Happy That It's Not True (16 page)

              Cara’s heart was racing, unable to eat.  She again thought about the word, badass and then stepped off into the abyss.

              “Hey—um...”

              Priscilla lifted her head, showing interest.

              “This is going to sound really crazy, but u-mm—do you like older guys?”

              Priscilla covered her mouth not to spit out her food as she laughed.  “What?”

              “U-um—I don’t know how to ask this—you wouldn’t want to meet someone—who I think would be dying to meet you?”

              “That would depend on a lot of things—many—many factors.”  Priscilla had her book practically in her pasta.

              “Careful—your book.”

              Priscilla smiled and put aside the book.

              Cara saw a tiny ray of hope.  “So—you're not seeing anyone right now?”

              “No—but I don’t know about blind dates.”

              “He’s my uncle.”             

              “Your uncle?”

              “Yes, his name is Diego.”

              “And I suppose he has a thing for Asian women?”  Priscilla’s eyes narrowed.

              “I know—I’m being so incredibly shallow—I see you—you’re Asian and-” Cara was beginning to feel the discouragement that Diego spoke of.

              “Okay, tell me about your uncle,” Priscilla smiled.

              “I know he’s old—but he’s really handsome.”

              “And you’re not biased because he’s your uncle?”

              “He’s tall and has movie star good looks.”

              “So what’s wrong with him?” Priscilla playfully widened her eyes.

              The thought of Luciano entered Cara’s mind—if only her mother had asked that question.  “Nothing.  He’s a great guy.”

              “He’s like a monk or something?” Priscilla said in a mocking voice.

              “He’s just a good guy.”

              “If he’s so great, why is he single?”

              That was the one question she couldn’t answer, and so she thought out loud.  “I’m not sure—maybe something happened to him.  I don’t know—but he’s very special.”

              Priscilla held her chin up with her elbow on the table, appearing to be deep in thought.  “So you want me to meet your uncle, simply because I’m Asian—and you have no idea why he’s single or if he has commitment issues—do I have all this straight?”

              “When you put it that way—I guess I am pretty shallow—”

              “Would we have anything in common?”

              “Actually, he used to work for a tech company.”

              “Really?”

              “Yeah, he was some kind of information architect.  And then he switched careers, and now he’s a college professor—teaching art.”

              Priscilla stared past Cara, nodding her head slightly. “That does sound interesting.”

              “Hey—I just had an amazing thought.  You can meet him without actually having to meet him.”

              “Oo—kay,” Priscilla said cautiously.

              “He invited me to a drawing class on Thursday night—opened to the public.  You can just come and sort of see what happens.”

              “Drawing class?—I can’t even draw a stick figure.”

              “There’ll probably be others that can’t draw either.  I can bring in a clip board and paper for you tomorrow.  We just can’t sit near each other or he’ll know something’s up.”

              “This is insane,” Priscilla laughed.

              “I know—I know-”

              “And how old is he?”

              “Oh—he’s in his forties.”

              “I’m only twenty-eight, Cara.”

              Cara thought twenty-eight was old—at least a lot older than her.  She examined Priscilla’s face—what was it about Asian women that attracted Diego?—The shiny, silky hair?—The smooth complexion?  The thin boobless, bootyless body?  The eyes?  In a strange sort of way, she almost felt jealous.  Cara kept looking at Priscilla because she had nothing else to say.

              Priscilla stabbed a rotini noodle with a plastic fork and slowly chewed.  “So you want me to humiliate myself trying to draw something in front of the old man—the art professor.  We don’t even know if he wears adult diapers—or if he has some shocking secret that prevents him from dating women.”

              “I don’t want you to humiliate yourself.”

              “Can you see why I would be reluctant to do this?”

              “Totally.”

              “Where does he teach?”

              “In Miami.”

              “All the way down in Miami?”

              “I drive up from there every day to come to work—it’s not that bad.”

              “All right—tell me why I should do this.”

              Cara put her hands together to make her best pitch.  “Diego is unlike anyone I’ve ever met.  He’s helping me and my brother and our mom.  He’s also very smart and wise—he’s almost like a motivational speaker.  You should see what he did for my brother Alex.”

              “What?”

              “My brother's always had a weight problem—for the first time I can ever remember, he’s excited about losing weight.  Diego encouraged him—he even encourages me—I’m even thinking of going to college because of him.  He’s a talented artist, but he’s very humble.  He’s very smart, and he's successful too.”

              “Now, I’m starting to think I’m not good enough for him,” Priscilla laughed.

              “And that’s the thing—he'd tell you that you have believe in yourself.  He has a way of making people feel good.”

              Priscilla adjusted the bookmark in the paperback.  Cara was afraid that she had offended Priscilla and that she would return to her reading. 

              “I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship right now.  I’ve had this long term on-off thing with a guy who has serious commitment issues.  He was also a programmer like me—wrote an algorithm that made him a lot of money.  He’s still a young guy and he’s already retired.  One day I was being nosy and checked his email—found that he had girlfriends everywhere.  He’s trying to market some new Internet service, so he travels a lot.  Probably has a girlfriend in every major city.  I was furious—but I keep going back to him—can’t explain it.  I must be out of my mind.  Right now, I’m trying my best to forget about him.  And now you come along and try to fix me up with someone who also made his fortune in technology and may also have some commitment issues—someone that sounds a lot like the guy I’m trying to avoid.”

              “No—he’s not like that at all.  I can’t imagine him wanting to hurt anyone.”

              Priscilla looked at Cara for a while.  “I’m almost tempted to do this crazy thing—I don’t think I would have the nerve.” 

              “You’ll just be a fly on the wall.  He’ll have no idea what’s going on.  Maybe he’ll see you and strike up a conversation.”             

              “But eventually he would find out that we planned this whole thing.  Doesn’t it make me appear to be desperate?” 

              “A good man is hard to find,” Cara smiled. 

              Priscilla looked at her book, somberly holding it with both hands.  “And what makes you think he'll like me?”

              Cara thought about the photograph of the Asian actress.  No, can’t tell her about that—that’s just too weird.  “Oh—I don’t know, just something that came up once.”

              “It makes me nervous just thinking about this—So, he’s really nice?”

              “Extremely.”

              “You should be working in the marketing department.”

              “You know—it’s not so much that he needs a girlfriend—he seems perfectly content living the rest of his life by himself.  I look at it this way—I’m a generous person, and I’m trying to give a wonderful gift.  Women deserve the best kind of men.”

              “You are good...”

Chapter Eighteen

            
 
The group would soon be making a prayer list of deaths, diseases, divorces and all manner of despair.  There was frivolity, some giggles—as people genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.  Diego and Jerry were in high spirits—the years had done nothing to change their way of communicating—laughter, knee slapping—Jerry, removing his glasses to wipe his eyes, and then to see straight into Diego’s soul. 

              “Oh man, it’s so good to have you back,” Jerry thumped Diego’s shoulder.

              “Good to be back,” Diego smiled.

              “Hey—the Raiders are coming to town this year.”

              “Oh yeah?”

              “Let’s go see them play the Dolphins.”

              “I’ll never forget that costume you wore to the game a few years back—with spikes and chains,” Diego said.  “Remember—we could barely get through the parking lot—everyone wanted to have their picture taken with you?”

              “I almost had heat stroke wearing all that latex.”

              “At least you found out what it’s like to be a celebrity.”

              “Tell me about it—I don’t think I would ever want to attract that much attention again,” Jerry laughed.

              “Yeah—if you want to go—count me in.”

              “Life can’t be all work—we’ve gotta go to more games—do more fun stuff.  We should start playing tennis again...”

              A middle-aged couple walked in and sat down, the woman appearing indignant.  Larry, the group leader, walked in with an overstuffed briefcase.  “Hi—sorry I’m running late again.”  Larry sat, exhaled loudly and smiled.  “Any announcements?”

              The man who had just entered with his wife motioned with two fingers and said, “Hi, I’m Jack—um—I brought my wife Kristen tonight—she really didn’t want to come.”

              “No—I didn’t want to come,” Kristen said, emotionless.

              Her husband laughed nervously and said, “She’s Catholic—so I had to really persuade her to come.”

              Some in the group looked fascinated, while others appeared to be disturbed by the revelation.  Kristen noticed the strange looks and rolled her eyes.

              A woman in her mid thirties spoke while looking at the floor.  “I used to be a Catholic and then I became a Christian.”

              Kristen nudged her head forward slightly, parting her lips in shock.

              An older man with a pale bald scalp and sun-burnt face, who obviously worked outdoors and wore a hat, added to the first woman’s remark.  “Yeah, Catholicism is just idol worship.  They pray to saints and to Mary and they forget all about Jesus.”

              Kristen stood up suddenly and walked to the door.  “I knew I shouldn’t have come here—you people are so ridiculous—you don’t know what you’re talking about—you don’t know anything!  We don’t worship saints—you idiots!”

              After Kristen slammed the door, Jack sat for a moment with his head down and then stood and walked to the door.  “Sorry everyone—I tried.”

              After Jack left, the sun burnt man said, “I thought she used to be a Catholic and now she was a Christian.”

              Diego, with a look of revulsion, spoke to the group.  “What is wrong with you people?”  He looked around the room, but couldn’t find anyone to make eye contact with.  Then he stood—no longer wishing to be part of the gathering.  “What does it matter if she’s a Catholic Christian, or a Protestant Christian, or a non-denominational Christian, or a Zen Christian?  What the hell is wrong with you people?”

              Several women appeared to be offended by the use of the word hell.  Jerry kept his head down.

              Diego slowly walked to the door.  “You call yourselves Christians?—You’re not Christians!  I’m a Christian—I don’t know what the hell you people are!  That woman has the right never to come here again.  I don’t think I will either.”

              Diego left the room and walked down the hallway, Jerry running to catch up with him.  “Hey!” Jerry called out.

              Diego turned around, “I’m sorry Jerry—I just couldn’t take it.”

              “Diego-Diego, you know how it’s always been.  We’ve got all types.  Anyone is welcome here—even complete morons.  We’re non-denominational.  Just last night we had a Bible study here and there was a huge fight over the five points of Calvinism.  You know how that always goes.  The two start yelling at each other—quoting the Bible to each other, blasting each other’s interpretations.  I have to deal with this all the time.  And you can’t tell them that they’re being babies or else they’ll have temper tantrums.”

              “Like me?”

              “No, not like you.  You didn’t come here to argue.  You’re just upset at how that woman was treated.  I’m sorry you had to see that.”