Jill Smolinski - The Next Thing on My List

The microwave bell dinged, and I said I needed to go. My dinner was ready. I’ d composed an ‘ international sampler’ consisting of leftover spaghetti (Italy), a fish taco from Rubio’ s (Mexico), two California sushi rolls (Japan), and a slice of Kraft fat-free cheese (France).

Before hanging up, my mom said, “Again, honey, sorry for scaring you.”

“Don’ t worry about it. Guess I have death on my mind these days.”

She snorted a laugh. “This is nothing. Wait till you get to be my age.”

LEANING OVER SUSAN’ S shoulder to see the computer screen in front of her, I marveled, “This feels strangely like shopping.”

She scrolled through a row of men’ s photos. “How about this one: Hot Lover Seeks Wild and Free Lady.”

“Ew. He might as well just say, Horny Guy Seeks Slut, as Whore Too Expensive.”

“Oh, come on,” she taunted in the superior way that only the happily married can. “Where’ s your spirit of adventure?”

“It’ s home wearing bunny slippers and watching Entertainment Tonight.”

“You need a life.”

“Isn’ t that what we’ re trying to do here?”

Most of the office was deserted. Susan and I stayed after hours so we could find a man for me on the Internet without fear of anyone finding out. Task #14, Go on a blind date, might as well be next to check off the list. My mom had been dropping hints that she might be able to set me up. She’ d told me that several of her friends’ sons were getting divorced and were ripe for the plucking& and who’ s to say for how long? In situations such as this, I figure, the best defense is a good offense.

We couldn’ t use my cubicle. Not only does my computer screen face out so that anyone walking by can see exactly what’ s on it, but for people at my level, the company programs in all sorts of blocks limiting where we can go on the Internet. Apparently only upper management is welcome to online date and view porn all day.

“He looks nice.” I pointed to a photo of a guy who& well, I’ d describe him, but he had the sort of face you don’ t remember. His intro line said, Nice Regular Guy.

“hat do you want a nice regular guy for?”

I scowled. “What’ s wrong with a nice regular guy?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, then.”

“But remember how you asked me to keep you honest about this?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

“If I’ m being honest, I think you’ re being a coward.”

“Terrific.”

“Seriously! The whole idea of this is to take a risk-to put yourself out there. I’ m sorry, but I happen to believe that you’ re funny and smart and very pretty. A guy like that is beneath you. You can do better.”

It’ s hard to argue with someone complimenting you while they ball you out. That’ s probably why Susan’ s employees love her so much. She’ s slippery that way. “Are you coming on to me?” I asked jokingly, hoping to change the subject.

“I mean it. Remember those photos from C.J. and Joey’ s birthday party last month? I e-mailed them to a few people, and Chase’ s friend Kevin e-mailed back to ask who the babe was in the red shirt.”

“Really?” Even I have to admit I look piping hot in that shirt. “Well then, why don’ t we skip this and you can set me up with this Kevin fellow?”

“For starters, he’ s in Zimbabwe. Secondly, he’ s beneath you.”

I sighed. With all these men beneath me, you’ d think I’ d have a more exciting love life.

“All I’ m saying,” she continued, “is that you have an opportunity here to take a risk. Aim high. Go for someone who seems out of your league. Isn’ t that the whole point? For example” She scrolled down until she found a man who resembled Fabio. “Him. Personal Trainer Seeks Fit and Funny Lady.”

“He doesn’ t want me. I’ m no lady.”

“Who cares what he wants?”

“I don’ t know. He’ s almost too good-looking. Besides, it says here his favorite book is Likes movies better.”

Susan kept searching and then stopped on what looked like a Calvin Klein ad. Dark hair, a graze of stubble along the jaw, intelligent but smoldering eyes& hands casually in pants pockets of what appeared to be a very expensive suit.

“Forget it,” I said, cringing from the memory of the jerk at the bar. I was done with underwear model look-alikes.

“He’ s a writer!” She clicked open his profile. “His name’ s Sebastian, and he works as an advertising copywriter. Thirty-three& never married& nonsmoker& ooh, and look, he’ s man enough to check the ‘ any age’ box rather than saying he wants the woman to be younger than him. We should e-mail him. He’ s perfect!”

Exactly. That was the problem. It was one thing to put myself out there, but this guy wasn’ t simply out of my league& we weren’ t even playing the same sport. “He vacations regularly in St. Croix. I don’ t even know where that is!”

“Oh, come on.”

“I’ m willing to go on a blind date, but the list didn’ t say anything about being humiliated and rejected. Thanks, but no thanks.”

She told me I was being silly but finally moved on. Not much later we gave up for the night, and I left for the gym. The down side of getting over my funk was that my appetite had sprung back to its full glory.

Susan stayed behind to finish up a report, exhibiting the sort of work ethic that is the reason she gets a door and full Internet access and I don’ t.

THE NEXT MORNING, Brie came into my cubicle. She wore a yellow top that clung to her generous bosom, along with a leopard-print mini. Her hair-a never-ending source of entertainment for me and often nothing short of a work of art-was in a flip reminiscent of Diana Ross in her Supremes days. All in all, on the demure side for Brie.

“I found this in the printer,” she said, waving a piece of paper at me, “but I’ m not sure if it’ s for you or for Susan. It’ s from her computer, but the note is addressed to you.”

I’ d been deep in thought-trying to come up with a good rhyme for ‘ transit’ for a headline I was working on-so I barely glanced up. “Thanks.”

“It’ s from some guy named Sebastian,” she continued just as I was dismissing ‘ rancid’ as being too negative. When I heard the name, little fingers of worry starting to worm their way up my spine.

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah. It’ s strange because he’ s asking one of you, I think you, on a date and I figure Susan’ s married, but as I said, it was from her computer, so”

I snatched the paper from her hands.

Her face got excited. “He’ s inviting you to a book signing. Sounds like the kind of thing you’ d be into, huh? All intellectual and whatnot. Me, I prefer a date with a little action in it, where I can dress up real nice. You know, like going to a club-ooh, there’ s that new one in Hollywood I went to last weekend, and let me tell you, it was off the chain! I wore my new pink leather skirt, and-“

“Brie?” I interrupted. “You said you found this in the printer?”

‘ Yeah. You and Robert break up?’ When I didn’ t answer right away, she narrowed her eyes at me. ‘ You’ re stepping out on him?’

‘ We split, back in August. Give me a sec, will you?’ I paused to read what she’ d brought in, which was a printout of an e-mail. It was from Sebastian all right. He thanked me for writing him, said how excited he was to hear from a fellow copywriter and that he loved the photo I sent him. And then he invited me to a book reading and signing at seven o’ clock on Thursday at Book Soup. There’ ll be wine and cheese there, and we can go out for dinner afterward, the note read. I know that it’ s last minute, but let me know if you can make it. Love to get together and find out more about you.