It's Got A Ring To It (6 page)

I should’ve given a few of the good ones a real chance. Some of them
turned out to be great men. Jake Reynolds was a nerd, complete with a protector
and valedictorian tucked neatly in his pocket. Three years earlier, I ran into
him at McCarran and my how Jake had grown into a full-blown man. Bifocals had
been swapped for contacts and a
T
-shirt that failed to hide his chiseled
abwork
beneath. He’d blossomed nicely. Playing with
computers may have been a hobby for geeks back in high school, but he’d turned
it into a lucrative career as CEO to a systems analysis firm. I looked on
admiringly, but my eyes were only for Ethan then. Still, it’s unsettling to
think I let so many opportunities like Jake, who might’ve been someone special,
pass me by.

Teetering between prowling at the club and surveying new territory
online made
me
miss
that time of blind complacency. Especially since the idea of online dating was
repulsive. Nothing could replace meeting in person. The personal connection
when you heard his voice
.
The intonation.
The sincerity or lack there of.
Maybe, his laugh.
Or, the touch of his skin when his fingers
lightly graze
d
my skin,
telling me he just wanted to be near in any way I’d let him. My favorite, the
look in his eyes, when our eyes meet, and we both kn
e
w we’d risk sleep and sanity in the morning
rather than leave each other’s side. Seemed like an unworthy exchange for
ogling a stranger’s picture on a laptop. But, the alternative, grinding a
mating dance in the club and not even remembering why some bloke was slobbering
on my Egyptian cotton pillowcase in the morning, could not compare.

With the username and password Lena set up for me, I jumped in feet
first. To my dismay, the first thing that popped up on the page was an overly
patriotic picture
M
om
took of me
at
last
year’s
Fourth
of July barbecue
, wearing
a red, white, and blue striped tank
top and a Kool-Aid smile. The oily sweat on my face from the dry heat
that Lena tried
unconvincingly to tell me was dew, made my skin look greasy. Apparently, it
showed off the intensity in my eyes and the symmetrical lining of my face. It
wasn’t the photo I would’ve chosen for myself, but at least I didn’t have to
indecisively sift through mounds of pictures to find one that I would approve.
As directed, I continued to answer a hundred questions about myself, in order for
my possible pair
ings
to
be suited and sent to me.

“Now
Laila
, be honest or else you’ll never
find your suited pair.” Lena couldn’t contain her excitement. Finally, she’d
gotten her shot to take on my dating life as her latest challenge. She was
already using the website lingo, while I tried to figure out whether I was
looking for a guy or playing poker.

“Okay, can you at least let me read the questions before you start
hounding me about answering honestly!” She meant well, but it didn’t make it
any less annoying to be pestered about dating by my baby sister.

By the time I finally finished answering all the questions and
selecting the scenarios that best described my outlook on men, life and my
perfect date,
Lena’d
left me to the wolves and I
needed a third wind to kick in. Without being under her watchful ear, I pushed
the laptop to the side. One more Sunday perk, like being back in kindergarten,
after a hard day of playing, there was always room for naptime.

As timely as ever, with the first flicker of my dosing eyes, the
computer pinged, alerting me of possible suited pairs. Despite the prospect of
catching a few winks, the sleep instantly subsided and I jumped at the shot to
get a glimpse at my potential matches. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I
woke the computer.

One. Count '
em
, one measly match popped up.
True, only half an hour passed since my page became active, but a sole match?
Either I
was
utterly repulsive to the opposite sex, Sunday is the worst dating day
of the week, or marital bliss just
wasn’t
in the cards for me
.
My self-esteem sank.
I shrugged
it off
and
clicked on the lone
candidate as a perky audio message sounded, “Royal Flush! You have a suited
pair.” Although I preferred blackjack, I dabbled in poker enough to know that a
royal flush was the best you could get.

I sat
up a
little straighter
and
held on to the little hope I had left. Maybe it wouldn’t take a million
matches, just one that mattered. All I needed was one good guy. According to
our match percentage, we were
ninety-nine
point eight percent
compatible. Couldn’t beat that. He was practically
perfect for me in every way, except for the fact that his ideal date included a
long walk on the beach and I chose movies and dinner. I could do long walks on
white sand beaches.

Compromising wasn’t an issue. My
real hang
up? He opted not to have a profile picture. I liked to think I was progressive
enough that looks wouldn’t matter, but the shallow side of me reared its ugly
head. Little thought bubbles popped into my head making me wonder whether he
was repulsive to kiss. Glimpses of some hideous pervert hiding behind the
screen to compensate for his shortcomings kept reeling across my mind: the
gluttonous slob loitering on social networking and porn sites, the fifteen
-
year
-
old with a Mrs. Robinson complex hoping to
score with an older woman, or worse, the serial killing sociopath casing for
his next victim. Even though Michael Myers never talked, for some reason I
envisioned some new
age
version of him in his antique William Shatner mask sitting at a computer,
hunting me down to the beat of the bloodcurdling theme music. No picture?
Definitely a deal breaker.

Right smack dab in the middle of my mental combat, he sent me an
instant message.

LVGent
:
Hello gorgeous!

SEVEN

Of all
the times Lena could dodge my calls, she chose the moment I actually needed her
two cents, to abandon me. After the third attempt on her home phone,
alternating back and forth from her cell, she finally answered.

“Lena! I need your help
,
” I pleaded. “What should I say?”

“Say about what?”
s
he
replied, excitedly.

“The guy from online. He sent me a message and I don’t have a clue
what to say to him,” I said, completely frazzled.

“Uh,
‘
hello
’
would be a great start
.
”
She sounded
more like the elder of the two of
us. She’s always been more mature when it concerned dating. “
Laila
, grow up and talk to the man. He can’t bite from
online. Now, I’ve got better things to do at the moment, so be a grown-up and
chat with the guy, and then call me when something actually happens.
Gotta
go!”

T
he dial tone
let me know I was on my own. Just like that
—
me, the computer,
and God
knows who, on the other end. Here goes nothing
.

LovelyLady
:
Hello?

With emerging caution, I treaded lightly. It was the closest thing to
a whisper that could be typed.

LVGent
:
I
didn’t think you’d respond.

LovelyLady
:
I’m
sorry. I wasn’t at my computer.

I lied, giving him as little information about me as possible.

LVGent
:
Well,
I’m glad you finally did. I’ve been looking at your profile for the last 30
minutes and I couldn’t wait to talk to you.

I
nstant messaging
is so creepy. It’s the virtual equivalent of being in a dark room in a haunted
mansion with no flashlight and only movements and sound
s
to avoid total disorientation. I kept
thinking about those dumb unsuspecting people in horror movies who are home
alone, but run around
yelling
“hello” at the top of their lungs,
letting the killer know exactly where they are. I just want to yell, “
P
eople come on! Who are you
talking to? If anyone answers, that’s
not
a good thing.”

LovelyLady
:
I’m
sort of an amateur at this. It’s my first time being on a dating site.

I decided to give him a chance rather than suffer the wrath of Lena.

LVGent
:
The
hardest part is done. You’ve set up your profile and we’ve already been
matched. Now it’s up to us to take it to the next step. So, you game?

Maybe. As long as you’re not a psycho sick lunatic.

LovelyLady
:
You
make it seem
so
easy. So, all I
have to do is answer a bunch of questions and then I’m matched up with “the
one?”

So, poof and it’s magic? Really?

LVGent
:
“The
one?”

LovelyLady
:
Yeah,
you know the elusive guy that every woman has been searching for since they
were nine and have yet to find through
speed-dating
,
disaster blind dates, and on-purpose chance meetings.

LVGent
:
Oh,
that
one. So, don’t tell me you still
believe in Santa Claus, too?

LovelyLady
:
L
OL
. You don’t? You must’ve
been on the naughty list.

Or,
on
America’s Most Wanted.
Is that you, Dexter?

LVGent
:
LMAO!
No. Maybe, if you decide to meet me, then you can determine whether I’m naughty
or nice.

LovelyLady
:
Are
you flirting with me,
LVGent
? You don’t sound too
much like a gentleman.

Ok
ay
, I was
intrigued. He might have been charming, but Ted Bundy was charming.

LVGent
:
I
wouldn’t dare, with such a Lovely Lady. ;)

LovelyLady
:
So
really, tell me a little bit about you. You’re profile said that you’re pretty
much perfect for me. You are my “suited pair” in a “royal flush” no doubt. LOL
(so corny) I know the sense of humor part was true, what about everything else?

Feel free to tell me all the stuff that would likely be
on a background check.

LVGent
:
It’s
all true
! I’ve already been through the trenches and
I’m finally ready to settle down.
Although…I’m better in
person.

LovelyLady
:
Warning!
I’m kind of a skeptic. Meeting in person will take some time for me. Not that
comfortable, yet. I don’t know you.

It’s not going to be that easy,
b
ucko!

LVGent
:
That’s
fine with me. What do you have in mind?

LovelyLady
:
20
questions too corny?

LVGent
:
L
OL
!
Just
my style.

Unknowingly, we forwent the twenty questions, partially because I
lost count somewhere around seventeen and partially because I still needed more
answers. After much interrogation on my part, I found out that the “LVG” in
LVGent
, stood for Larry Vincent Gentry, the recently
divorced thirty-six
-
year
old
,
self-employed
owner of Tailored Gent, menswear. A victim of infidelity, he hadn’t let his
faith in love subside. With such optimism, it’s no wonder his favorite color
changed from plain old blue to “happy yellow”—even after going through
the hell that is bereaving a loved one, whether death is involved or not. I’d
worried that he might be burned beyond recovery, but that suspicion quickly
subsided when we moved away from trivial questions and I learned about the loss
of his father and the strong women
who
nurtured and raised him never to give up
on love. It was a welcome change to know that he could be secure in his
manhood, yet in touch with his sensitive side and personal passions.

An international traveler, he’d been all over the Americas, Asia, and
Australia, but Europe was where his brief stint as a fashion model in his
twenties found him falling in love with the skilled art of designing and
tailoring fine garments. In Italy,
historical museums and architectural gems, which
surrounded picturesque canals, inspired Larry
. Though the modeling was
short-lived, it funded the opportunity for him to spend a year completing an
apprenticeship, perfecting the craft that turned out to be his calling.

Just hearing his life journey, I found myself hungry for new
adventures. I couldn’t get the vision of eating gelato in St. Mark’s Square and
working my way through all the museums, out of my head. Pictures in books could
only take me so far. At some point, I realized I’d have to go out on faith and
actually live. My m
ind
began running away from me. I had visions
of
Roman
Holiday
,
and Larry and I were taking the city in by
Vespa
.

Thoughts of Larry being this younger, sexier, Italian version of
Gregory Peck got me excited and I really got into the conversation. Next thing
I knew, my guard w
as
officially down. Two and a half hours and countless instant messages later, I
was ready to take down the “out of order” sign on my love life. It was no
longer obsolete. I had a date with
LVGent
. A very
cautious date, nonetheless. Excited anxiety rushed through me, but there would
likely be no romantic
Vespa
ride around Rome.
At least, for the time being.
Nor,
would there be an intimate stroll by the shore. Heck, even the idea of him
picking me up or knowing what car I drove was farfetched at that point.

We compromised on the dinner-movie date, and settled on just a dinner
to start. A very public outing to Della
Vite
, the new
critically acclaimed Italian restaurant and winery, located smack dab in the
middle of
T
he
S
trip. It was so new,
that
paparazzi still
lingered around with their lenses prepped and ready for a glimpse of any
remotely recognizable
celebutante
or socialite. I
chose it for that reason precisely. Just in case Larry turn
ed
out to be one of America’s Most Cunning
Criminals instead of Gregory Peck, the chances of a pic being snapped of us
together could be just what the police would need to rescue me
—
or depending on how
the date went, at least a nice memory for our scrapbook of our first date.