In Search of Mr. Right

Weeping came naturally to me. The warm tears of reassurance that I would be alright. Not immediately perhaps. But at some point, in the future, because evil eventually becomes complacent.

He was a darling on the dance floor. Fred Astaire, Gregory Hines and that fellow from Russia, Mikhail something, all rolled into one, and with a killer smile. A come follow me smile. Perfect teeth. Perfect eyes. Tight pants, Christ, way too tight and I noticed.

Marks against me I suppose that after so many misses on the latest dating App, I was just a little desperate to find someone that wasn’t all in on themselves and what they would bring to the relationship.

The club was loud and crowded but somehow, he made it feel like we were alone. He listened. Nodding and laughing and asking me questions that brought out the little girl in me. Coy, sure, why not. I had put in my dues. Answered the texts. Even sent pictures to entice that God help me have disappeared and will never surface again, all in an effort to be seen.

And I thought he saw me.

Our first real date, not the lunch or the quick Starbucks meet, went okay. Italian was his choice. Antonio’s was mine and we met at seven. He, in slacks and trousers, ironed to a clean edge, and me, soaked and frayed, like a cat left out all night.

The umbrella, a gift from a former lover, snapped in two, halfway to the restaurant. The top half sailed down 5th Ave, while I held what was left of it and thought seriously of heading home.

But ever gracious, he met me at the door. Linen napkin at the ready to dry me off. Apologies for the weather, like he had failed to take care of it before I arrived. And a glass of merlot waiting at the table.

I downed it, first mistake. And told him I was glad to see him. He smiled. Mentioned that he had ordered something for both of us, something special, hope I didn’t mind.

As long as it wasn’t clams, I didn’t mind at all.

And we talked. About school. About growing up. The parent’s divorce and subsequent move to California. The braces, the glasses before Lasik, and the engagement ring that slipped in the garbage disposal augured a demise not only of the ring but of a four-year relationship that nearly broke me.

And as the second glass emptied and the dress began to dry from within and without, I knew that something different was happening. Something I hadn’t experienced in a long time.

We lingered after most tables were empty and cleared and finally left Antonio’s minutes after the rain had stopped. The night was clear and warm, as we walked past Columbus Circle. Past the new condos on 59th Street and into Central Park.

When my arm slipped through his - honestly, I don’t recall, but there it remained as we moved down 10th Avenue toward W. 52nd Street. The lights and traffic created a mood that fitted seamlessly with a near-perfect evening and before I knew it, I was standing in front of the warehouse conversion that had become my home, three years before.

We stood together and yet slightly apart. Him looking up at my windows, me looking east. A near-perfect night for sure, but not that perfect. He graciously demurred and kissed my cheek.

“Let’s do this again,” he said.

I nodded yes and he walked slowly away. Not turning back, I watched him turn right on 53rd Street and took out my keys.

A thought surfaced as I slipped the key into the lock and pushed against the heavy door.

I couldn’t remember anything he said about his life, his past, the schools he went to, nothing. Odd, I thought, was it the wine?

The door closed loudly behind me as I moved toward the stairs.

“And how did he know where I lived”?

Texts followed our date. One, then several. Emojis flowed. I felt appreciated.

How are you, how’s work? Did the situation with the boss get resolved?

It had, but all rather suddenly and I hardly remembered bringing it up, let alone providing him with all the lurid details.

I had known my boss for six years. He was head of design; I was his art director. He was structured, organized, creative, and just this side of obsessive. More likely to stare in disbelief if an idea, his idea wasn’t immediately grasped and put into play, than discuss it. Not big on conversations.

I on the other hand was more intuitive. Needed time to reflect and coordinate with the graphic artists under me before submitting a mock-up to him.

We got along somehow and our system worked. Until it didn’t. Until his late nights became more frequent and his demand to have me near, constant.

I liked the job, the freedom, and the pay, so I said yes. And yes, again until a few nights became many and the strain and exhaustion were sucking the life out of me.

Arguments at lunch. Snide remarks in the break room and the excessive use of post-its stuck to my office door. When the number reached twelve one Friday afternoon, I had had enough and walked into his office. That was three days before our date.

Jared, my boss, seemed to be expecting me. Backed into the corner of his office and waiting when I stepped in, he looked like he was about to pounce, I thought, and mentioned it.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“The way you’re standing now, waiting. Did you know I was coming?”

“I had a good idea.”

“You think. Twenty post-its on my door is a bit much,” I said.

“Twelve.”

“You counted?”

“Not the point. The point is, I’m not satisfied with your performance.”

“My …” I took a deep breath, closed the door behind me and took a seat. He did the same.

“What about my performance?” I asked.

It’s not what it used to be.”

“I know. It’s better and you know it, Jared.”

“Issa.”

How old was he I thought, fourteen? His breathing was shallow and I was already regretting my approach. I kept thinking - rent, student loans. Rent, student loans, and took a different tack.

“I thought I was doing exactly what you asked. The late nights, the added work delivered on time. I’ve been putting in the hours myself so overtime wouldn’t be out the roof.”

“I know,” he said.

“And?”

“Your work is not where it needs to be, that’s all.”

“That’s general, can you be a bit more specific.”

He reached for a folder on his desk. Opened it and closed it and reached for a second one and did the same. The third one had what he wanted and handed it to me.

I took it and began to read the two sheets inside. They were familiar to me. Our semi-annual performance review forms. I did it for all of my staff, he did it for all the directors under him. I kept reading.

When I got to the end, I was near crossed-eyed with rage. Now I was breathing shallowly, with thoughts of hurling myself over his desk and beating him senseless.

“This, this is unfair. This, this is untrue. I have outperformed all directors in the last six months and you know it.”

“I know no such thing.”

I stared at him. What he saw, no idea. But it worried him. He got up and returned to his corner. I watched him as he stood next to the bookshelf. And that’s when it all came to me. It was the picture frame next to his diploma from RISD that gave it away.

Jared was a skier. So, was Samantha his girlfriend. They’d been together for years. Met at RISD, fell in love, worked in the same field, my field and there was the picture of them together.

I took a chance. “So, when did you want Samantha to take over as Art Director?”

Jared blushed. He raised his finger as if to object. Stammered, lowered his finger, and finally collected himself.

“No such thing.”

“So, you giving me Unsatisfactory in three out of six categories has nothing to do with Samantha taking my place. I won’t have it.”

He smiled.

“I won’t.”

He kept smiling.

I stormed out, slamming the door behind me.

I left the office and the building soon after and walked. Where or how long was lost to me, but I made it home. Fed my cat George. Ordered pizza, opened a bottle of wine, and Googled - Hit Men.

Just kidding.

I ate and cried and watched Netflix and when the pizza and wine were gone, I went to bed. No longer sober. No longer hungry and no longer certain about my future.

Three days later I met Tim, that was my date’s name and began to think maybe the world wasn’t ending after all.

Apparently, I told my date all about this. Two quick glasses of wine on an empty stomach opens things up for me. The tears. The frustration. The hours put in with no appreciation. He listened. Said all the right things. Told me it would be okay.

I appreciated his optimism but really didn’t see how.

It was four days after our night at Antonio’s that I got called into a meeting with Jared and Cheryl, our HR manager.

My stomach did a tuck and dive as I saw the both of them in his office with Cheryl waving me in. She was smiling, Jared looked stunned. Like he’d been hit with a taser moments before.

I sat down, as did Cheryl, but Jared remained standing. Something about him seemed off. The last time I saw him, he had that Cheshire cat grin on his face as I stumbled from his office. Now, something completely different.

He cleared his throat as Cheryl gave him an almost imperceptible nod. And began.

“Issa, I’ve had a chance to think about our last conversation. Felt that it didn’t quite go the way I had planned. There may have been a misunderstanding at the end that I would like to correct.”

He took a step away from the bookshelf and immediately winced in pain so stopped. He took a deep breath and started again.

“I previously discussed with Cheryl the possibility of bringing Samantha into the company. Thought she would be a great asset. Has a ton of connections that would benefit us and, well, I guess I felt it was a good idea.”

He paused again, looking away, clearly uncomfortable.

Cheryl helped out. “Jared mentioned the last convo you two had and it concerned me. So, I thought it best to clear the air. Make sure there were no permanent misunderstandings.”

“Like me being let go?” I threw it out there. Didn’t see a reason not to.

“Yeah, that’s not happening. Jared?”

With a great effort, Jared stopped leaning against the shelf, stood upright, smiled tightly, and said, “That wasn’t my best effort obviously. I was a bit stressed,, to be honest, felt the heat as we all do, and decided, incorrectly I might add, to put the blame on you. Bad move and I apologize.”

He did a stutter step to his desk and grabbed a folder and gingerly handed it to me. “It’s a new review form. A correct one. Good job. It’s your copy, you can take it with you. Cheryl?”

Cheryl stood up, apparently happy with the result, so I went along and stood as well. We left together, with Jared holding that smile before sagging back into his chair.

Just outside I whispered, “What’s up with Jared? He seemed off.”

“You mean apart from being a dick?” Cheryl replied with a half look behind her. “He got mugged over the weekend. I think that might have something to do with it.”

“Mugged, you’re kidding.”

“Sunday morning during his run in the park. Was doing some stretches and then bam, on the ground face down getting a few well-placed kicks.”

“Oh my God, that’s awful.”

“The odd thing,” Cheryl said, is that they left his Apple watch, and a hundred bucks in cash, took nothing. Just beat him up.”

We both nodded as if we were understanding what had happened when we weren’t. I thanked Cheryl for her help and went back to my office. When I got there, there was a message on my phone. Great timing, I thought.

Dates are like flash quizzes in school. You don’t know what questions are going to be asked, what their value is against the final grade, and there's always someone better at it than you are.

So, when Tim asked me to go out that night, a surprise, my normal response would have been no. Then fake the reasons why. I like knowing where I’m going, who I’m going with, and having an escape strategy in place just in case.

I liked Tim. He checked all the superficial boxes. All three or four of them but it wasn’t enough. I said no more than yes, so I stayed at home more often than not. And that was fine. I slept well, had less stress, fewer errant thoughts about myself and who I was, and stayed off the rich food. A win, win, sort of.

“I’d love to,” was what I heard myself saying instead. Jotted down the time and the place. He’d pick me up and off we’d go. I said I couldn’t wait.

I put the phone down and stood there. Absentmindedly waving hi to a few people walking past my office, trying to locate the nagging feeling that had me rooted to that spot.

I had fun the last time I was with him. Needed fun after the first meeting with Jared. But there was something then as well.

I was sort of over the moon that my job was safe again, Jared was corralled for the time being and I could just enjoy life a little. Things were going well and I was being silly to think otherwise. Too caught up in the perfect scenario I had envisioned for myself and my search for the future Mr. Right.

I had three hours to reset my attitude. Reframe the questions I was asking myself. Get dressed and enjoy the night.

Three hours. Plenty of time.

At 6:15 I started walking from my flat. It was cool and comfortable with plenty of light, people, and traffic to amuse myself as I walked the eight blocks to where Tim was picking me up.

New York is a great city. It’s hard to feel alone when there’s so much motion happening all around you. So many people in strange “costumes” fulfilling lives that are beyond anything you would have thought of for yourself.

I arrived early. Watched the traffic entering Central Park. Listened to the sounds of the city. The hum of voices in the background. Honking horns, and clanging bells from a church. You name it I heard it. I was still taking stock when a vintage Rolls Royce pulled up to the curb and Tim jumped out.

I was gobsmacked. The focus of attention as people slowed around me. Hopefully, no iPhones were out, and videos were underway.

Tim rushed up, gave me a quick hug, and led me to the car. The door opened, both of us inside, and off we drove.

Catching our breaths he asked, “Well, what do you think?”

“Wow,” is all that came out.

He smiled and tapped the driver on the shoulder. We were off.

“Ever been in one before,” he said.

“A car?” I asked.

“A Rolls, silly.”

“Never,” I replied with a laugh, while I settled myself into the soft leather seats and put on a big smile. “But I can get used to this.”

We drove in silence for a while, making our way toward the Upper East Side.

“Any clues? I asked him.

He looked at me for a moment, “Funny you should say that.”

“What?”

“Clues,” he said, then turned away smiling. We drove for a few minutes more and then stopped in front of an elegant brownstone near East 79th and Madison Avenue.

Stepping out of the Rolls and into a neighborhood that I could never afford, he led me up some marble steps, where a butler let us in. I assumed that’s what he was, who else where’s a tux on Wednesdays?

He led us in, white-gloved hand pointing the way to a sitting room where eight other people were already waiting. Most with a drink in hand, curious but not talkative as we walked in.

“Tim?”

“All will be explained. Be patient.”

A woman in her early forties stepped into the room, wearing an evening gown and pearls, and tapped a glass that she was holding.

The room grew quiet as she gazed around it, smiling at me before continuing with a slight British accent, “Hello, my name is Katherine and I am your hostess for this evening’s activities. In a few minutes, we will be going into the dining room where a wonderful meal has been planned for you, based on the suggestions we received during our planning stage. We hope you will enjoy it.

“If any of you have not participated in a Murder Mystery Dinner before, the rules are straightforward. Each of you will be given a character card, and that’s who you will pretend to be during the evening. Your objective is to solve the murder using your detective skills - those you see being used every week on television. Ask questions, interrogate suspects, find the killer, simple.

“We are waiting for one more couple to arrive and then we will …” The butler motioned to her. “Ah, it seems like they’ve just arrived, excellent.”

The butler escorted the couple into the room, who appeared a little harried, and then left.

Distracted for a moment by Tim handing me a glass of wine, I didn’t see the man that came in until he was standing next to me. I almost dropped my glass.

“Kevin?!”

My ex stood there, glass in hand motionless, like he’d just been darted. Mouth moving but no words coming out. His girlfriend Vanessa, known to me and known to be the main reason we were no longer together, didn’t seem as bothered.

“Hi Issa, what are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same question.” Tim came closer looking a little worried. Was I going to do something awkward, or possibly illegal?

But Vanessa spared him as she continued. “We won these tickets. Some political fundraising event or something. They came in the mail and here we are. Isn’t this fun?”

I smiled and nodded, as Catherine gently shepherded all of us into the dining room.

Thankfully Kevin and Vanessa were seated at the far end of the table out of view.

Tim leaned in, “That’s your ex?”

I nodded.

“Christ, what are the odds of this happening.”

A bell rang out, the butler and another came into the room and dinner was served.

Murder Mystery, British accent, and now prime rib with Yorkshire pudding, creamed spinach, and spotted dick for dessert. What that was, I didn’t want to know. I was beginning to enjoy myself again and that was all I wanted.

Midway through dinner, the character cards were handed out. I was Stephanie, a hairstylist. Tim became Rodney, a divorce lawyer. Everyone opened their envelopes and began sharing their character names and professions, with the mood changing and a little excitement entering in at last.

Vanessa as it turns out was to be the murder victim, poor thing.

At 8:15 the bell rang for a second time and Katherine reappeared.

“I hope you all enjoyed the meal.” A chorus of yeas greeted her. “Excellent. Now, if you please, let us all retire to the living room again where the action will begin.”

Gathering around Katherine and the now re-attired butler/policeman, Katherine began.

“As you might have noticed, Vanessa, now known as The Victim is not with us. She’s being placed in situ as it were, with appropriate make-up and clues being carefully placed. But not to worry, we have plenty to do before …”

The lights in the room began flickering and we all laughed nervously, assuming this was all part of the theater. But Katherine seemed confused. They flickered again, almost going off before returning to their on position.

“Sorry about that, I … well, let’s see. Alright couple number one off you go to the kitchen. Follow the clue on the backs of your cards. Couple three to the master bedroom, couple four to the guest bedroom, and couple two, Stephanie and Rodney to the basement. No funny business now. That’s why we’re here.”

Everyone laughed.

Tim grabbed my hand and led the way to the basement stairs. He found the light, an old knob, and turned it on gradually as we made our way slowly down; smelling our destination before we actually saw it. As opulent as the upstairs was, the basement was not. Dark and dank and cluttered with boxes, old bedsprings, a partially dismantled Chuck Norris Total Gym, and everything else you’d expect to find in one. Including an old coal cellar.

That was my clue.

“Off you go,” Tim smiled. “I’m heading that way,” he pointed, into an even darker part of the basement.

“Good luck,” I offered as I went down the three steps slowly, looking for the light switch. I found it and found myself in a smaller version of what I’d just left. There in front of me was a small circular table and on it a small white arrow pointing left. Not too obvious, I thought.

More darkness met me, no stairs but a slight incline going farther down. I hesitated, swallowing hard and almost turning back, but thought better of it and kept going. There I found a large wine rack, an old box of stemmed glasses, and an envelope pinned to a wooden beam. “There you are.”

As I reached for it, the dim light behind me gave out and all hell broke loose.

I heard screams and shouts from above and then a loud bang - like a pistol shot.

“Tim! Tim, are you there?”

No reply.

I tucked the envelope inside my sash and felt my way back up to the three stairs. Swiping some cobwebs off my face and suppressing the urge to run.

Remembering where I turned, I went in the opposite direction and was doing alright until I tripped over Chuck Norris.

“Shit, that hurt. Tim?” Still no answer. Still sounds of confusion coming from upstairs.

I eventually felt my way past the bedsprings and held the old banister with relief. In a few seconds more I was back upstairs with the lights still off.

Someone appeared in the distance with a flashlight and I followed it back into the living room. It was Officer Smythe or whatever he was called, explaining to the others that everything was alright - just part of the evening’s events.

I couldn’t see everyone’s face but I got the feeling not everyone was buying it.

“Where’s Rodney,” I shouted.

“Who?”

“Rodney. I mean Tim. He was downstairs with me when the lights went off and …”

“I’m over here,” came Tim’s voice, as the flashlight caught him in the face. Tim shielded his eyes and then said, “Follow me.”

We all went upstairs. Tim first, followed by Officer Smythe and Katherine, and me somewhere at the back of the line.

The beam from the flashlight flits all about, highlighting the walls, ceiling, dresser, and finally, a woman’s body lying on the bed, right armed draped off to one side, a bloody hole in her blouse.

Someone screamed, it might have been me. My eyes were riveted on Vanessa, thinking, this isn’t right, this is just a game. A Mystery Dinner Theater and all that comes with it. This is fake. It has to be fake.

Officer Smythe had two fingers on Vanessa’s throat feeling for a pulse. He shook his head.

“This is part of the game, isn’t it,” I shouted.

Tim came toward me, almost knocked over as Kevin ran to the bed. “Christ. Vanessa, Vanessa! Somebody help her, she’s not moving.”

Tim had his arm around me as I began to shake.

“Tim, what’s going on? This is fake, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What? This can’t be happening.”

Someone shouted, “Call the police.”

“I did,” Katherine replied, coming back into the room with a second flashlight. “They’re on their way.”

Officer Smythe started acting like one, ushering all of us out of the room, then locking the door behind him.

By the time we reached the first floor, we could hear the police sirens.

Soon after, the rooms looked like a set on Law & Order. Forensics dusting and taping. Cops moving in and out. The guests, in various stages of denial, drank whatever was being handed to them.

There were fourteen people in all to be questioned. Each one being taken separately into a room and interrogated. Once to get the surface details, then a second more thorough questioning to find out who had a reason to kill Vanessa McGowan.

After three hours, with midnight well behind us, Tim and I were the two remaining “suspects.”

Det. Owens, nice at first, became less so as the evening wore on.

“But you did know, Vanessa fairly well didn’t you, Issa?”

“Yes, as I have explained four times already.”

“Not on great terms.”

“She slept with my fiancé, Kevin, and caused our engagement to fall apart, so no we were not besties.”

“And you just happened to show up at the same Mystery Dinner party, just a coincidence?”

“I can’t explain that. I came here with Tim Reynolds. It was a surprise date. He picked me up and we came straight here. It was supposed to be a lot of fun. But not so much anymore. Vanessa and Kevin showed up about 10 minutes after we did. It was a surprise for both of us too. I don’t know how it happened”

The detective leaned back in his chair, looking at me, looking at the murals in the room. “Nice place.”

“I stopped noticing a while ago.”

“Yeah, okay. I have all your contact info. Your date is outside. You can leave here, but not the city, okay?”

I stood up, said thank you, and raced out the door.

Tim was waiting and we left.

Standing at the foot of the steps, beginning to shiver, I couldn’t move for a few moments. My body was filled with adrenaline, in fact, it had been the only thing holding me up and it was beginning to fade. I started leaning and Tim quickly caught me.

“Issa, are you okay?”

The tears started. “No. Yes. Honestly, I don’t know. Please let’s leave this place.”

We walked south on Park Ave. for a while, the bright lights and traffic beginning to wake me up.

“We should get a cab.” He motioned with his arm to flag one down, but I stopped him.

“Let’s just walk. It feels good.”

“Sure.”

After we passed 72nd Street, I stopped for a second and looked at Tim. “It’s just so weird that they ended up at the same dinner as us. The detective was stuck on that point. He didn’t like coincidences - he told me that five times.”

“Well, not all coincidences are coincidences.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sometimes, it’s fate.”

Pointing to the night sky I asked, “as in someone up there making it happen?”

“Something like that.”

“But who would know about Kevin, Vanessa, and me? It took me six months to let my parents back home know about the breakup. They called Kevin once looking for me and found out that way. “

I kept shaking my head as we walked. Feeling unsettled, unhappy, and unsure of what to think. Tim was gazing off at the park lights, looking completely unaffected by what had just taken place.

A neon light flicked on and off to my left catching my eye - it was Antonio’s - where it all started. The first date. The rain, the wine, the rapt attention and me telling my life story to a relative stranger. It seemed like such a long time ago that I …

Told Tim about Jared and Vanessa, the lost engagement ring, the broken heart, and Kevin crying as he told me he didn’t love me anymore.

I had stopped but it took Tim a moment to notice I wasn’t by his side.

He turned toward me and asked, “What’s wrong, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”