INTERNET DATES FROM HELL (5 page)

The next morning my mom called as requested. Simon answered the call but only spoke with her briefly before handing me the phone. I exclaimed with an “oh my goodness” and “will she be all right?” several times. After concluding my phone call, I told Simon that I had to get the earliest flight home that day, due to my aunt’s illness.

I managed to board the 4:01 PM out of Heathrow for a change fee and ticket price difference. None of that mattered, though. While driving to the airport, Simon insisted that I marry him, move to the United Kingdom, and stay with him until the end of the world. It was at that very moment I knew that this book was eminently necessary. Neither Poe nor Hawthorne could write a story like this. Ironically, to add even further drama, at that moment the radio announced that the Comet Hale-Bopp had been in the sky the previous night and that the Heaven’s Gate cult had committed suicide in their Nikes and purple shrouds in California. Another chill ran up my spine.

I prayed that I would get to the airport in one piece. When I was on the plane, I ordered a shot of sambuca (even though I rarely drink) and tried to forget my nightmare.

How could a fairy tale turn into a gothic nightmare? As I sat there and stared at the seat in front of me, it all came to me. Evil can compete with evil. Goodness doesn’t compete with evil; it prevents it. Evil is hereditary. I wondered what I could have done differently to avoid this situation. I realized I didn’t ask Simon, early on, exactly what he did professionally, and if I had delved more deeply, I would have found that he really didn’t work, but was financially supported by his father. His writing was just an eccentric outreach to protect his old-world order from being threatened by the new. Once again, I should have been more of an investigator. I also didn’t ask many questions up front about Simon’s beliefs, spiritual ideas, and significant events in his recent past. I was too caught up with the romantic fantasy to be concerned with the facts. I’ve always been known to take chances. My philosophy is that if you don’t take chances, you don’t live life to the fullest. Conversely, if you have the misfortune to encounter the wrong person, you subject yourself to real danger.

Thankfully, I arrived safely at JFK and had to endure a half-hour lecture from my mom about the losers found on Internet dating Web sites. Simon called me a few times after my adventure in England. He wanted to know if I had decided to take him up on his offer and move to Kent. I told him that I was happy to live in the United States, and he admonished me that I would go down with the rest of the “bloody Americans” and hung up.

4
 

Don’t Fall for Someone Just for His Accent
 

February 1998

You would have thought I would have learned my lesson after the England escapade with Simon the previous year; however, another appealing man wrote to me, but this time the locality was Perth, Australia. It’s funny, for I always had an affinity for the Australian accent. After a number of e-mail exchanges, I offered David my cell phone number, since I wasn’t about to call Australia. Immediately David struck me as funny, witty, and persistent, from our initial telephone conversation. During about three weeks of conversing, I posed very detailed questions about his life in Perth. I even took notes and would occasionally revert to them with additional questions. His Aussie accent sounded like Mel Gibson’s. All I could see (in my narrow-minded, smitten way) was David driving an olive green outback-type jeep, navigating through the tall grasses of the Australian bush country. Exactly what he was pursuing didn’t matter, although I hoped it wasn’t some defenseless koala that had strayed from its litter. In the long run, it would have been better if he had pursued a koala, compared to what he ended up pursuing.

Included in my ad were my favorite things (koalas, spicy tuna rolls, sunflowers, a fresh box of crayons, log cabins, and beach sunsets). In response to the ad, he hastened to include that his favorites were somewhat similar to mine. He too liked koalas and beach sunsets, since Perth is surrounded by water. However, spicy tuna rolls and crayons elicited question marks. It was only later that I regretfully had the opportunity to qualify my penchants.

Trying desperately to impress me (and he damn near did impress me), David proceeded to mail a box to me at the address I gave him. Feeling wary about divulging my home address after my experience in Kent, I gave him my brother Peter’s address instead. A few days later, Peter called me to inform me that David had sent me a package via first class mail. I asked Peter to open the box. Since he didn’t know what the box contained, he sounded rather tentative. In fact, he gave me hell for arranging that a package be sent to his address. Being used to digesting tablespoons of hell, I swallowed this one because my brother was right that I should have forewarned him. Regardless of his cynicism, I convinced him to open the package. As he proceeded to cut through the packing tape, he shouted, “You’re crazy. What if there is a bomb or some other device in here?” A few minutes later he told me that David had sent me a stuffed koala bear, a can of tuna fish, a box of jumbo crayons, a tiny Lincoln log cabin (which he carefully glued together for shipping purposes), sunflower seeds, and a postcard of a typical Australian sunset. I thought this was so sweet. Later that day, I picked up the items at Peter’s house. At the bottom of the box, I found a heartfelt letter and photos of David’s children and home. I actually had no idea that he had children, since he had never mentioned them before.

After much contemplation I decided that didn’t matter, and I would not prejudge a man because he had children. I also decided that I wouldn’t let miles, differences of race, religion, or nationality stand in the way of meeting my soul mate. Shortly thereafter, I called him to thank him for the package, and at that moment, he asked me how daring I was. You should never ask me that, because I take on most challenges. He asked if I would be up for traveling if he sent me a first-class ticket from New York City to Perth, Australia. I told him the England story and explained to him that I would never again go to anyone’s home. He then offered me an alternative plan, suggesting we both fly to a halfway point—Hawaii, for example. I told him I would arrange for accommodations in separate hotels, so if things didn’t work the way I planned, I would have a safe haven to which I could retreat. I thought this was a reasonable plan. He stipulated that if I didn’t like him, then I could be on my merry way and have a free flight to Oahu. I replied, “It’s a deal!”

Because it was winter break, school was out. Flying to Los Angeles, and then catching a connecting flight to Oahu, all the while enjoying first class, I came to the sudden realization that this could be fun. No sooner did I allow myself latitude and premature levity than that old bugaboo of mine raised its ugly head again; it was that sense of dread and trepidation! Although the fine meals served on the flight distracted me, I wasn’t going to allow my vision to be clouded.

Overhearing a snobby couple bickering behind me, I pretended to peruse the menu. Dressed from head to toe in ill-fitting Gucci garb, these two cartoon characters were more entertaining than the inane film shown on the flight. I don’t know what was worse—her peach lipstick or his spray-on tan? I am sure that she was with him for nothing more than the size of his wallet. But then again, in today’s world, it’s possible she was the one with the money. I finally engulfed myself in some Céline Dion music available on one of the airline channels and reread the safety card from the seatback pocket (where else would you put that air mask that drops down, other than on your face?). At times like these, my mind wanders into its own Aussie territory. After the announcement to push up the tray tables, I quickly brushed my hair and checked myself in my small pocket mirror. What if he is not attracted to me? What if he likes his women thin? The old self-deprecating thoughts quickly reemerged. We finally landed, and as I exited the airplane, I quickly scanned the crowd for my Aussieman.

The music stopped, the crowd parted, and there he was, with a bush hat and all. Just kidding. I saw him approach me, and I noticed that he looked at least fifteen years older than his photo. Like Paul (the mistake in chapter 2), David had tried to pull a fast one by sending me an earlier photo of himself. However, this time I wasn’t safely across the street from my apartment building. Although he was attractive, I neither heard bells and whistles nor did I see fireworks. But maybe that was a good sign, based on my past experiences.

It also appeared that he wasn’t too enthralled with me. I didn’t see his eyes light up once he saw me. Perhaps I too looked older than my photo or he didn’t realize until he saw me in person that I was a few pounds overweight. But he was pleasant nonetheless. Separately we both had arranged our lodging. The hotels were conveniently located across the street from the airport.

Over the next two days we engaged in several platonic activities such as sightseeing, ocean swimming, and a day trip to Kauai. After swimming, I wondered if he was put off by the sight of my body in a bathing suit. Although he was pleasant and extremely cordial, we both knew the error of our ways. Without saying it, his nonverbal expressions exuded his error. His eyes were aloof, his voice was monotone, and the incessant tapping of his fingernails at the restaurant table communicated a clear disinterest in me. I too began noticing single men my age everywhere I went, and I half-wished I was talking to them instead of David. Although I increasingly felt I was with a brother rather than a potential mate, I became quite comfortable with David.

After revisiting his original intentions in Internet dating, I discovered why his first and second wives had divorced him. Ironically, it was due to chronic infidelity stemming from his Internet encounters. Talk about clouded vision. After more than a half an hour of David’s lurid tales of sexual fiasco, I noticed a slight tear developing in the corner of his right eye, as the traditional Hawaiian sun shower emerged. I then truly realized that the Internet dating world was an extremely sharp two-edged sword; David cut himself free from two marriages and three children, yet he also continued to cut short any chance of future happiness. As far as I was concerned, the only knife I was interested in was a single-edged knife (a machete, maybe?) that could cut me a path the hell out of there!

David finally showed his maturity when he shook my hand the way men ordinarily do, and apologized to me, yet another innocent victim. Both the revelation of his infidelity and the heartfelt apology cleared the path I needed. Boy was I glad there was no initial spark. We mutually agreed there was not a match there, and we both went our separate ways to enjoy the remainder of our vacations independently.

During the flight home, I began to question why I kept doing the same thing over and over again. Why do I have a love of adventure and a need for excitement? What makes a man from another country or state any more interesting that the ones who live close by? Why do I risk my health or safety in embarking on these encounters when deep down inside I have doubts? One word comes to mind: hope.