Divorced Dating and Damn Drama (21 page)

"Yeah, I've been talking and a few other guys feel the same way." Ford leans in, "I'm signed into a slave contract though, and for my whole life they own me."He tells me in a whisper.

"That's horrible." I respond with sympathy.

"I have my stuff in my car, I'm leaving now." Ford says looking around again.

"Like now?" I ask. That's sudden. Maybe he will ask me to go with him; I mean why would you have a date seconds before you bolt?

He looks around again "My baby is in the car already." Ford whispers. "Thanks for being my cover." Ford said. Then kissed me on the cheek and leaves. I see him drive away and his boyfriend who looks surprisingly like Henry's best man seated in the passenger seat. Hmm, small town.

In case anyone has been following along so far, my life sucks. Ok, that's a given but it sucks so much I am starting to think that someone is following me. Now I don't have any proof of that, but I think someone is. Sometime I wake up in the middle of the night because I swear someone is watching me. When I leave work, I get all tense and stiff because I just know someone is waiting for me in the parking garage. Now I have gotten so paranoid that I had to implement a buddy system. For the rest of the world that means walking with a co worker, however for me that means waiting for someone who parks by me to leave and following them. What? Normally I'm not creeper like this, but I'm scared! What if my online dating adventures plus my bad luck is coming back in haunt me? What if I pissed off the wrong guy? Don't forget the murderer that my ex husband and Judge Right got off. What? That is also a possibility? Fine, I'll stick to the dating theory. I know I have met some interesting characters but to think that one of them could be stalking me, now that is scary. I have to be honest, I kind of want to quit dating, just stop doing it, but I think that I have already
gone so far that stopping would be moving backwards.

I know, I know I
sound stupid. What's that saying? Do what I say not what I do. I'm saying if
you get to the point where you feel you are being followed and you think it might be a guy you met online; go to the police and stop online dating. However, you don't live in my town. In my town, the police are corrupt and would never stick their necks out for anyone who isn't paying a hefty price. I can't stop online dating, I just can't. I have invested so many hours and money, yes money, in trying to find a guy. I have to stop being Henry's ex and the only way I can do that is to find another. I'm just so tired of the whispering and gossiping. It's like being in a fish bowl and everyone keeps tapping the damn glass. I get it, everyone hates me and everyone loves Henry. I'm just this big screw up and I want so desperately to prove everyone wrong.

"What should I do?" I ask Ruby and Sara after explaining the situation in the living room. I think that the living room, aka Ruby's bedroom, acts as the go to meeting place for the apartment occupants' constant meetings that all just happen to center around me.

"Nothing." says Ruby playing Jingo with Sara on the floor.

"She can't just do nothing." Sara shouts. "If someone is trying to killer her then she needs to do something
." Sara picks out a block on the
bottom causing the whole thing to topple over. Which apparently is the funniest thing in the world because Ruby rolls on the floor laughing.

"I didn't say someone is trying to kill me." I respond.

"Well, they are." She says while crossing her arms and watching Ruby gather up the blocks and put them in their place.

"How do you know?" Asks Ruby, stalking the wooden blocks.

"Don't you guys watch horror shows, they don't stalk you to give you a hug." Sara explains.

'What do you suggest?" I ask turning to Sara.

"Hire a private investigator, duh." She takes a sip of her soda while pulling off a block near the top. "You really are stupid sometimes."

"How do I do that? Does that actually work? It seems too TV for it to work." I say honestly. Well it does. Think about it, you pay a person to stalk the person that stalks you. So aren't you just paying to add another level to the stalking scenario? It just sounds like some movie bull shit.

"It works, I've hired a guy as a private investigator loads of time.'' Sara smiles watching Ruby toping the blocks over. Are they losing on purpose? I'm just saying those blocks seam to topple pretty easily. Ruby erupts in a roar of laughter.

"Why would you need to hire an investigator?" Ruby asks Sara, still laughing on the floor. I think that's a valid question. Sara has it all, why would anyone want to hurt her?

"Sometimes being perfect has its drawbacks." She said casually taking another sip of her soda while Ruby gathers up the blocks.

"If you think this is a good idea, then I'll do it." I say with false confidence.

"Safety first!" smiles Sara.

The next morning I give Sara's P.I. a call. Get it? P.I. is short for private investigator. Anyways, his name is Marvin Cater and he has been doing this for over thirty years. He did warn me that I might just be paranoid and that this could all be in my head. I told him I'd rather spend the few bucks to make sure. Turns out it is going to be more than a few bucks, a lot more.

I'm at Got to Have It bar trying to get picked up, I guess. The base is turned up and the DJ is a shirtless guy. Hey, I know that guy. He was on the cover of Gossip Magazine. Well, now I don't feel so alone; also I'm here with Sara, she bought my love by actually getting me a turtle and tank set up kit. He is an albino red eared slider and he lives in my room. I was right about turtles, they do just sit there. I'm easily bought. Why did she have to buy me? Because the private investigator charged money upfront and apparently they aren't supposed to
do that. Anyways Sara
left me alone at the bar to have some sort of three way dance on the dance floor. I look over at her, she looks like a disco ball spinning around and grinding on various men. I look at my phone. It's 2am and everyone is acting like it's noon. The base is really loud. Boom, boom, it thunders. I'm glad I bring didn't Mr. Thompson, my turtle, he would not have
liked it here. I
usually eat my pain. But now, now I'm going to drink it, I think while picking up a Gossip martini.

"You act like a robot simulated response." Says Sara the next day in my bedroom as she is reading over my conversations that I had on the online dating site. "Look at your responses; you say things like 'what do you think' and 'what will make you happy'"

"I thought I was supposed to keep it on them." I say, it referring to the conversation.

"That's a misdirecting tactic and you know it." Sara scoffs. "You don't tell people about yourself. So, if they do go on a date with you, they have no idea how to react."

"They can react like themselves." I say bluntly

"Yes, but it is the little things. They don't know you hate introverts, so they don't know that being shy around you is a turnoff." Sara says matter-of-factly. When did she get in my head?

"I don't hate introverts." I lie defensively.

"You are an introvert. You want someone who is going to talk to you. And talk a lot." She pauses and blows on her wet nails. "That's why we are such good friends. I talk and you listen." Yeah, some friendship I mumble. She leaves me all by my lonesome at a horrid bar just days after I told her I thought I was being followed. What kind of friend of that?

"But you don't let me get a word in edge wise." I protest.

"You're always so defensive. Not everyone is out to get you." She says casually and starts to paint her other hand. Maybe she is right, it's just I have been pushed down so much I'm afraid to stand up.

By now my hair has grown longer, what an inch or two. I dyed it blonde. I was told to dye it blonde by Sara. I now wear a ton of makeup to cover up my average-ness. Guys don't like average girls according to Sara. It takes an hour on a good day to put my face on. I liked my makeup before, but it wasn't good enough. I wear six inch heels, and I can now walk like a drag queen. Because we all know they master the cat walk. Now I look perfect. I look so perfect that my dates don't notice that I never smile.

I did it, I finally got a better car, not a new car granted but better than before. Before you get too excited, no I can't afford it, but since my other car decided to get totaled in a head on collision with a ghost, it was going to cost more to fix it than it was worth. I have been saving and borrowing Ruby's car, plus taking the bus just to save up enough to afford a down payment. I was able to turn my totaled car in, along with cold hard cash, for a nice red but still run down car with a bad muffler that smells of dead fish. But it works and is not totaled. I love it. I didn't realize I would get so much joy out of getting a car such as this but I like the way it sounds. Since my divorce I have gotten two cars. They don't need to know the details
or reasons why. I really am a car
fanatic. I loved my old car and I love my new one. I feel like a teenager. Oh, I forgot to mention the best part, cup holders! My old run down car didn't have cup holders, but this one does. Score.

I now have an appointment with Sara. She is trying to start her own cosmetics line. Normally I would tell her to stop being stupid, but, I'm going to be supportive. Two hours and a ton of make-up later and my face is burning. Omega, it's really burning. I run into the shower and turn the water on full blast. When I get back from changing out if my wet cloths into dry ones,
Sara has not looked up from her new camera phone. She is such a good friend. I show her m
y burned face and she gets ecstatic, now we can get a tan together. What?!

She drags me into the Gossip tanning salon. We sit with a bunch of people who all seem like they have disorders. All fidgety and twitchy. After twenty five minutes, my name is called. I strip down to my two piece bikini and get inside this alien pod. A sexy man in a Speedo hands me swimmer goggles so I don't blind myself. Oh man, he is attractive. No wonder they have him working the back, if he was in the front, us women would maul him. His six pack, another word for abs, is so nice I swear there's a seventh one. Get it? Instead of a six pack he has a seven pack. What? That's clever. He closes the door and he becomes a blur once the tan spray starts shooting out of the sides of the pod. I gag. Eww I think some of it went in my mouth. This is so gross. Ewwww. The spray stops as abruptly as it starts. The door is open and I'm released from confinement. I am then led by Speedo man into a giant dryer. The air swirled around me. When my time is complete I step out and am handed my clothes, which I promptly put back on. I am then led back into the waiting room. Now there is a new set of mental patients waiting. After Sara gets out she drags me into the nail salon next door.

These people are the ones from the tanning salon; waiting in the chairs ready to be called. What did they all escape together? I again have to wait twenty five minutes until I'm seated in this fluffy pink chair. I am then attacked with nail files and nail clips. I sit stunned as my stubby chewed fingernails are transformed into gorgeous polished French tipped nails. I feel like Cinderella. The tan I didn't care for. But this, this is magical.

I go into the Gossip store to buy more cat litter, so much cat litter. Some people might buy one or two things at a time, but owning five cats I find its better to stock up. So I head to the checkout line busing twenty containers of Store brand cat litter. On an impulse rack I see the most unflattering photo of myself on the cover of Gossip Magazine. I quickly grab the magazine and flip through it. I get to my interview and start reading.

"Ma'am this isn't a library, if you want to read it you have to buy it." Says the cashier who is speaking into the microphone that blasts her words throughout the store. Garr I grumble and put the overpriced magazine in the cart. I get home and after struggling with piling the cat litter in the hallway closet, I sit down on the couch with the magazine. I again flip to my interview. I start frantically reading. Not only was I humiliated, I was painted like an impartial juror
with a vendetta.
It says and I quote: "She refused to even listen to the trial, blinded by hate; this vindictive woman was only interested in humiliating her beloved ex husband, whom has been constantly victimized." Really? He is the one who has been victimized? It then goes on to give his testimony about why he felt I wronged him. Really? Really magazine. I knew they were going to paint me as the bad guy but I didn't think they were going to paint him as the hero. Is there really nothing better to talk about than my divorce? Really? Nothing at all. And where did these pictures come from. One is me on the toilet
. I flip to the cover, and
"I look wasted in this one."I shout in anger.

"Yeah, wasted on cough syrup." Sara laughs as she comes out of her bedroom to get more ice for her water cup.

"Did you send in these photos?" I demand.

"What, they were going to use the photo on your employee ID. Because of me you got a two page spread." Sara smiled sitting down beside me on the couch and looking lovingly at me.

"I'm on the toilet." I shout pointing to the embarrassing photo.

"I made you famous." she smiles.

"I don't want to be famous." I shout.

"If you died today at least you could say you were in a national magazine." She paints a beautiful picture. "Every guy in the world is going to want you." she coos.

"I don't know." I say. But she then sweet talks me into liking my new found fame. She should have been a lawyer. I could probably pass the bar for her too.

I have been getting random updates from my investigator. He tells me bits and pieces, but the jest of it is, he hasn't found anyone. He thinks that if it wasn't all in my head, that my change of appearance probably causes the stalker to lose interest
or move on. I ha
ve stopped feeling watched, so he is probably right. Sometimes people victimize people that appear as if they can be victimized. If that was the case then my added confidence probably played a part. This is good news. To celebrate I decided to spring for pizza. Not the cheap kind, the good kind that that you get from an old fashioned pizza place.