Mandy and Me; 415 Media Short Story

THERE SHE WAS; FOREVER POSITIVE and enthusiastic ….so why the hell meet me? I PONDERED that very question myself. I had little or no magic; I was far from handsome and had no resemblance to George Clooney or Ken Bastida. My time frame was limited too because I just as soon have a couple of martinis and call it a night and request a second date. She was as old-school as I am and she preferred mature men, not the fanboys who hang out in the marina and order PBR at the Balboa. Clearly, Mandy was from another planet, another venue. What the hell was she doing with me and why was I so suspicious. I needed another drink to embellish and observe. She was content to keep her Kendall Jackson half full.

WE MET on a chance in that dark bar in the financial district. She was a media buyer for a large ad agency in the city and wrote me out of the blue because she told me she liked neurotic, unproven, sophisticated, slightly broke, talkative, impatient, morose, problematic, insecure, well-spoken, svelte media bloggers. Mandy complained that the common assumption that "I only like young, good-looking, wealthy assholes" was just that: an assumption.

Mandy wanted to be emphatic.  "You write well for a blogger and I have respect for what you do; I mean, yes, you lose me when you write the shit about women and their boobs and insinuate who you'd like to fuck, but overall, you're funny and entertaining."

She caught me off guard with that last statement because I was worried about meeting her. What were her motives? Why me? Did she have an agenda? Was she a potential stalker? All of this was going through my mind. To offset the fear I ordered another vodka and asked Bruno, the bartender, for more cheese fish. Mandy was still consuming her first glass of Cabernet. She suddenly veered off to the bathroom clutching her cell phone as if she was watching a new edition of House of Cards. I felt awkward as usual but stayed at the bar to find out what was going on. Classic theatre. Patrons seemed close to their own encounters so Mandy and I enjoyed relative privacy and respect. Bruno was quick to protect our territory telling a bunch of jerks from downtown to move away from our conversation and rendezvous. What a professional. NY guy with all the right kind of gusto.

Meanwhile, Mandy emerged from the meetin' in the ladies room. She smelled fresh and pungent, like a newly -scented towel from the Fisherman's Wharf Holiday Inn. She was no fool. She knew full well that I was intrigued and turned on by her persona and disposition even though I had no clue what the hell she was seeking. So I asked her point blank, "Uh, you know I'm a little weary of all this commotion and would like to ask you what is your mission?" "I don't have a 'mission Rich, I just wanted to have a drink with you; there's no ulterior motive. I thought you might be interesting and provocative and that the limitations you have, that I may be able to help you." That's a lot on my plate to decipher. I gazed forward and tried to pivot to the obvious: "But you don't want to sleep with me, right?" She laughed. But it was the right kind of laugh. Not the "oh, fuck you, dream on, man" kind of chick laugh. There was more to it. It was that symbolic, Helen Hunt, I care about you laugh, at least that's what I figured. I asked her to embellish.

"Look, I had another fight with my boyfriend last night and we're probably going to split up. He's very controlling and very possessive. I like my freedom. I love the city but NY is the center of the universe and eventually I want to live there and work there." She wasn't done.

"I'm not looking to sleep with you, Richard, not yet at least but you turn me on with your style." "What style?", I asked. "You remind me of a friend of my girlfriend, Rebecca, in Boca (Florida) you're kind of funny and so is he." OK, but what does that have to do with me asking if you'll ever sleep with me before 2020. She laughed again. I didn't know what to do. Frankly, I was teetering on leaving but dammit, she had me with those daring eyes and luscious lips. I was in heaven. The only thing missing was a narration by Jan Wahl.

Mandy insisted that we have another date. I was attracted to her and believed that she had no motives. It was reinforced by the fact she told me she had no Scientology membership and that she wasn't some crazed wacko from Craigslist; she just wanted to meet and form a new friendship. I was caught in translation and still befuddled on "why me?" Mind you I have the fullest confidence in myself and although now I'm in the biggest crisis of my life; that I'm thoroughly fucked up at times and can hardly function; even in all that I still possess enough charm and originality that some (women especially) find alluring, I clung to the position that she was going through something and I was her lucky bait. Maybe.

We're meeting again soon. She told me she and the boyfriend are basically breaking up and she was not cheating on him and that I was just her chosen glass of wine, metaphorically speaking, and that if I wanted a new friend, she was game. Translation: "I want your guidance and chivalry but I don't want to sleep with you." Mandy, I'm too old for this shit, there's got to be an end game, I didn't tell it that way exactly but she kind of knew.

She was very nice; a bit skittish and fast, but very nice. I trusted her even though there seemed to be an indirect misdirect. She wanted to have dinner for some reason and she insisted on paying. (Good move) So we're going to have dinner and talk out loud. I'm a little skeptical but what the hell do I have to lose? Exactly.

Carry on. So will I. And so will Mandy.