Finding Mr. Right (2 page)

Dear Diary,

I am a pushover. I feel like I am easily pushed into things, or I try to be nice and convince others I will do things that I don’t necessarily really want to do. I also have a number of friends who seem to revel in this fact and delight in getting me to make a fool of myself. When am I ever going to learn? I thought that once you hit your mid-twenties as a woman (we all know it is much later for men), you were mature and level-headed and that magically, the ability to speak your mind came into practice. Well, it never happened. Here I am, still being bossed around like a five-year-old, putting my life in danger for a little excitement. Oh, and I guess the drama in my life doesn’t get any less with age, either.

I just got back from lunch with Lola. She is possibly the most annoying person I know. You know the type of person she is: always has an answer for everything and is always right. No matter if you have a PhD in the subject, Lola knows more than you and loves nothing more than putting her two cents in. I’m surprised that no one in the office has punched Lola yet, but I suppose we are all professionals and well, no one wants to lose their job in this economy, especially not for putting Lola in her place.

I’m not particularly fond of Lola, but because we work together, we tend to eat lunch together a lot. I told Lola about the gorgeous guy in the gym giving me his card. She thinks I should call him. She thinks I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and that maybe he will give me some sort of discount.

“It’s pretty obvious, Maggie. He saw you looking so pitiful at the gym that he felt that he wouldn’t be a good trainer if he didn’t offer you some sort of help,” she explained to me.

“But he didn’t offer me any help. I mean, he helped me to my feet, but he didn’t offer to explain any of the machines to me or anything.”

“Well, of course he’s not going to do it there and then. If he shows you for free, how does that help him?” She looked at me like I was some sort of dumbass. I wanted to throw some of my popcorn in her face, but I didn’t want to waste any. Popcorn may be low in calories, but I can personally attest to the fact that it doesn’t fill you up and doesn’t really hit any spots without a nice big dollop of butter. I wasn’t about to waste any by throwing it at her.

I thought about what Lola said and mulled it over. I don’t really know if the gorgeous man, whose name is Blake according to his card, is a personal trainer. However, Lola is convinced that he is and that he wants to provide me with his services. And I suppose I have to agree. I mean, why else would he have given me his card? I briefly thought about the possibility that he is trying to recruit me for the CIA or to join some secret society, but I decided that his being a personal trainer seems a bit more realistic.

It was when Lola reminded me that our annual fundraiser comes up in 3 months that I capitulated and decided I will call Blake. I mean, I do want to be trimmer, especially if I have to shop for some sort of ball gown. And it would be great if I could blow everyone in the office away with my new smoking body. It could be like the reveal episode of that old TV show ‘The Swan’, only I won’t have had plastic surgery. And then, perhaps Ben will see me as more than just his best buddy at work. I often daydream about walking into a room in some sexy outfit and him gasping in surprise, shock, and awe.

That daydream usually continues with him dropping to his knees and asking me to marry him, or, alternately, just declaring his undying love for me. Don’t worry, I’m not a complete dreamer. My more realistic daydreams feature him just asking me out on a date (just because the date dream has included weekend trips to Paris and riding a white horse on the beach doesn’t mean it is any more far-fetched). And so, when confronted with the possibility that in just 3 months I could possibly be dating Ben, I decided, “What do I really have to lose by contacting Blake?” Quite frankly, I don’t want to have to buy another ugly dress, as they only seem to make me look bigger than I am. Is that the fashion industry’s way of trying to help people lose weight? Make large clothes so ugly that you’d starve yourself just for a stylish dress or pair of pants? My worry list is starting to get long again!

Worry List

1. Running a Marathon in 6 months.

2. Attending formal fundraiser looking like Miss Piggy.

3. Bank balance being dreadfully low.

Haven’t been on a date in 2 years and may have forgotten how to make-out.

***

Blake called me. Well, to be exact, he returned my call. I left him a voicemail earlier babbling on about how I was new to the gym and while I could see the benefits of having a personal trainer, I didn’t really have much money and I didn’t know if I could afford his services. It didn’t cross my mind until after I had hung up the phone that I didn’t actually know if Blake was a personal trainer or not and that if he wasn’t, I was coming off as a complete psychopath. I didn’t think leaving a second message telling him I wasn’t cut out for or interested in the CIA would make things any better though.

Our conversation was pretty brief. We’re going to meet up on Sunday for brunch. Ok, let me list what I know. Just in case he turns out to be some sort of serial killer and this is a trap. If I go missing and/or die mysteriously in the next week, this may be helpful to the police.

Name: Blake Connor

Phone number: 310-555-1254

Occupation: Personal Trainer or CIA Operative or possible Serial Killer

Description: Very attractive

Workout Spot: L.A. Fitness in Hollywood

Dear Diary,

I cannot breathe. This morning, Gayle came over to go for a jog in the Hollywood Hills with Lucy and me. When I say jog, I mean run. I tried to pretend I was feeling sick and didn’t want to leave my bed. I shouted through the door that I was too sick to get up and open it for her. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten that I had used that trick/lie on Gayle too many times before. And I’d also forgotten that she has a key to my apartment. I didn’t have time to make myself look sick because she just walked right on into my living room and caught me eating a Twix Bar while watching reruns of ‘The King of Queens’. Lucy’s fat ass was sleeping on the other end of the couch; what a great guard dog she had turned out to be. She didn’t even lift her face off the down pillow she was slobbering all over, when Gayle barged in. And now, here I am, sitting with my calves aching and a pain in my stomach like you would never believe. I have no idea how I am going to run this marathon in a few months. I may have to break something, an arm or leg perhaps. I’m still deciding which.

“Let’s go, Mags!” Gayle was hopping from foot to foot as she talked, irritating me with her peppiness.

“Go where?” I answered while licking the last traces of chocolate off my fingers. Why couldn’t I have just said, “Oh, I have plans for this afternoon, but maybe we can do whatever you wanted to do some other time?” But no, my mind was still thinking about the letter I was going to write to the Twix Company, complaining about how quickly the chocolate melts on your fingers and away from the cookie (I’d recently heard that companies send you lots of free products if you send letters of complaint/suggestions to them).

“On our first run together, duh. I figured we could do a few miles today. Get our butts in shape for the race.”

“A few miles? Huh?” I looked at her in disbelief.

“Well, I guess we could do more than that. I wasn’t sure how far you had progressed.” Gayle had misunderstood my hesitation. Or at least she was pretending to have misunderstood.

“Well, I don’t know. A few miles is not really what my body is used to at this point.” I tried to word my sentence carefully. I didn’t want to have to come straight out and say that there was no way in hell that my body wanted to run a few miles, not even one mile. Heck, it protests when I run down the stairs too quickly.

“Wow, I didn’t know you were really serious about this running, Mags. I am so excited. Maybe we can even sign up for a triathlon soon as well, then?” Gayle exclaimed with excitement. I looked at her suspiciously. Was this a joke? How could she believe the words that were coming out of my mouth? Unless of course she was trying to call my bluff. “Hmm,” I thought, “I’ll show Gayle Suzanne Buffett what’s what.”

“Sounds good to me. Let me just get my stuff,” I said, jumping off the couch. “Who knows, maybe we can make this our thing. A different marathon every few months. Maybe we can even be like that man who ran 30 marathons in 30 days.”

“That sounds great to me.” She smiled at me sweetly.

“Maybe, we can even” (I was really getting into my stride now) “start training for triathlons, and start mountain climbing—ooh, ooh, maybe we can even climb Mount Everest one day.”

Gayle just laughed. “Get your running shoes on, Mags. Let’s get through this run today first.”

Argh. I didn’t even own running shoes. This was going to be a disaster. I was pretty sure Gayle knew I was fibbing, but I wasn’t going to back down now. I also knew there was no way that I was going to be able to run. Shoot. This was going to be rough; we weren’t even going to be running on a flat surface. This was in the hills. I made a last-ditch effort to get out of the run.

“Well, I’m really meant to go shopping for some new clothes, so I’m not really...”

“Why do you need new clothes?” Gayle interrupted me. “Aren’t you broke?”

“Well, I, um, I have a date tomorrow.”

“A date?” Gayle stops her rabbit hopping and stares at me.

“Yeah, a date,” I mumble weakly. An uneasy feeling seeped into my body as I lied.

“You have a date and you didn’t tell me? Oh my gosh. Who is he? What does he do? How did you meet him? What’s his name?” Gayle questions me furiously.

Shit. Shit. Shit. That was all that was running through my head at that point. Oh, shit. And then of course, I made the situation even better.

“Blake. His name is Blake Connor, and I met him at the gym, and we are going to brunch tomorrow,” I say matter-of-factly. I mean, you could kind of consider it a date. Just not a romantic one. And Gayle didn’t have to know that part.

“Why, Maggie Lane, I do believe you have been hiding things from me.”

I looked at her suspiciously. Was she really buying this? I felt guilty, but maybe this would get her off my back.

“First, the running and the gym, and now a new man. You are really going for it this year, huh?” Gayle smiled at me, and I felt my heart sink. I know Gayle just wants the best for me. That she wants me to lose weight so I can feel more attractive and just to be in better shape. It wasn’t her fault that I still hadn’t gotten completely motivated.

I resolved to myself then and there that I was going to do everything I could to get into shape for this marathon.

“Let me get my shoes,” I said. “And let me find Lucy’s leash.” Okay, okay, I know, that was naughty of me. I decided to take Lucy with me because I knew she wouldn’t be able to run. She only uses her doggie door to do her business, and Lucy’s sluggishness would make it easier for me to just walk up the hill. I mean come on now, even though my resolve had changed, my body hadn’t.

Turns out, taking Lucy was a mistake. A huge mistake. I don’t know what it was. Maybe because she had just had a very nice, comfortable, long nap; maybe because she smelled someone barbecuing, or maybe because hills excited her, but Lucy was running her heart out like a big ol’ Doberman was after her. I’d never seen her do anything like it before. I know they say  there are no lazy dogs and only lazy owners, but trust me, you’ve never met a dog like Lucy before. I take her on walks every morning and evening, and she barely wants to go up the street before she stops and turns around and is ready to go back to the apartment.

I ended up running up the hill faster than Gayle did because Lucy was so gung-ho and pulling me. I nearly died. I may yet die tonight. In my sleep. Or my legs may just fall off. I bet Gayle would feel bad then. Being the one responsible for making me run when my body wasn’t up to it. But I guess it’s karma for my lie. Because even now, with my feet soaking in a bucket of warm water and bath salts, and my breathing still a little erratic, I realize that the running part wasn’t the worst part of the day. The lie about my date with Blake was.

Somehow, Gayle convinced me to allow her to spy on me during my date with Blake tomorrow. She says she can watch our body language and tell me if he is into me. She recently took a night course about reading people and wants to test out her newly-learned knowledge. Unfortunately for me, I told her when she first started the class that she could use me as a test study. I didn’t anticipate going on any dates in the near future, and she is so flaky with her new hobbies that I didn’t think it would be a problem. And while this technically isn’t a date, I still don’t want her spying on me. I wish I had just told Gayle the truth, that Blake is a personal trainer or a CIA operative and I barely know him and have no idea why he wants to meet up for brunch. But no, I didn’t tell her the truth. I was too embarrassed and ashamed of the lies I’d already told.

And now for some reason I am excited about the pretend date. Her excitement for me was contagious. By the end of our conversation, I was asking her what she thought I should wear and acting like it was a real date, myself.

***

Gayle called me right before I went to bed and made me feel even more anxious. She told me that Lola and Ben are going to join her at brunch tomorrow so that she doesn’t look suspicious sitting at the table by herself. Gayle had called Lola, whom she met through me, and had asked her to join her so that they can spy on me inconspicuously. Lola agreed but said she had to bring Ben, as they already had plans (I didn’t know that Lola and Ben hung out outside of work). Thank God Lola didn’t know that I was meeting up with Blake for lunch tomorrow or she would have given away my secret. However, now I had 2 friends who were unhappy and thought I was holding out on them. Lola has already texted me twice, asking me why she hadn’t been informed that I had a date. I didn’t respond. I didn’t want my web of lies to keep growing and growing.

I am not overly happy that 3 people are going to be spying on me during my fake date, but what can I do now? Nothing but get my beauty sleep.