The Wedding Bet (13 page)

“I see.” I prepared to slowly make my case like the best trial lawyer. “Now let’s suppose there is a girl out there. She’s never been raped and she is terrified of it. Maybe she’s young say sixteen.”

“I don’t date underage girls—”

“This is hypothetical, Arnie, because you are also sixteen in this example.”

“Okay, we’re both teenagers.”

“Now this girl sees all this violence, date rapes, boyfriend abuse, kidnappings, domestic violence, and rapes occurring to all ages of women from young to old.”

“I’m following. But I don’t do anything of those horrid things to women. Never have and never will.”

“That’s good, Arnie. Still follow me, in this hypothetical scenario, because I like a man who can think.”

“I’m there for you, Megan—in a thinking way.”

“So this girl meets you and you ask her out,” I pause for effect.

Arnie is hanging on my every word.

“Now, this sixteen-year-old girl doesn’t want to date you. But you don’t know that—at first. How could you?”

“I never know if a girl wants me until I ask?”

“You ask her out and she wants to say, ‘No. I don’t want to date you.’ However she is too afraid. She’s afraid you might come back and rape her. Or tell some other boys she’s a slut. Or she so afraid of some other boy, or guy who’s been pressuring her to have sex with him. She begins to think. I don’t like Arnie. He seems nice enough. If I date him the scary other guys who will not stop asking me out will stop asking. Or the other guys, who come on strong and try to hold my hand while they are asking me out, so I can’t get away, will stop asking. Of course, now she in an uncommitted relationship with you Arnie.”

“It’s not right to date a man she’s not interested in.”

“Granted, but she fears other men. You’re her protection, because she can’t protect herself. She’s not some muscle chick, black belt in karate, or a gun toting six-shooter expert.”

“I don’t want a reject, rebound-date girl.”

“No man does, but that is what you’d be getting, Arnie. Because of all the violence on television, films, music, pictures, books, history, women and girls see this and some think in the back of their minds—It’s better to be in some kind of relationship, than to be a woman or girl alone in this scary, male dominated world.”

I waited, having secured a foundational base of patriarchy’s true goal—for men to get free…er…access to pussy.”

Arnie’s jaw dropped. “That’s sad. Sad. I don’t want a girl like that. You mean to say women and girls really feel that way?”

“Women and girls do. Albeit they will never, ever tell you. They’ll just croon on about how they love this guy or that. How they can’t get along without a guy in this world. But truth be told women and girls would rather just be by themselves. Go places by themselves just like guys do.”

“But they can’t—” Arnie came to his own conclusions. “But that means—”

“Yes, Arnie. You’re benefiting from the male protection racket. You know what that is. Example. Three men need money. They come up with a scheme involving this store that sells liquor. The leader sends the other two to break the windows of the store, rob it of five hundred dollars. Then the next day the leader shows up. He says,
“I have men who can protect your establishment. If you simply give me one hundred dollars a week, I’ll see to it that this never happens again.”
The owner is thinking five hundred a week gone, and replacing the broken store window compared to paying out one hundred to the leader of the small group.”

Arnie finishes the story. “The store owner just gives in and pays the one hundred dollars a week. Women and girls are like that. They are forced into situations sexually, and dating that they don’t even want, because of their fear of violence from men.”

“But, see, I’d never, ever do perpetrate that on a female, Megan.” He motioned to himself. “I’m one of the good guys. I’m not in a protection racket on women.”

“I know you are, Arnie.” I paused. “But does that woman or girl know you’re one of the good guys?”

“She should know. I’ll get that across to her.”

“You ask her if she has a boyfriend.”

“I would have asked her that first, or found out somehow or another.”

“Good Arnie. Doesn’t change anything, but let’s go on. She turns you down—”

“And I just say, cool. Thanks. You’re going to make some man a fine girlfriend or wife one day.”

“Right. Good. That girl was confident. In spite of her fears of violence from the opposite sex she stood her ground. But what if she was too afraid to say no? So let’s go over this again, Arnie. You are a man. And I’m not afraid to say no to you because this room is being monitored by a male friend of mine who knows several cops.” I turned around and pointed to the flower vase in the back and the picture on the wall behind the front door. “More places, but you don’t need to know that—you’re a good guy.”

“I’m one of the good guys. And yes. I’m a man.” He sat up straight as I stroked his ego.

“And you approach this sixteen-year-old girl for sex, or you could be the age you are now approaching a woman for sex. She sees you as a savior, a knight in shining armor. You’re supposed to protect her from whom, men or women?”

“Other men,” he smiled. “I like being the hero.”

I jumped up and slammed my two palms down on the dining room table. I locked eyes with Arnie. “Then you admit to being part of the universal male protection racket!”

“I did not! I hurt no one. I’m just a man!”

“Aha! And all men benefit from the violence of other men, right!”

“I didn’t mean to do it—benefit from some other men’s craziness.”

“And isn’t it true,” I said still standing. Arnie, you probably slept with some poor girl or woman who never even liked you. She just let you fuck and kiss all over her because she was afraid of some bully guy or serial killer, or violent other man or men lusting after her body! Isn’t it true?”

“I…I” Arnie stammered.

He slumped back in his chair as I leaned forward.

“I guess I did, Megan. But if I’d known—”

“How could you know Arnie? No girl or woman is going to come out and say it. I didn’t want to fuck or date you at all. I just want to be a woman or girl, enjoying herself alone in this world. Traveling the world day or night without some man trying to rip off my pants!”

“I’m not a pants-ripper-off-her guy. I’m good. I just happen to be a man—a man who—benefits—-from…” He stopped.

“And furthermore,” I wouldn’t let Arnie off the hook. No way. “When you have children, you’ll have a daughter—”

“No way. Girls are too much drama. Too hard to raise—”

“Too much drama because they get attacked, raped, beat up, kidnapped. Too hard to grow up because, girls get raped and made pregnant!”

“Mayb—maybe. I’m having boys.”

“You’re afraid of having a girl child, because of whom, other girls or men?”

“All right, Arnie jumped up. “I’d be afraid for my daughter to live in this sick gratification, ego driven, infantile boy-man cultured world! This protection racket for free…er…pussy world as you call it, Megan! There I admit it. I’m a man! I benefit from the sickness of other men and boys!”

I sat down. “I rest my case.”

“Is that a no answer, Megan?”

I pointed to the door.

“I guess that’s a no. Damn. I really liked you from the neck down.”

Arnie left.

Arnie continued to be gracious as he left. “That guy’s gay. So you don’t even need to invite him in Megan.”

* * * *

There were a few men left. None of them as interested as Mr. Lauser or as tragically confused about his own self-needs as Timmy. I dispensed with them one by one, realizing I was indeed kissing frogs again. Something I swore never to do since my twenty-second birthday. If a man wanted me, I’d find him. I set up a situation, but he’d have to ask me in the end.

How this mythical meeting might arise baffled me; but like a good woman interested in creating her own self, I didn’t have time to kiss frogs. I was going to be as driven and committed to my business as PR Man was to his. After I pull off this ruse of wanting to be married at the end of the year, I wanted to run my business. I wanted to build my business. I wanted to expand my business overseas eventually.

Chapter Six

It was the third month of our Wedding Bet. I called up Olivia and Cynthia to call a truce. I told both of them to meet at our usual place The Best Little Chuck Wagon Luncheonette. The small dinner once helped me out in a big buffet wedding extravaganza held in a sprawling park and I told the owner Marta, I’d send some customers her way in repayment.

That was three years ago. I referred her business to several past clients. Chuck Wagon Luncheonette served a good mix of meats and vegetarian meals, outside on little white round tables in the summer time. I really liked the place. I wanted to bask in our friendship as we did every summer.

I sat my purse on the round table and a handsome man approached. “Hi, I’m Lenny, what will you have today? We have the soup du jour—” He stopped. “I’m sorry. I used to work at a French Restaurant. I’m an exchange student doing graduate work in Restaurant Management.”

I laughed. “That’s okay. How’s Marta doing?”

“Great. She is on vacation this week.”

“Tell her I stopped by. I’m Megan Bedrosian. She helped me one time and I’m returning the favor. I’m going to wait for my two companions before I order food. But, I’ll have a coffee please.”

His tall figured reminded me of the long line of men answering my personal ad. Although, I can’t say for sure now. I pride myself on remembering women’s faces more than men. Men rarely approach me to cater their wedding.

“Megan!” I heard Olivia’s voice. I turned around.

Olivia tapped my wrists and sat down to my left. “Cynthia is on her way. Parking. I hopped out when I saw you talking to that hunk of a waiter. Did he strike sparks? Because he’s got that foreign erotic look. French. Maybe Belgium, the place you always wanted to visit.” She raised her eye brow.

“I called a truce lunch, not an erotic bonfire debate,” I started out.

“And no the sparks failed to ignite the super dry bush down under. And yes, the handsome graduate waiter is French. He tried to serve me soup du jour.”

Olivia looked around. She spotted the handsome dark curly hair man in his black pants and white shirt and blue and green and gray checkered apron uniform. “Even the French can’t ignite your curly spicebush.”

“I heard that “dry bush” comment, Megan,” chirped Cynthia as she plopped down as usual on my right. The woman’s movement reminds one of charm school and debutante balls around men. Around girls she’s a regular, sit-spread-legged cow girl.

“Can’t a woman go without wanting sex for one month?” I countered.

“On a regular basis you need to eat food and have sex,” quipped Olivia.

Cynthia said, “Preferably not at the same time or in public.” Cynthia sat wide-eyed in expectation.

“Cynthia! My married, wedded friend. How long do we have together before you turn back into a bumpkin housewife?”

“Funny,” Cynthia said. “Vic allows me to come and go as I please.”

Olivia looked up from her menu, “Megan, only you believe men still keep their women locked up in their house cleaning the floors, sweeping the fireplace and dusting off all the furniture.”

“If you want to be locked up, and boffed once a day,” I snapped Mr. Lauser’s card down in front of Olivia. “He owns a large estate in Wales. He’s looking for a fuck slave aka wife who will double as a cook after morning sex.”

All three of us laughed.

“Ewwwww. Is that all?” Olivia gasped. “Sex once a day.” She picked up the crisp white card.

Cynthia slapped down her menu. “Somewhere there must be a cave buried in the mountains, far away from civilization? All these men then see a spark of light and crawl out of them.”

Each of us girls looked at each other in revelation and said simultaneously, “A Man Cave!” We burst out laughing hysterically. We did a triple air high-five when Lenny returned.

“
Tout le monde
? Are all your friends are here, Megan?”

Olivia rattled off some long sentence in French and Lenny and Olivia carried on laughing like they’d known each other for years. That would have been okay, except then, Cynthia no longer found it possible to withhold her own laughter.

“I forgot you two studied French in college, while I took and forgot all my Spanish. Laugh at me all you want. I’m not impressed.”

“You don’t even know what they said?” Cynthia weighed in.

Olivia held the menu up to her rectangular face, covering her mom smile. Lenny straightened up and acted like he just met us.

“Ahem. Lenny said
tout le monde
meaning ‘everyone’. And I said everyone is here but our husbands.”

I started to laugh then stopped. “Wait! That jokes still at my expense. Cynthia has a husband. Olivia you are praying, seeking a husband. And I don’t want a husband.”

“Aw. Megan why spoil our fun? How could Lenny know you didn’t want to be married and have no husband?”

We all started laughing again.

“I like it; our husband-free hen-fest.” I laughed again. Just the weight of those two words felt like a statue of Don Juan standing on my toes. For Olivia and Cynthia, without a husband to weigh us down, burden our lives, we constituted little of the full lives I read about as a child, in my Pippi Longstocking books. I mean if Pippi enjoyed an exciting life as a child, how much more exciting could my own life become? Maybe I’d...I thought of several exciting women while we ordered food. Women who lead full lives and then realized they all ended up with children. Even that barnstorming wing walker, speed flyer, Pancho Barnes had children. Albeit she soon returned to her wild, full-living woman ways.

We ordered our food, and after Lenny walked away, I saw Olivia eyeing his tight little bum. “I can introduce you, Olivia.” I paused for effect, “to see if you two might hit it off. He is a typical male full of business enterprises and needs a little wife at home after work.”

“I’m not opposed to being a wife full time. Despite the Feminine Mystique,” Olivia continued, “some women still find being a mom and housewife charming.”

I started, after our food arrived. “Well, I wanted this to be a truce day. But since you two brought it up. Today, I held interviews for my Personal Ad. You know, the ‘Ms. Kiss No More Frogs’ campaign? Just so you know, PR Man and I are really trying to find me someone. I met a weight lifter.”

“He’d be nice. I love big men,” Olivia crowed.

Cynthia laughed. “You’re the only one, Olivia.”

“I met a gay man, too.”

“A gay man tried to date you?” Cynthia’s blurted, after drinking her lemon water.

“Yes, but only to go shopping. I straightened him out. He is now a real man.”

“You can’t straighten any man out,” Olivia barked. “If they’re gay they’re gay.”

“He still feels like a woman, Olivia. He just knows not to act on those feelings.”

“And why would he not act on them?” Cynthia questioned.

“Because this lifetime, he is to be a man. Not a woman like he was in the past.”

“All your mumbo-jumbo-hoodo belief.” Olivia began, “You believe in marrying yourself, meditation, and now reincarnation.”

“I’ve always believed in reincarnation,” I’d just talked to Cynthia about those subjects.”

Cynthia looked uncomfortable, “Olivia, you know how religious you get. It’s either God or nothing.”

“I can’t believe you talked to Cynthia about something and left me out. We’re the Triad. “Triad one for True. Triad Triad one for All!”

“It’s still one for all!” I added. “You never felt left out or hurt before.”

“That’s not right,” Olivia went on, stopping eating her Chuck Burger, stuffed with extra lettuce and tomatoes. She stared into her tea, hurt.

Cynthia and I looked at one another.

“I met this guy who looked like a serial killer, you know his eyebrows touching. Guess what, his name was Hayward and he was arrested after talking with me for stealing money from the Mayor’s office.”

“That’s bad. To think your children might have grown up rich on dirty money,” Olivia replied, her sad face vanishing into the ether of her hot tea.

“That’s a good idea, Megan. Olivia and I will organize you a speed date, at a good hotel.”

“Only God knows how you manipulated those men into disqualifying themselves, Megan. You double-majored as a lawyer. I remember.”

“But I chickened out because I didn’t have the heart to tell ruthless lies for a high legal fee.”

“Now you’re telling lies to avoid commitment.”

“I am not!”

“You are too!” Olivia and Cynthia piled up on me.

Olivia offered, “Let me guess every man wanted to get into your too-tight panties.”

I nodded my head. “That’s absolutely right. None of them like my black bra, stockings, skirt, blouse, or shoes, either. They were very sincere. I imagined saving time by just buying several pairs of black panties, holding them in a Ritzy shopping bag and placing one on the dining room table when each man came in. Then I’d say, since this is all you wanted, take them and leave.”

“Oh, just ruin the mystery for the rest of us single women, Megan,” quipped Olivia and air high-fived Cynthia.

“Well. One man wanted a female sex slave over a scary librarian.”

Olivia and Cynthia burst out laughing.

Olivia said, “Women! Can’t live with them. Can’t live without turning them into—your sex slave.”

Cynthia said, “Let me guess. Scary librarians talk too much.”

“I don’t know. I was the scary librarian. Just because a man tells the truth, doesn’t mean I have to marry him. I can’t go around being irresponsible because someone else is responsible.”

“Megan. You are a scary librarian. You always turn everything about marriage around. You make everything a joke, a farce—a drama scene, when it might actually be a quiet little romantic moment.”

“Moments you can turn into a lasting relationship.”

“I had those romantic little moments, before half the men waiting to see me ran away on hearing the approaching police siren. What’s a girl to do when her quiet romantic moments dash away?”

Cynthia snickered, “Stop making yourself a basket case to avoid romantic attachments. You’re beautiful, witty, and smart.”

“And you know how to laugh every man out of your life,” Olivia concluded.

Maybe that’s so. I wanted to know the conventions on this. How long after that romantic moment arrives, can a girl ask a man how big his equipment is?”

All of us tossed our heads back and laughed our girlish heads off.

“Did you ever ask Vic that?” Olivia dared.

“Of course not,” Cynthia blushed, “A girl just flirts and flirts until he reveals his crowned scepter. If his king is the size of the chess piece, you know to keep searching.”

The girls laughed.

Olivia motioned to her body. “My future man knows what he’s getting, C cup tits, bubble butt and a hot woman behind closed bedroom doors.”

“Vic knew what he had coming on our honeymoon night.” We did a trial run before to make sure I left only pure non-virginal, clear fuck stains on the bed sheets.”

I laughed. “The whole idea of Vic not wanting a virgin was hilarious.”

“This whole marriage thing got me thinking,” I stuffed more of my red leaf, green leaf, corn salad topped with honey Dijon into my mouth. “This morning I performed a solo marriage ceremony. I have this little altar in a separate room. You all know I go in there to pray and meditate every day.”