The Wedding Bet (19 page)

“Hi, Megan. This gentleman can’t find his table. Please meet Texas.”

Keyonamei waved her hand and Texas sat down at my table, his smile as wide as his ten gallon hat. “Isn’t this dandy? A real city girl who bakes wedding cakes.”

“Texas from Texas how you come to be in these parts?” Perhaps the stupidest hello heard in all of Joinrite City. Even Keyonamei winced at the opening remark. I refused to touch my hair quickly morphing into the indomitable harass, freezing blasting Medusa hairstyle. Keyonamei touched her own hair to try and subtly tell me something was amiss.

“Is there something I can help you with Keyonamei? You put on a lovely event.”

She stopped trying and lifted her gem-blue eyes to another woman who raised her hand.

“I just like a girl with long curly locks. He smiled. He finally took off his hat and put it on the white cloth-draped table. “In Texas, you can stuff all those curls under your hat.”

“I’m allergic to oil, cattle, dust bowls, and any state where abortion is illegal.”

“This isn’t going to go well, then I take it Ms. Megan Caterer?”

“Time is relative, Texas, five minutes goes fast in Joinrite City. It will be over with in a moment.”

More people settle down to their spots. Finally, the buzz of multiple pre-conversations filled the ball room. Every man had a girl and every girl at a table had a man.

Keyonamei tapped her spoon on one of the glasses. “We’re about to begin. Remember—start when the bell rings once. Stop and move to the next number on your card men, when the bell rings twice. Five minutes is all you got. Make the best of it. Good luck to finding someone you can marry, or fall in love with or just be friends with. Either one, I’d consider a victory.

Sure I thought. Leave it to a powerful woman to lie. If a man scored the friends zone he ranked as a loser and all us women knew it. But I guess, leaving frustrated, and bitter was a worse fate.

The bell struck once.

I started talking right away. “Texas is that place where JFK got shot at. The abandoned building. Gosh, I wish they’d caught the real killer. Of course with all those people running around in their cowboy boots, you think foot impression become useless as a clue. Don’t you think, Texas?”

“That was before my time,” He scratched his head.

“Don’t worry, Texas, I’ve an encyclopedia of things that happened before my own time. But I do believe there are more divorces in Texas than any other state. Is that true?”

“I can’t be too sure. See, I am not married. I came up here because I know small city girls love a big state like Texas. We have the uhm—and the—well—we sometimes hold these—”

The bell rang twice.

I smiled. I stuck out my hand. You’re a smooth talker Texas you’re going to find somebody I just know it.”

That went smoothly enough, Texas shook his head, unsure what had just happened. I took away every bragging point he was going to make about Texas, leaving him with nothing or to listen to me talk. He didn’t want that. Classic case of a man wanting to hog the entire conversation.

The next guy actually came from the East coast. He said he worked in a manufacturing plant. They made work tools, wrenches, pliers, screw drivers and the like. His hands looked swollen. The bell rang.

“I’m Wayne. I work on the assembly line back in Pennsylvania. We have a lot of manufacturing jobs still left there. People are busy, but the women all left when the steel days ended. So here I am.”

I stared at Wayne. I didn’t speak for two minutes. “

“Say something. Say you like Pennsylvania.”

“I like Pennsylvania all right, but the Fracking, got to stop up there. Here in Joinrite City we don’t do any earthquake creating businesses. We want a safe place for our family and children to grow up. Sure we don’t have a big professional football league; our politicians are not involved in scandal and corruption. But we can do without those.”

Wayne struggled for a way to bring up his best qualities. I guess his big dick or his cozy home by the manufacturing plant. In any case, the two bells sounded and Wayne eagerly left for another table.

“Hi,” said the next guy.

I didn’t know him from a hill of sweet confetti-sprinkled cupcakes. But it was time to play the dreaded politics card. “Hi, my name’s Megan.” I scoff laughed. “They mistakenly put my card down as Caterer. But I’m the Mayor.”

The man paused. “That’s funny, Because, I’m the Mayor of Joinrite City. He pulled out his driver’s license.”

“Where can I get a fake driver’s license like that!” I exclaimed. “Come in handy, when you need to get home fast from work. Right. Just put on the police sirens and drives right on past all the other folks. I heard there were some embezzling problems from the Hayward gang recently.”

The Joinrite City Mayor obviously became an awkward presentation of himself.

“We caught him at it. Sending ten dollars a day to his Club Med account so he could go get girls from Malibu.”

I shook my head graft and corruption is everywhere these days. We’re supposed to get that new bridge built of Bo Johnson’s Creek, but it’s running behind.”

“Sure is,” said the Mayor. “I want to speed that up, but it takes a two third vote from the council.”

The bell rang twice again. I shrugged my shoulders. “See you at the Halloween Haunt this coming October.”

“I’ll be there,” he said with a bright happy smile.

I laughed to myself. Even the Mayor grasped the humor that he was a swell kind of guy, affable, got along well with both genders—no problem.

For the next man, clean cut, probably worked in a computer work room, I hit upon shorter ways to nip any romantic feelings.

“Hi, I’m Jason Jaconson.”

“Hi. I’m pregnant Megan the Caterer.”

We both sat around making little quiet talk about children and booties. The possibilities of getting health care in this type of economy. On and on, until the two bells rang.

A major friend zone contender sat down and caught me totally off guard. He preplanned his Speed Date. The cruel persistent use of his three word conversation brought out the real authoritarian bitch in me, but not before he had humiliated my ears. He sat down and said.

“Can I get a date? Can I get a date? Can I get a date? Can I get a date? Can I get that date? Can I get that date?”

He never stopped saying that over and over. He said it in a low, rather calm voice as if I might hypnotically give in to his “get a date.”. After listening to him go on and on with the same strategy, no matter what I said. And I once said, I slept with your older brother.”

“Can I get a date?”

“I gave birth to you; you’re my son?”

“Can I get a date?”

“I’m not really here. I’m a ghost.”

“Can I get a date?”

Those five minutes last stretched on for hours. Finally, he left by saying, “I’ll come back. You can tell me if you want to date me then.”

He turned me into the Wicked-Mouth-Ninja Girl.” I brought out my big guns. I decided to be all I can be as a woman. Take the initiative. Strike the first fatal blow.

“Hi. I have syphilis.” I said to my next Speed dater guy.

That ended that date.

“Hi, I have gonorrhea but it’s going away the doctor said,” So much for that conversation.

“Hi have you ever wanted twins?”

“Yes I have.”

“What about triplets? You can’t see them now, but come back in six months; they’ll need two speed dates tables for me to sit at.”

“That’s terrible.”

“That’s life. You either hold ‘em or fold ‘em. I don’t intend on getting rid of my triple babies. But I totally support a woman, girl’s right to abortion.”

The money angle worked quicker than I expected, especially on blue collar dates.

“Hi! I’m Megan the Gold-digging Caterer girl. Can you give me a grand to take a mini Cancun vacation after this speed dating stuff ends? I promise I won’t pay you back.”

Circumstances forced me to use the ultimate emergency when a guy I swear looked like Mr. Blue Lagoon showed up. Maybe he was in costume. He said he worked for a small live theater just outside of Joinrite city. After his introduction, I said, “Emergency—must go to the ladies room. You’re lucky you’re a guy. You don’t have to wonder if the absorbency is all gone yet.”

He had this puzzled look on his face. Serves him right for showing up in monster costume—maybe.

“Hi, I’m—”

Olivia came over. “Any luck, Megan? I see the men are very happy and smiling when they leave your table. Putting a man in a good mood is one way to win them.”

“I’m trying to be serious though, I pouted. I swore I’d never use my sense of humor to entertain men I didn’t want to date.”

“That’s good,” Olivia said and rushed off as another woman raised her hands.

The woman gestured and finally it came out. The man had put his hand on her knee under the table.

I thought,
the guy must have some long arms.
Imagine a man like that in bed. His ability to caress your clit from any angle or position.

Keyonamei got on the PA and made an announcement. “Speed Daters. Under no circumstances are you to touch one another. Men you are not here to touch the ladies. This is not some super fast hooker procurement program. Refrain from complaining—you spent $45 to be in this event. The women spent $25 to be at this event. And since women make 60% less than men—that account for the guy’s higher entry ticket.

“Also there is to be no begging on these speed dates. Then Olivia surprised me over the PA.

“My name is Olivia Swanson, I am the co-sponsor of today’s Speed Date event. I wanted to clear up some rumors. Megan the Caterer at table 301 does not have syphilis, gonorrhea, herpes, AIDS, she is not pregnant, and she hates money. She is looking for a husband and has only six months to do or forfeit her big trust fund from daddy. Okay,” Olivia laughed. “The trust fund part is bogus. Everything else I said is true. Megan’s a sweet girl and looking for a husband. One last thing. Today is Megan the Caterer’s Birthday. Everyone clap and give Megan a hand.”

Everyone applauded.

That made things especially tricky. I handled it by avoiding eye contact with the men in my speed date past. Forget them and move on. Progress! I told myself. When people asked me or commented on my birthday, I replied, “I can’t be sure. I was adopted.”

Two more guys sat down and I used the slouching technique on one. He was a teacher. That just blew him out of synch. “I’ll never date my older daughter,” he told me.

I shook my head, which really looked like Medusa now; the curls coming out from the sides, on the back of my neck, and even a cowlick blonde curl stood up on top of my head like a periscope. Perhaps my treatment overplayed the situation. But if you walk around with a white piece of paper taped onto your black blazer saying “Kick me I suck. Senior Class of 2013.” I think I did him a favor acting like his daughter. The whole senior class hating on him. How could we ever go out in peace?”

The best date I came from New York. He worked in the catering business. Olivia mentioned my name. I and Wellsly hit it off big time. We talked about new cake baking techniques. How to really bake a hot loaf in an outdoor oven without it falling? The fine aspects of placing the sautéed layer apples on top of the cake. Do you place it before you take the cake to the church or wedding destination or after? We exchanged a few secret recipes.