Justine was patient, with her cell phone pressed to her ear as she listened to her dear friend Sarah, but she was tired of the “you’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs in order to find your prince” analogy she so often heard after yet another dreadful first date. Sarah was not quite sixty and was in a long term “healthy” relationship with her boyfriend David. They owned a sweet home and shared a charming life together in Culver City. Justine knew Sarah spoke from an empathetic place of experience. She had relayed many past nightmarish dating episodes, had a don’t take yourself too seriously sense of humor and had certainly lived to tell the tale and then some.
It was just that Justine’s cheeks hurt from all of the pretend smiling she’d done for the past two and a half hours and she was grateful that Sarah sensed her attempt at the patent consolatory quip was falling on deaf ears. Justine hung up the phone. She knew that even though there was no kiss, the frog would call within two days and she would need to come up with some polite way of letting him know there wouldn’t be a second date, let alone a kiss.
The fantasy, she thought, was always more satisfying than the reality. No wonder predictable romantic comedies were her first picks at the video store. Justine reflected on the last couple years of her dating escapades. “The making’s of a perilous first date brochure,” another favorite sentiment shared by Sarah. But Justine, feeling less than perky in her first date black patent leather pumps and skinny jeans, dropped her purse and keys on the dining room table, flicked off her heels and plodded upstairs where her flannels and holey tee were waiting her arrival.
With her hair pulled back and a freshly washed face she stared into the mirror with a knowing smirk. Thank goodness she still had a Sunday, a whole weekend day to look forward to. She often questioned herself after dates like this. Was it her? Was she too set in her ways at 41 and a half? The young cute horny toad did have a truck, albeit it was dented in various places (which he claimed not to be his fault) and seemed to speak of a decent enough relationship with his mother. The floor mat on the passenger side had a sticky beverage stain which he had every intension of cleaning before the date and so maybe the fact that he said “Dude” and “Fuck” every other word could be over looked. Good grief, she thought.
What the hell was she thinking, she laughed at herself, out loud. At least he wasn’t as frightening as the last frog Johnnie, the coffee date from a month ago. It took less than a half an hour to find out that his own mother had a restraining order against him. Danger! Danger! Plan an exit strategy immediately and make no sudden moves. She had encountered a few frighteningly narcissistic amphibians of late.
Her memory lingered back even further, who could forget Wayne, last year’s Valentines Day frog? A first date on Valentine’s Day sounded novel at the time but within minutes of the evening’s beginning it was apparent it had been a truly bad idea. Wayne was not exactly a prince, he was more tall and tan, with sandy thin hair and looked older than his age. He was nice and his intensions were sweet but, Lordy what a disaster.
He showed up at the front door with a single red rose with a half peeled off sticker from Seven Eleven, and said that he was not in a very good mood. He apologized and rambled on about the fact that he had just come from a thirty year high school reunion something-or-other which was depressing and oh by the way today was also his birthday. It turned out that Wayne loved to talk about the past and what a disappointment it had been, even if the past was only an hour ago. Romeo, Justine’s cat of ten years lingered on the stairs of her one bedroom apartment sniffing the air. He usually came downstairs and at least investigated her dates, but tonight he didn’t bother. Justine’s disposition suddenly shifted from a semi-nervous anticipatory excitement to a mild sense of foreboding apprehension. She listened to Wayne as she unwrapped the cellophane from the rose and stuck it in some water.
The mostly tragic stage set, they drove to a swanky joint in Hollywood, which he said he had to “call in a favor to get a reservation” and droned on for the 45 minute drive from Beverly Hills about the old, “going nowhere” friends he had just spent the afternoon with. Upon arrival at the restaurant they were seated in the middle of a large modern, sunken outdoor concrete patio with a fireplace and wall to wall hip, slick and cool couples. It was all a bit much, way too much. The doomed evening inched along as he talked about the goth-a-billy rock music he was writing and playing in his spare time, his mom who made teddy bears for a good cause and the not so good ol’ days of life growing up in Venice. Justine had to consciously not yawn or eye roll as he really seemed to be enjoying himself by midway through their Asian fusion meal. At least he was in a better mood. Justine attempted to connect with some aspect of Wayne’s delight in himself. “Really, goth-a-billy, that’s unique, how did you come up with that?” It was useless, her feigned attempt at interest was lack luster and disingenuous at best. She resigned herself to periodic nods and conserved her energy, for what she didn’t know.
By the time the check arrived she started to anticipate some relief, the evening was nearing its end, or so she hoped, and she just wanted to go home and hang with Romeo. As the valet brought the late model metallic blue yuppie convertible around Wayne eagerly shared with her his plan for dessert. “I was thinking we’d go to Venice for gelato on Abbott Kinney,” she recalled him saying gleefully. Relief suddenly turned to dread. They were on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood and it was nine o’clock on a Friday night, Valentine’s Day, how could she forget. She scrambled in her mind to come up with a reason, scheme, plan or excuse but in the next despairing moment she remember the fact that it was his bleeping birthday and smiled politely as the valet shut her door. He kept right on talking as they sat in bumper to bumper traffic on Sunset. He really thought the teddy bears his mom made were a money maker. Resigned, she leaned on the passenger door and rested her head against the tinted window. She wore a black skirt, Mary Jane pumps, bare legs, a white lace top with a black bra and pink jacket. What a waste. She daydreamed out the window into other cars wondering when there was suddenly a significant JOLT and BANG. She was abruptly knocked from her daydream with a “SHIT” from Wayne. He sat startled and stared at her as if he was looking for an answer, then he got out of the car and walked to the rear, where the bang came from. Justine looked in the side rearview mirror to see if she could see anything. She got out her cell phone ready to make a call. 911, The Automobile Club, the police, fireman (they tended to be cute and chivalrous), even Sarah, anyone willing to save the day or at the very least this date. The trunk opened and closed and she heard a brief muffled conversation. He was back in the car in under five minutes. “The car is fine” he said, “doesn’t really look like there is any damage and so I am not gonna worry about it, we can still go to Venice, you’re okay right?” He didn’t miss a beat. She put her cell phone back in her purse. Romeo Oh Romeo where for art thou?!
She was silently curious, baffled and oddly dismayed at how insistent he was not to let anything derail his plan. This frog was on a mission, so needless to say they arrived in Venice an hour later, and as they crossed over Lincoln Boulevard he made a left instead of a right as they reached Abbott Kinney. “I want to show you where I live, we can just drive by, I’ve lived in Venice my whole life.” “Yeah you mentioned that,” Justine said with utter disbelief at the dark comedy which was funny only to her. They detoured down memory lane as he drove slowly through the streets of Venice suburbia. “The lights are on, see that’s my mom’s place and I live next door.” She held her breath praying he didn’t suggest they go in and see the teddy bears. By the time they reached the Gelato café she decided that she didn’t even really like gelato and the café was thankfully closing. Her regrettable valentine pleaded with the young guy behind the counter to make an exception. It was clear that Patrick (she read on his name tag) wanted to continue cleaning up, count his tips and go home. She could relate. She tried to give him a silent signal. She widened her eyes, lifted her eye brows and quickly shifted her head back and forth, hoping to suggest, “No, No, really! I want this date to end so PLEASE refuse to serve us.” But unfortunately Patrick, the too kind and clueless counter guy, who was clearly no code breaker, gave into Wayne’s urging and served us. “We can take it to-go and sit outside,” Wayne proclaimed to both Patrick and Justine with satisfying victory. Justine gave Patrick a scornful forlorn stare, like “how could you?” as Wayne happily accepted his pineapple gelato to-go and put an extra buck in the tin tip bucket. They sat at the wobbly iron table for two as the lights in the café went out and lucky Patrick hopped on home.
It was February and freezing. Well not exactly freezing, like Deluth, Minnesota freezing, but she was a native Angleno and it was too cold to be eating ice cream outside by the beach with Wierdo Wayne. Wayne draped his heavy leather jacket which smelled of cigarette smoke over her shoulders and ate his pineapple gelato reminiscing about Venice High. Ever so slightly aghast at this point, Justine started yawning and fidgeted purposefully. She exaggerated her shivers and he finally got the hint. As he went to get the car she stood on the sidewalk near the now closed café and a valet podium near Hal’s restaurant. Time had slowed to a creep while she waited for the trusty tacky chariot that had traveled a great distance. As she leaned into the street to see if the frogs headlights were coming, she was heartily greeted by Peter, a former frog from the summer before, who was coming out of Hal’s arm and arm with his valentine. Justine had nicknamed him Preppy Peter because he was very tidy and had big teeth. “Hey, small world, how are you?” She flashed back to Peter’s too happy disposition. There was a long pause. “This is Brooke,” he unhooked briefly from her arm and gestured, “Brooke…Justine.” “Hi, nice to meet you,” she shook Brooke’s warm manicured hand with her cold one, looking back to Peter’s teeth, “Yes small world, I’m fine,…good to see you,” was all that she was able to muster. Brooke looked cute, smiley and relaxed. Justine was only slightly jealous of their coupling and maybe if she had not been so tuckered she might have asked Peter and Brooke to rescue her. But then she would have to explain her pitiful evening and she was tired, too tired to impose an impromptu escape plan on the happy preppy couple. Someone should have a Happy Friggin’ Valentine’s Day for God sake. Wayne pulled up in that moment and rolled down the window eagerly inviting her back in to his yuppie-mobile.
When they finally pulled on to her street it was all she could do to not jump out of the moving vehicle. Wayne turned off the engine and politely walked her to her front door. “I had a great time,” he said with a huge grin. He backed up slightly and leaned in again. She turned her head enough and in time, as he grazed her cheek with his froggy lips. “Happy Birthday and thank you,” she muttered with a tiresome smile over his shoulder and a one arm hug. Once across the threshold Justine vowed to never date again. She made sure she heard the car drive out of site as she wiped her cheek.
What a memory, she thought, looking back in the mirror before she turned out the bathroom light. She mused at the fact that she had sworn off dating forever time and again, but still half-heartedly wondered secretly if there were any princes left on the lily pad. She was fairly convinced that princes never really existed in the first place. They were merely a figment of her imagination but her imagination was often good company. Oh well, back to her mostly charmed life, which was quite nice actually. Frogs passing through, she decided, made for good story telling. She thought about Sarah and her words of wisdom, and how they were oddly more comforting now.
Prince or no prince she had to admit she was rather content as she settled into her warm flannel sheets and sipped her Sleepy Time tea. Besides, she was a light sleeper and most frogs snored so it really was just as well…for tonight anyway.