Клео Коул - Through The Grinder

“Brooks, let me be honest with you so we can both digest our food. The only reason I’m here is to see what this on-line dating thing is like. My daughter insisted on signing up, and I wanted to check out the site, see how it worked. I’m really not interested in…hooking up…or anything.”

“Oh.” The man leaned back in his chair. “Oh.”

“Honestly, you’re not interested in me, right?”

He took a sip of his martini and made an unsatisfied face. “I usually go out with women much younger than you. But for thirty-nine…you actually look okay. I dislike what you’re wearing, that sweater is too big for you and I don’t like women in pants, but you have a very pretty face…In fact…” He took a closer look. “You are kinda cute.”

“Thanks.” Creep .

“And you look a little familiar for some reason.”

“Ever been in the Village Blend coffeehouse — on Hudson?”

“That’s the coffeehouse you manage? Oh, sure. I’ve been in there. Good cappuccinos.”

“Thanks.” Okay, maybe not a total creep.

“To be honest with you, I thought this could be more of a networking thing than a date,” he said. “I’ve arranged a new approach to fundraising that’s going to involve the sort of beautiful young women who work here. And I thought if you managed this place, then you might be able to help me secure the donation of services.”

“Services?”

Brooks nodded. “A lingerie show at the Puck building. And, after the show, the girls will serve drinks.”

“While still in their underwear?”

“Brilliant, isn’t it?” Brooks said with a grin. “I am such the Genius. The big spenders will love it, and I’ll certainly be reeling in some new whales, too. As far as the models, I’m sure, if they’re forced to work here, then they’re between gigs anyway — and they already know how to serve drinks.”

“But why would they do it for free?”

“Because, given the type of spenders we’ve already invited to the event — media and ad execs and the like — it will be good exposure for them.”

“Good exposure. Right.” (Serving drinks in flimsy underwear would do that for a girl.)

“And it’s also for a good cause,” he added.

“What cause would that be?”

“M.N.M. I’m in charge of their national fundraising drives for the next six months.”

“M.N.M.? Oh, right, I’ve heard of them. Meat No More — the vegan activist organization? So that’s why you’ve only been a vegan for three days?”

Brooks shrugged. “Let’s just say after two weeks on the job, they encouraged me to give the lifestyle a try.” He sighed, dejected. “It was just one take-out order of Chinese spare ribs delivered to their offices. You’d think I killed the damn pig myself.”

I took another bite of my delicious Brazilian steak sandwich. He frowned at his veggie burger. Then he looked around the restaurant and whispered, “Can I have half of that?”

I smiled. “Sure.”

The meat seemed to restore him. He actually smiled, too. “You know, you are really cute. I don’t see why we can’t hook up…you know, just for the night.”

“Sorry, but, uh…I do.” I almost added, “nothing personal,” but stopped myself. Of course, it was personal.

He frowned. “Oh, well…worth a shot.” He shrugged.

“So, what do you think of the SinglesNYC site? I mean, for my daughter?”

“Your daughter, huh? That’s an interesting idea.” He took a drink of his martini and gave me a leer. “Does she look like a younger version of you? And if she does, what’s she doing tonight?”

I pictured Brooks coming in for a cappuccino — and me pointing the steam valve at his face.

“You’re too old for her,” I said with great relish.

He shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Yes I can.

“Look, SinglesNYC is a pretty edgy site. Most of the people go there to widen their sexual circle.”

I nearly choked on my marinated cow. “Widen their what?”

“Their sexual circle. How old is she?”

“Nineteen. She turns twenty very soon.”

Brooks nodded. “Tell her not to go out with anyone over twenty-five. That should help cut down on the guys who might be married. And here’s a warning label: get the guy’s home number, home address, and work number. Because if he’s reluctant to give any of those out, he could be married or already have a girlfriend.”

A pained sigh escaped me.

My e-date leaned forward. “Hey, look…” He pulled out his business card, flipped it, and wrote something down. “If I had a daughter, I’d want her to be on one of these two sites instead. They’re total duds as far as I’m concerned — people who want, you know, ‘meaningful relationships,’ and talk about things like ‘favorite hobbies.’ A lot tamer than SinglesNYC.”

“Thanks,” I said, and meant it.

We finished our meal and contemplated the desert selection. Both of us ordered the flan, then I asked the waitress for a cappuccino.

“I’ll have one, too,” said Brooks.

I was just about to conclude the guy was okay when he opened his mouth one more time and said the one thing that absolutely put an end to even the remotest possibility of a relationship with me —

“Just make sure mine’s a decaf.”

Almost time.

The air was crisp tonight, polluted with the occasional acrid fumes from the historic district’s wood-burning fireplaces, but there was little wind off the nearby river, and the Genius found tonight’s mission almost tolerable.

For one thing, the sorry parade of single men and women brought the Genius a mild degree of amusement.

Saturday night in the Village was always loud and crowded, but each Single seemed to file down this dark street in a particularly pathetic way. There was something pensive and a little desperate about them as they negotiated the clutching couples and raucous revelers. Hands in pockets, eyes cast down.

Standing in the shadowy recesses of an alley across the busy street, the Genius found the perfect vantage from which to watch them file past the faux gas lamp and trudge into the coffeehouse.

Through the Blend’s tall, brightly lit windows, the Genius studied them as they bumped and squeezed their way around the crowded tables, then adjusted their clothing before climbing up the wrought iron spiral staircase to arrive on the second floor, their false courage now in place — hands out of pockets, eyes lifted up, plastic smiles applied like last-minute lipstick.

There was a bald guy in his fifties with a slight limp.

Two women in their thirties, laughing a little too hard.

An over-dressed fortyish man with enough grease in his hair to qualify as a Mafia don.

A brunette with tight clothing and too much makeup.

A geeky twentysomething.

A geeky thirtysomething.

Three Goth girls.

A forty-plus woman with spike-heeled boots and a trendy leather coat meant for someone twenty years younger.

And they just kept coming…

This Cappuccino Connection thing certainly brought out the losers. Oh, there were a few somewhat attractive women in the mix, but nothing special.

The Genius was actually surprised it had come to this for him.

But SinglesNYC.com really had become a bust.

The last match had taken place at a nearby restaurant. She’d been too old for his taste, which might not have mattered, but there was no chemistry. Nothing about the woman seemed to turn him on. She’d been a bore.