Virtually Mine: a love story Page 5

Charlie straightened up in his chair. His new Operator’s terminal was perfectly organized. The top of the desk had the faint aroma of disinfectant. It wasn’t that Charlie was a germ-o-phobe, but nothing had been happening, so he’d passed the time by wiping down his new station with the antibacterial wipes that had come with his take-out lunch. It couldn’t hurt, he had told himself.

  Samantha Raznick glided by. “You can’t just wait for them to come to you, Charlie. Direct Mail, social network, e-mail, cold call—I don’t care—as long as absolutely nobody connects the company with your face. You know how to compensate. You’ve probably been doing it all your life. Make it happen.”

  Charlie nodded compliantly. “I did put out some brochures this morning.”

  Samantha stopped. Her face took on an unnerving sneer. “Some? Charlie, please. The ratio of solicitation to response is roughly ninety-to-one. A good Operator maintains a client base of at least twenty, so twenty times ninety is—”

  “Eighteen hundred solicitations to go,” Charlie calculated.

  Samantha clapped her hands as she moved on. “Chop, chop!”

  Charlie looked back at his computer screen, overwhelmed. He turned to his silent phone. How bad could cold calling be? No one would even know who he was. He could get his feet wet in total anonymity, at least, under the protective banner of the company’s Caller ID.

  Charlie flipped through his Operator’s Manual to the cold calling copy section. Dozens of sample intros were written out word-for-word. All he would have to do would be to read it and the product would sell itself, one out of every ninety calls, Samantha had promised. He cleared his throat to practice. Suddenly, a tone from his computer arrested his attention.

  A mechanical voice startled him with an announcement: “You’ve got a customer.”

  “I do?” Charlie blustered. “I have a—” Charlie rose to call after Samantha. “I have a customer!”

  Samantha turned his way, “Well, then. Set the hook; get her profile and credit card. I’ll walk you through the rest.”

  “Right,” Charlie agreed, and then sat down at his station. He clicked on his Instant Messaging box.

  The system identified the customer: It was Kate Valentine. His Kate Valentine. The message read: Operator 52, are you there?

  Charlie paled. He folded his hands and raised his eyes. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he murmured. “Oh, and please don’t let me say anything stupid.” Don’t over think this, he coached himself. Then, remembering Kate’s penchant for grammar, he typed a response: How may I help you?

  Time elapsed.

  Charlie checked his watch. A full minute had passed without a reply, yet there she was, still visible on the line. He wondered if this was as hard for Kate as it was for him. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her how amazing she was, something that anyone worth anything couldn’t possibly fail to recognize.

  Doink! There it was. The IM delivered Kate’s answer: I’d like to try an Imaginary Boyfriend. I think.

  Charlie gulped. He gulped so hard that his Adam’s apple crashed into his too-tight tie. It was actually happening.

  Samantha sat at her desk, wordlessly perusing Kate’s profile. Charlie spread pictures of numerous Imaginaries out on her desk. He tried to remember if he’d ever stood in her presence so quietly for so long. He felt like he should say something; then, he felt like he shouldn’t.

  Charlie did his best to reserve judgment about people, but something reminded him that Samantha Raznick really was one of those women his father had warned him about from the pulpit, all during his adolescent years. The good Pastor Butters had preached many a sermon, his gaze often drifting to his only son, especially when he’d read cautionary Proverbs about such femme fatales, their voices dripping with honey as they lured their unsuspecting prey to certain doom.

  Charlie shuddered. He reminded himself that Samantha had never once been inappropriate with him, at least not in that way. He’d explained to his dad that the company’s dealings were strictly above board. But there was still something about the woman at the center of it all that kept Charlie ready to run screaming at any given second.

  “So,” Samantha finally began, “she wants to make her boyfriend jealous.”

  Charlie’s voice cracked. “Ex-boyfriend.”

  “Ah, to be young and vindictive.”

  “Well, not so much to get back at him as to get him back.” Charlie spread out the many potential Imaginary Boyfriends’ photos that he had pulled. “I was thinking we could go with—”

  Samantha leaned forward, ignoring Charlie’s attempt to make a selection. “Charlie, do you find this girl to be pretty?

  “Yeah,” Charlie replied. “She’s...incredibly, you know...wow...in that department.”

  Sam rifled through Charlie’s assortment of photos, an uninspired scowl on her face. “You really think a pretty girl is going to go for one of these? Where’d you get them, the putz file?”

  Charlie balked. “She did say that personality is the most important factor.”

  “We all say that, so we won’t appear to be shallow.” Unceremoniously, she tossed the entire array into the trash. “Go with the new guy. Eric.”

  Charlie nodded. He started toward the door, and then turned back. “Don’t you think, I mean for her, he’s a little, you know—”

  “Yummy?”

  Charlie wandered back to Samantha’s desk. “She’s just kind of, that is, she seems to be more the type who’d go for, I don’t know. Maybe, the boy next door.”

  Sam rose to her full height. In her five-inch heels she towered over him. “We are dream brokers, Charlie. Nobody fantasizes over the boy next door. Not unless he looks like this.” She plopped Eric’s photo into Charlie’s sweating hands. “I recommend that you send something personal first. A card with a snapshot and some kind of gift. That is, before you call her.”

  Charlie’s throat went dry. “I call her?”

  Samantha shook her head in a way that pummeled Charlie’s confidence. “We’re only renting his image. Of course, you’re the one who calls her. You supply the actual voice, hopefully a scintilla of personality to pepper it up.”

  “The voice, right,” Charlie acknowledged. “But what if she recogni— What I mean is, what if my voice sounds—”

  “Create a character,” Samantha replied, her impatience growing. “Go over her specs and be the guy she wants. Look, are you sure you can handle this?”

  “Sure. Yeah.” The words came out much less convincingly than Charlie had hoped.

  “Then handle it,” Sam replied as she showed him out the door.

  Back at his Operator’s station, Charlie sat, sifting through photos of Eric. Clearly, these pictures were intended to look like snapshots, as if taken on the spur of the moment. Truth be told, he questioned how could anyone look so good no matter the situation or angle. Some people were just more photogenic than most, Charlie decided.

  Other than school photos only a mother could love and a smattering of candid shots from his growing up years, there were relatively few photos of Charlie in existence. He wasn’t really sure if it was because his parents weren’t exactly camera bugs or if he didn’t provide sufficiently inspirational subject matter. Seeing so many great photos of Eric made Charlie wonder.

  There were surfing shots, backyard pics as grill chef at a barbeque, even one with Eric swinging a child in a circle by his arms, just like Charlie used to like to do with the kids at his dad’s Sunday School picnics. Kids clamored to Charlie. They didn’t care how average he looked. They only cared that he enjoyed spending time with them. What it was about growing up that changed all that, Charlie didn’t know. But what he wouldn’t give, just once, to spin Kate Valentine around in his arms.

  As Charlie perused the Virtually Mine stock room’s offerings, the options seemed limitless. Kate had only paid for an introductory level Imaginary Boyfriend, so though he was tempted to bump what he sent her to their deluxe level, he dutifully pulled a card from the introductor
y shelf. Somehow, he would make less into more.

  Charlie shivered as he walked through a set of glass doors, into the refrigerated section where a sea of cut flowers were kept fresh. He hadn’t seen so many arrangements since his grandmother’s funeral. Grandmother Butters had always liked roses, but something in Charlie wasn’t sure about roses for Kate. He wandered past lilacs, lilies, sunflowers, and spider mums, stymied by the decision. Birds of paradise were a no-brainer for him. Those things were just plain scary.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  M.J. motored around the corner toward Rob’s house in her Meter Maid Mobile. Ocean Avenue was nice, but there was just something about turning onto Palisades Drive that felt like a world apart. These were the homes of the Santa Monica elite, the people who’d rather pay off the parking tickets she’d write than bother to move their cars. Manicured shrubs set off handsome landscaping. These were lawns a dandelion wouldn’t dare attempt to invade.

  Actually, M.J. liked dandelions. As a child, she’d wiled away many an hour by plucking stems that had gone to seed. Then, she’d blow them to see just how far her breath would carry them, out of her not-so-weed-free yard and into the McCubbin’s fastidiously kept vegetable garden next door.

  Mr. McCubbin would fume at M.J. He’d complain to her mother when she got off work and threaten to call the Community Covenants cops on them. But there was something about the boundary-crossing puffballs of airborne seeds that appealed to the adventuresome spirit in M.J., no matter how much Mr. McCubbin hated them. It had felt like a small victory every time one managed to steal past his rake and sprout amidst his zucchini squash and lima beans.

  M.J. pulled over a few doors down from Rob’s house. She checked around furtively, and then began to take off her uniform, under which she sported colorful exercise clothes. With a glance in her rear view mirror, she fluffed her hair and smacked her cheeks pink.

  Once inside Rob’s home, curiosity got the better of M.J. as she waited for Rob to get his golden retriever from the backyard. She peeked around the downstairs rooms adjoining his foyer, then wandered into a handsome office. Seeing a framed photo on the desk, M.J. flipped it around to take a look. A gray-haired couple stood arm-in-arm, smiling for the camera. Hearing Rob and the approaching click of the golden’s claws on the hardwood floor, M.J. hastily put the photo down. It clattered to a fall, but she quickly righted it, just as Rob appeared in the doorway with Freddie.

  Rob extended the dog’s leash toward M.J. “So, here he is. Just fed and ready to go.”

  M.J. grimaced, caught resituating the photo. “Oops. I was... This is a really nice place you have here.”

  Rob gazed around the ample abode. “More than I need at this point. Except the office is good.”

  “So, you live alone here?” M.J. probed. So far, there had been no sign of a spouse, but she couldn’t help asking.

  Rob shook his adorable head. “Just me and Freddie for now. I kind of inherited the place from my mom and dad.”

  M.J. nodded, putting it together. “In the photo.”

  “Yeah.” He pointed skyward. “They’re up in—”

  “Heaven?” M.J. bit at her lip as soon as she said it. “Sorry. Hey,” she joked, “maybe they’ll meet my folks. Although, I’m not entirely sure about my dad, to tell the truth. He tended to go for warmer climes, if you know what I mean.”

  Rob smiled. “I was talking about Washington State. They retired there.”

  “Oh.” M.J. kicked herself. Surely, with all of the scabillions of words there were in the English language, she could find just a handful to say. But all that had come to her was that one conversation-curtailing oh.

  Rob moved toward his desk. “So, I guess I’d better get some work done.”

  M.J. found her voice again. “Here? You work here?”

  “Mornings, yeah. Which is why I took you up on the whole dog walking thing...so I can, you know, work.”

  Getting Rob’s drift, M.J. moved toward Freddie. The beast loomed much larger up close. “The dog walking, right.” M.J. leaned over toward the golden with as much confidence as she could fake. “So, Freddie, want to go for a walk?”

  On hearing those words, Freddie jumped up on M.J., pawing her multi-print leggings. Unaccustomed to animals, M.J. straightened up as congenially as possible.

  “Down, boy!” Rob commanded. “He knows those words.” Rob mouthed go for a walk.

  “Whoa. Yeah. Okay.” M.J. laughed nervously while Rob pulled Freddie off of her. She couldn’t help but enjoy Rob’s closer proximity. In fact, she could hardly bear to tear herself away.

  Rob patted Freddie to sit down on his haunches. “He’s kind of a flirt,” Rob admitted. “You know, I’ve had the ‘little talk’ with him, but he’s still such a rake. Plastic bags are in his pouch.”

  A puzzled expression flew across M.J.’s face. “Plastic bags? Oh! Right. Plastic bags. For the...uh, shall we say...produce.” M.J. took hold of Freddie’s leash and led him toward the front door. “Okay, we’re off.”

  Rob went back to his desk and picked up a book. “Okay.”

  M.J. talked Freddie to the door, hoping that somehow he’d understand her words and cooperate. She’d heard that dogs could smell fear, so she did her best to mask the willies she was feeling.

  M.J. sneezed.

  As it turned out, M.J. realized her anxieties about Freddie were overblown. Her confidence grew. Freddie didn’t nip at her or bark at her. He didn’t even pay much attention to her as they walked through Palisades Park. All that the dog remained intent upon was searching for the perfect place to do his doggie business.

  Finally, Freddie seemed to be zeroing in, circling a particular plot of interest. Moments later, he broke out of that orbit, took a few steps and found another spot to start yet another circle.

  M.J. sneezed again, this time even harder. “Why is this grass more perfect than that grass? Can you explain this to me?” Her eyes started to itch the way they had when she’d once attempted to rescue a puppy.

  Suddenly, seeing another Meter Mobile motor by, M.J. checked back to make sure that her parked one was still going unnoticed, knowing her break time was over. She clicked her fingers at the dallying dog. “Time to deploy, Freddie. Let’s go.”

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Business was booming at the Doo-Wop Dinette. Kate had to hustle to keep up, but that was fine with her because it made it less obvious that she was doing her best to avoid any sort of meaningful contact with Dustin.

  Kate knew that, eventually, she’d have to figure out how to be in the same room with Dustin again. After all they waited tables together in addition to being part of the same acting class. That was it, she thought. She’d make it an acting assignment to herself. She’d act like she was over him. She’d feign being perfectly fine.

  Kate picked up an order and scooted to the side to avoid crashing into Dustin. Frustratingly, he mirrored her move. Again, she awkwardly tried to get out of his way, but his countermove put him right smack into her path again. Finally, he stood still, allowing her to get by. Nothing about this was going to be easy.

  Reesa accepted a floral delivery at the register as Kate passed by to serve a cheeseburger and fries to a man. Kate set a lunch salad—no croutons, with a light vinaigrette on the side—before his female lunch companion. Croutons were one thing, but why it was that women denied themselves anything beyond rabbit food was lost on Kate at that moment. There was no ring on the woman’s finger. She was starving herself for him, Kate supposed. She could only hope that this particular man would prove to be worth it.

  Kate caught herself. Despite how challenging it was, she didn’t want to get bitter. She didn’t want to give up hope on all men just because of what she was going through. Of course, it didn’t help to overhear Dustin’s nearby table of coquettes, flirting with him relentlessly as he took their order.

  “Gotta be from Arizona,” one said. “All the cute guys are from Arizona.”

  Dustin preened. “No, but you’re warm. You l
ike your chicken grilled, right?”

  “You remember everything, don’t you?”

  Not to be outdone, another interjected. “My turn. New Mexico.”

  Dustin reared back playfully. “Ow! Sizzling now, Baby.”

  Kate inwardly imploded as the girls reacted with delight.

  Yet another girl toyed, “Yeah, you give me your number, I’ll show you some sizzle.”

  “Gotta guess it, or no number,” Dustin replied.

  Kate strode by the table, reflexively intervening. “He’s from Colorado. And believe me, I’ve already got his number.” As Kate skulked back behind the counter, she wondered if her face looked as scarlet as it felt. Unmercifully, the flirts continued.

  “Colorado! That’s what I was going to say!”

  “Shut up!” another teased.

  Kate pretended not to mind.

  Dustin egged the girls on. “No, no, gotta guess it. You’ll just have to come back another day.”

  Kate put an order slip on the wheel and spun it around for the cook. “Andre, can you put a rush on this? And skip the butter, he’s vegan.”

  Andre snatched the ticket. “Two pieces of dry, stick-in-the-throat, whole grain toast comin’ up.”

  Reesa sidled up next to Kate, and then nodded knowingly. “Well, lookee who’s back in the game.”

  Kate let out a sigh. “I know. But does he have to do that right in front of me?”

  Reesa planted herself. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout you, Child. Check it out. Those flowers that just came, they’re for you.” Reesa directed Kate’s view to the register. By it, sat a bouquet of fresh daisies.

  An excited glow came over Kate as she drank in the sight of the daisies with their dark green foliage, white-white petals, and sunny centers. She pulled the card out, noticing the Virtually Mine logo, a red VM, encircled with a heart, on the envelope.

  Reesa leaned close. “Tell Reesa who’s seein’ other people now.”

  Even realizing that this bouquet was from her Imaginary Boyfriend, Kate was still impressed. She’d said nothing about daisies being her favorite flowers. That alone gave her goose bumps. She opened the card and was surprised to see that the text had been written in by hand. Shyly, she read aloud to Reesa: