Allison Diepen - The Oracle Of Dating

Her parents are hard-core. They go to parent-teacher conferences demanding the dates of all the tests so they know when to keep Viv at home studying.

“At least you have some easy classes like art,” she says.

I laugh because it’s so ironic. “Easy, maybe, if I had some talent. It’ll probably be my worst mark. Have you thought about your sociology paper yet? It’s a quarter of our final mark.”

“I’m almost done.”

“You’re unbelievable! What’s it on?”

“How patients relate to their doctors.”

“Good idea. I’m actually thinking of doing a dating experiment. Have you heard of speed dating?”

She nods.

“I want to organize a speed-dating night at my place. Thought it might be fun to observe it and write a paper on it.”

“That’s an amazing idea!”

“I was hoping you’d volunteer to be one of the speed daters. I need ten girls and ten guys. Will you do it?”

“Will there be any Indian guys?”

“I promise to try to get some.”

“Okay, then. Count me in!”

THAT EVENING TRACEY calls to tell me about her date with the salsa instructor.

She has a fantastic dinner with Miguel at a Cuban restaurant in the Village. She leaves the restaurant on his arm, drunk on wine and their fiery attraction. He takes her to his favorite club, Calienté. Music pumps hot and fierce. He brings her onto the dance floor and leads her in a passionate set.

“You’re on fire,” he says. “You make love to me with your moves.”

Tracey feels vibrant and alive. She pictures herself dancing the merengue in her wedding dress as her friends and family look on in awe. Maybe one day she and Miguel will open up their own dance school. Maybe they’ll spend their summers teaching underprivileged children salsa in the streets of Guadalajara.

After a while she pleads exhaustion and takes a breather. At the bar, she orders a mojito, extra sugar. She’ll need the energy for the night of dancing ahead.

Miguel is now dancing with another woman. This is typical at salsa clubs—everybody dances with everybody. She doesn’t mind. The girl he’s chosen is a tentative dancer and heavy-set. He is apparently giving her instruction, and she is trying very hard not to step on his toes.

Tracey gulps down her drink, eager to get back. But when the next song comes on, he’s already found another partner. Tracey’s jaw drops when she sees that he’s dancing with a gorgeous Latina in a skin-tight white minidress.

The beat of the music is distinctive. It’s the bachata! Doesn’t he only dance that with special people? Isn’t it too personal?

Tracey watches as they tear up the dance floor. It’s the most extraordinary dance she’s ever seen—and if this guy weren’t her date, she’d be enthralled.

A woman sitting beside her mutters in a smoker’s voice, “Those two should get a room.”

At that moment Tracey becomes aware of several things:

She will never be able to rival a full-blooded Latina on the dance floor.

She will never be able to stand the jealousy of knowing that Miguel makes love to countless women in the form of Latin dancing.

Miguel is a gift to women everywhere. A Casanova. A bird not meant to be caged.

Tracey slaps down a ten for her drink. “Who was I kidding?” And leaves.

THIS IS RIDICULOUS. I have an awesome Web site that only a couple of hundred people know about. I need thousands, not hundreds, to make a splash.

I have to advertise.

I spend my entire Saturday making up a colorful, catchy flyer, then I go to Kinko’s to make copies. I put up about thirty in malls and subway stations. Too bad I can’t ask my friends to help with my advertising blitz, but it isn’t worth giving up my anonymity.

That night I sit in front of my computer. So far I’ve gotten fifteen hits. That’s not bad. I’m hoping someone will IM me. Instead, the Oracle’s phone line rings.

“The Oracle of Dating.”

“Hi. I saw your Web site. I have, ah, an issue that I’m dealing with.”

“You can count on me for unbiased advice.” My words are smooth, but excitement bubbles inside me. The woman on the phone sounds twenty-five or thirty—that means my advertisements are finally helping me reach a different age group!

“You sound really young,” she says.

Uh-oh, what do I say to that? Think, Oracle, think.

“Would you prefer a fresh voice, or a jaded one?”

She laughs. “Good answer. Here goes. I went onto a dating site and started chatting with a few guys. I ended up making dates with two in the same week. And the thing is, I liked both of them. I figured I’d go on a few dates with each of them and eventually one or both would fade out. But it didn’t happen that way. It’s been a month and I’m still dating them.”

“Do you prefer one to the other?”

“No, I’m crazy about both of them! They’re just so different. One is reserved and straitlaced—but still waters run deep, you know. And the other is exciting and passionate and even wants to meet my parents.”

“Are you being intimate with either of them?”

“I, ah, fooled around with both of them. I feel guilty about it, but I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s like the guilt is an aphrodisiac. Does that make sense?”

“It does, yes. Tell me, do these guys know you’re dating other people?”

“I don’t think so. At the beginning, I told them I wasn’t looking to be exclusive right away, but they both think that I’ve changed my mind. One of them is even calling me his girlfriend.”

“Do you want an exclusive relationship?”

“Yes, I just don’t know who I want it with! What if I choose one of them and it doesn’t work out? Then I’ve let go of the other guy for nothing.”

“I have one last question for you before I give my advice. How would you feel if you were in the position of these men?”

“I’d feel like I was being played. And that’s not how I want them to feel. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Thank you for your honesty. Now, here is my advice …” I hit a few notes on the xylophone.

“What was that? ”

“A xylophone.”

“That’s weird! Okay, Oracle of Dating, so what’s your advice?”

“My advice is that you spend the next two weeks dating these guys as if you’re interviewing them for a job—the job is being your boyfriend. Take everything into account—reliability, fun factor, physical attraction. Make a list if you have to. At the end of two weeks, make your decision. Be as nice as possible to the other guy—explain to him that this isn’t a good time for you to embark on a relationship, but you want to remain friends. If it’s a relatively good breakup, he might consider letting you back into his life in the future.”

“You’re so right, Oracle. Thank you. I’m going to take your advice.” She pauses. “One last question—how old are you, anyway?”

“The Oracle is timeless.”

“You’re funny. I like that. Have a good night.”

“You, too. And good luck.”

“PRICE CHECK, CASH TWO!”

There are four cash registers in the whole store and mine is the only one that’s open. Ryan left a while ago, and the other cashier, Jay, is probably smoking a spliff in the back room.

“Price check!” I repeat, feeling the customer glaring at me.

The stock boys loading up the shelves in aisle one pretend they don’t understand English.

“Juan!” He finally looks up. “Check this, okay?” I hold up the bag of chips. “Find out if they’re on sale.”

“Sì.” He runs toward the chip aisle.

He’s back a couple of minutes later with another bag. “This. Not that.”

The customer chose Baked Lays instead of regular Lays. A common mistake.