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Rich Stone |
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Relationship Intelligence Nine strikes in a row. Three more and he'd achieve perfection. Michael aligned the ball with the two arrows just left of center and released. The ball hit in the pocket, off the Jersey side, and ten more pins fell. Ten in a row. He'd never rolled a perfect 300 before. Only twenty pins stood between him and his goal. He paused and flexed his fingers, which were now beginning to stiffen up. "Just nerves," he thought. "Settle down, and roll it like it was nothing at all." He aligned and released, but his hand slipped. It hit the one pin head on, resulting in the dreaded seven-ten split. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "This mouse sucks." He clicked the mouse to release the final ball and entered his initials next to his score of 284. Game Over. He surfed around the web, still tasting the sour defeat of his imperfect 284. Earlier that day he had bogeyed the eighteenth hole of the virtual Kemper Open and ruined his chance for a new course record. As with everything in his life, he'd come up short. SHORT. He checked his email again, the account he set up exclusively for his online dating correspondence. He still had no messages in his inbox, so he navigated back to his PerfectMatch.com profile and re-wrote it…yet again. He'd written a funny profile, a serious profile, an inspirational profile, and, in his own humble opinion, the most entertaining and irresistible profile ever written on PerfectMatch.com. All yielded the same resultant empty inbox. The only thing Michael hadn't written was a fictitious profile. He tabbed through the text boxes on the Update Personal Profile page and stopped at the one piece of information that he suspected was the problem. He made one change to it -- just one minor edit. He turned a "5" into a "6" and clicked the Submit button. "Your profile has been updated to reflect your changes" the friendly screen replied. Two hours later, when Michael checked his email, his inbox was full. He was filled with a combination of loathing, rage and despair. His suspicions were confirmed. He knew for certain now what was keeping him back; his shortcoming. But there was no chance for self-improvement. How was he going to grow a foot taller? Rather than bemoan the sad hard facts, he decided to ski the Alps instead. He waited for the applet to load. # Shari tapped her fingers on the table, realized she was doing it, and pulled her hand down onto her lap. She was meeting Frank today. They'd exchanged five emails and then had a wonderful conversation on the phone. He ended up asking her to meet him at Starbucks. He seemed like the perfect man. Funny, creative, smart, outgoing, athletic. It was a "lunch hour" first date, so it had a time-sensitive escape clause already built into it. But she had a strong feeling. He was the one. She planned their courtship while she waited, complete with a proposal on a secluded island beach at sunset. An hour later she wiped the tears from her face and exited the Starbucks, checking her cell phone in vain for a message from Frank. # Michael wrote in his notebook. It was the only way he could contain himself. He scribbled down all the events between sips of his Grande latte double shot coffee as woman after woman left Starbucks newly saddened with crushed self-esteem. First it was Mary, then it was Shari, followed by Amanda. The expression was priceless. First the eager anticipation, then the worried look, and finally the defeat. He scheduled three dates in a row, all an hour apart. He observed how long each one stayed before realizing they'd been stood up by Frank, his alter ego. Frank was Michael if Michael were 6'3" instead of 5'3". He didn't alter the profile all that much. He even used a picture of himself that didn't look especially like him. Besides, the women would pass right over him at Starbucks -- they were seeking someone tall. He took pleasure in seeing them suffer and relished the exact moment when they realized Frank wasn't coming. The seeds of self-doubt sprouting into fully bloomed neurosis filled with insecurity. He had pegged one particular facial expression that he especially enjoyed: the "maybe he walked in, saw me and decided I was too ugly" look. He saw that on Shari today. Despite the fact that she was tall, blonde and attractive, he was able to put that self-doubt and insecurity into her. Priceless. This was a good day. Frank had served his purpose. It was time to delete Frank and create a new profile with another name and picture. Let the cyber-seduction begin anew. # Shari sat in Timothy's, awaiting her date. She was still reeling from being stood up by Frank the week before. She had received an email from him offering some lame excuse as to why he couldn't make it, and that he was going to be very busy for the next few months. Very subtle. Obviously he had seen her and decided he wanted nothing to do with a beast like herself. Hopefully Martin would be different. But this was a similar setup. The lunchtime meeting with the built-in escape clause. She wasn't getting her hopes up this time, even though his emails were delightful. She hadn't spoken to him on the phone, which seemed a bit weird; but he explained that he comes off like an idiot over the phone and begged for their first non-electronic, spoken contact to be face-to-face. She found that endearing and agreed. She checked her watch. Ten minutes late. Not looking good. She surveyed the coffee house. No one fitting his description. A few tourists, a few senior citizens, a shabby woman sitting by herself, and a little snickering troll jotting things down in a notebook. Five more minutes. Martin has exactly five minutes to show and I'm then leaving. Screw this. A tall handsome man walked through the door. He didn't look like the picture, but usually they never do. He approached her. "Melissa?" he asked. Her heart sank back into her stomach. "No, sorry." she said. "You wouldn't be Martin, by any chance?" "I'm afraid not." The handsome man looked around, focused on the snickering troll, and then returned his gaze to Shari. "I'm actually here on a setup. PerfectMatch.com." "Me too." "Well, it appears Melissa is a no-show. We were scheduled for half an hour ago. I figured I'd swing back and check one more time to see if she came by." "Doesn't look like Martin is showing up, either," she said. "Maybe he got here early and left with Melissa," he said. "You kinda fit her description." They shared a laugh. "Hey, can I buy you a cup of coffee?" "Sure. Why not?" Shari flashed a big smile. She thanked the matchmaking Gods. "My name is Todd, by the way." His teeth glimmered. He had a beautiful smile. "I'm Shari." # Michael's eyes bulged out of his head. He had found a repeat customer in Shari -- someone upon whom he could really inflict major emotional damage. But now, his beautiful revenge had been foiled by an accidental Prince Charming. His apoplectic rage was interrupted by the profane muttering of a short dark-haired woman sitting by herself at the next table. She also had a notebook, which she threw down to the floor in her own apoplectic rage. Michael strained his eyes to read the scrawl in her notebook: "Todd is in great pain. His tall blonde Melissa has stood him up. It is delicious." Michael tapped the woman on the shoulder. She whirled around defensively, startled. Michael handed her his notebook. She flipped through the pages. She lifted her head and looked over toward Shari and Todd. They were leaving together, Todd's arm tucked neatly around Shari's waist. They were walking on air. "Blondes," she finally said. "They get all the guys." He looked at her. Her disappointment matched his. They sat at their respective tables jotting in their respective notebooks. After a time, Michael glanced over. Her eyes met his. "My name is Michael." She nodded. "Hi." "Can I . . . buy you a cup of coffee?" She stared blankly at him. "Sure, why not." Michael stood up and went to the counter. Maybe he had found his match. They certainly had a lot in common. Perhaps this was fate's way of bringing him his perfect mate. He paid for the coffees, and returned to the table only to find that she had vanished. His notebook was opened to a previously blank page that now had a note scrawled on it. "Michael-- Sorry to run, but I can't do this. I accepted your kind offer before you stood up. I didn't realize you were that short. I decided to bail. Sorry to be so blunt, but you deserve the truth." Michael looked up at the ceiling -- so far away. Then he looked at his watch. His no-show date with Barbara was scheduled to begin shortly. He took his seat and began sipping the coffee. "Who needs her," he thought. "I prefer blondes anyway." |