract coordinator," he said. “I
work for the state.”
"How much do you pull in?"
"About
twenty pounds of lobster a day," he joked. She didn't laugh.
"How much
do you earn?" she continued.
"I make forty-five thousand a year. Not that
much since most of it goes to my ex."
"I'm divorced, too," she stated.
"Except I receive from my ex. I need to make sure that whoever I end up with doesn’t
cause me to lose money in the deal. What do you drive?"
"A car," he said,
edged with underlying resentment. It was another joke that she was not amused with. "An
old Ford pickup. Interested in the options?"
"No. Your home? You own?"
She was strictly business. He thought if he ever went to bed with her that she would be
timing or rating his performance using some sort of criteria of acceptability. He did
not like her very much at this point "I own a home," he said, while thinking, "but I
don't live in it anymore."
"Do you drink?" she
asked.
"Yes. You?"
"No. My Uncle died of liver
failure at age sixty.”
"What about you?" he asked annoyed. "What do you
drive?" It was time to turn the tables.
"I own a new
Civic."
"You own a house?"
"No, I live with my parents. My
husband and I sold the house and split the money from it. I don't work now. I would
like to find someone to support me. If you think you could do this, let me know. My
name is Hannah Davies."
"Phillip," he said as the bell rang again.
"Asheo. Nice meeting you."
"You too, Phil Asheo," she said smiling the
first smile since she first sat down, then realizing what he just did she said, "I
don't think you are very funny. In fact, I don't find you funny at all, but my number
is ten if you are so inclined. I collect people like you. Ciao."
"See
you," he said as she was leaving. Phil watched her walk away and thought she looked
good. In fact, she looked good coming and going. It was just what was in between that
didn't run very smoothly.
The fourth girl looked like a flower child
from the sixties. She was only in her mid-twenties though. Honey blond hair hung down
over her face. "Hi there, I'm Heather," she shouted. "Do you come here often?"
"No, this is my first time," he said.
"So you're a virgin
at this seven minute thing? Cool, this is about my tenth time. Last month I slept with
all ten people I met. It was a new record for me, but I was manic last month. I think
I'm a little manic this month also. I stopped taking my Lithium." She yakked as much
as the second girl, but at least she was offering a hop in the sack rather than a
cross-country trip. On the down side, she could potentially hack him to death with a
meat cleaver.
"I may need to get to know you a bit first, Heather,” he
said.
"Oh, I get it. You're a prude."
"No not at
all."
"Or do you first wanna get maaaaaaarried," she sang. "Love and
marriage, love and marriage, go together like a crotch-less salad." She was very
mentally ill, he thought. People were looking at their table. The guy at the table she
had previously been at was offering Phil cheers with his cup of water.
"Keep it down, okay?" Phil begged.
"That's IT!" Heather
shouted. "Voices carry! I'm totally done with you. You don't even get seven minutes
from me. You've already wasted two minutes of my life. I hate you." After she stormed
off, one of the evening's organizers came over. "Hello, my name is Mr. Enrima. I’m very
sorry about all this. After what she pulled tonight, we're going to tell her that she
is not being invited back. She causes a bit of a problem each time she's here. Can I
offer you another lady?" he asked. Phil thought he sounded like a pimp.
"No thanks," he said. "I need the extra time to get my head
together."
"Well enough then. Enjoy the rest of your dates and try
not to introduce yourself as Phil Asheo. Someone has complained about you
also."
At the break he ran into Luke. "How's it going?" Phil
asked.
"Not bad. I've met some nice people,” Luke said.
“You?"
"Nice people? I've met the circus. I don't know who you've
been talking to, but this is a freak show!"
"Give people a chance, Phil.
Look, we should be working the room now. Most of the ladies are at the
bar."
"Great, I need a drink," Phil confessed. They walked up to the bar
and jostled in between a few people, palms reaching the smooth, polished bar. He was
rubbing elbows with Heather and Hannah. "Phil Asheo! Phil Asheo! Get the hell away
from me!" Heather reached for her new drink and threw it in his face. Raising both
hands in mock surrender, he tried to get away from the bar, but it was too crowded to
move quickly. Every woman in the room was looking at him.
Mr. Enrima
walked aggressively toward the scene, holding a bar rag. “Everything is fine. That woman
is going to be asked to leave. I can assure everyone that it's just a minor difference
of opinion that's been blown all out of proportion. This is a safe dating environment."
Phil looked over to Luke who was chuckling, while giving him a “thumbs up" sign that
really meant, “Way to go you fucking loser”. Phil needed to either leave the event or
sit at his table for the second half and redeem himself. He had already proven in
marriage that he wasn't a quitter, but someone who tended to hang around too long.
Tonight’s second half was not going to be used for redemption. He would use it to finish
the four shots of scotch he ordered and have a good time.
The first woman
after break sat down at the table. "Oh no," she said. "Fellatio. Why was the woman
yelling ‘fellatio’ at you?"
"I wasn't propositioning her. See?” He
showed her his nametag. It had the number four on it. “See, I’m number four, not Phil
Asheo. Things were going lousy on that date, anyway, so that’s why I introduced myself
as Phillip Asheo. Get it? Ha, ha I was making a joke," he said
dryly.
"Yeah, ha, ha," she answered back just as dry. "So, why call
yourself that? Do you dislike fellatio? Or do you like it?"
"I like it,"
Phil said, noticing her body language. She was hugging herself tight, legs crossed. Not
very inviting. "In a normal way," he added. “Not a creepy perverted
way.”
"Well, I wouldn't count on getting any until you get to know
someone."
"I agree."
"I heard about that woman from the
last time. Someone I dated after the last event said that she had sex with him and
bragged about going to bed with everyone. I thought I recognized you from the last time.
Were you here before?"
"No."
"Then how did you know to
talk to her about fellatio? You men are all alike," she sneered.
"I
didn't talk to her about fellatio. I said my name was Phillip Asheo and I was
introducing myself to another person, not the one that slept with all ten
dates."
"That's what's wrong with men. It's all about fellatio.
You even used that as your name. I've actually met some nice guys tonight, you
know."
"Good, I'm glad," Phil said. "Do you think there is someone out
there who is perfect for you? I mean, the perfect match?"
"That's what I
believe in. Phil, you may be a nice guy or you may be rude. I don’t really need to find
out, but you are not my perfect match." The bell sounded and Phil looked at his
scorecard. He had not checked anyone yet and he was not going to check her either.
Phil found the next woman pretty with curly black hair and strong
cheekbones, but way too negative. She seemed to frown at times when smiling would be
much more appropriate. It made her less pretty. Each frown, she would tuck her chin in
toward her chest. It was annoying. Phil was uncomfortable making conversation -- even
small talk --because of this movement. It was almost like an involuntary response. He
did notice that she was small, but had a decent body under a soft white sweater that was
slightly unbuttoned. Phil felt defeated. So close, yet so far, he thought. He
downed one of his shots. Oh, what the hell. Let’s have some fun with
this.
“Will you have sex with me?” he asked abruptly. He asked this
question for the hell of it, and to see if she would develop a new and different frown.
Her mouth made a large “0” shape as she sunk her chin even further inward into her chest.
“You seem very tight and I’m getting very tempted. I’ll wine and dine you first, okay?”
he added.
“Well, okay…I mean no! I mean, Jesus, I’m not used to someone
being so forward.” At this point she actually smiled. “I am really hating this,” she
said. “I hate small talk. Finally someone a little different. Thank God for you, Mr.
Asheo.”
“Actually my name is Ellis.”
“Ellis
Asheo?”
“No, Phil Ellis.” The bell sounded. “Hey, this is great. We
actually had a good time and you lasted the whole seven minutes with me.” Phil took out
his sheet. “Let’s see, you’re number 31. I’m going to put a big check next to your
number.” He held out his pad for her and drew a huge exaggerated checkmark next to her
number. “There,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” she responded and frowned.
Because he was drinking a shot for each date, the last three women
blended into one another. Two of them were Jewish with dyed or streaked hair and the
other one was overweight and talked about restaurants. He hated every one of them after
what number 31 had done to him. Talk about a mind screw! he thought. He was glad
when all the dates were over and people were beginning to mill about. Luke had
double-matched with six people and wanted to check notes. “I got six dates,” he
shouted.
“Slut!” Phil shouted back.
“Shut up, A-hole. How
did you do?” Phil winked as he made a zero with his thumb and pointer.
“That well, huh?”
“Yeah. Let’s get outta
here.”
“You don’t want to go to the dance?” Luke
asked.
“No, I think Mr. Asheo is going home to have a seven minute date
with himself."
***
Timothy's second book of
short stories entitled, Short Street will be
released in early winter on Zuymaya
Press.
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