For a Good Time Call

If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all. That old adage just about says it all for my life these days. At least, that's how it seemed until very recently.

The transition from college life to the real world had been difficult. First, I moved back home with my parents, a real treat. Hardly a day went by without them asking why I was dating one guy and not another, or why I hadn't found a job yet, or why I hadn't devoted myself to studies (hey, I didn't get all A's but I did graduate in the top 40%), or why I had gained a couple pounds. You name it, they questioned it.

After sending out the obligatory hundreds of resumes and having dozens of fruitless interviews, I finally settled on a decent entry level professional job at a local insurance company. And I don't think my new boss was even looking up my skirt.

The pay was enough to allow me to move away from my folks and into my own small apartment, but it was a bit of a struggle to make the monthly rent payments and still keep food on the table and gas in my seven-year-old, 125,000-mile Honda Civic.

Rent and gas usually won over food. My seven-year-old Honda Civic had more fuel than I did at times, and that was at 25 miles-per-gallon so it tells you what I was eating.

I was dating a couple guys at the time, nothing serious, but it got me out of the cramped apartment and with some company my age. I think everyone in the apartment house was 30 years my senior, so I wasn't getting thrilling conversation around the hallways. Normally my dates were dinner and a movie, sometimes clubbing, but nothing real serious occurred until I met John Robert.

Yes, he went by both names, not John, not Robert, and definitely not J.R. It was John Robert, period. John Robert was charming and I felt lucky to have him pick me over the scores of other attractive and willing girls. We were inseparable. The early part of our relationship was spent sweeping me off my feet: it was dinner, flowers, holding doors open and numerous compliments.

He literally charmed the pants, skirts and undies off me in record time. We waited just over a month before we did the deed. The wait didn't seem to him; the sex was often and wonderful, and I thought he was a very special guy. Or so I thought at the time.

After several months together, things changed. While I was falling madly in love, John Robert was a little less attentive. Oh, we still had sex several nights a week, but he rarely stayed overnight and the compliments were less frequent.

Little did I know at that time he was seeing not one but two other girls, each of whom he was banging on alternate nights along with me? I thought we were in a solo relationship, and here I was sleeping with a guy who had several others on the side.

What a pig. A good for nothing, scumbag pig. I found out about his nightly bouncing from girl to girl, bedroom to bedroom, by accident.

My best friend Jessica asked me to go to a bachlorette party with her. The party was in a town 20 miles away, and Jessica didn't want to worry about driving home alone, especially if she had a few drinks. I gladly agreed to be the designated driver. Besides, John Robert was attending night classes so it wasn't as if I was leaving my honey bunch alone.

We had dinner with nine other girls and then jumped from club to club, dancing the night away. At one dimly lit night club we owned the dance floor for an hour. Taking a break from the strenuous activities, I looked around the club. There were geeks and freaks, but what caught my eyes was the profile of someone who looked surprisingly familiar.

Through the blur of bodies I could have sworn I saw John Robert sitting in a booth across the dance floor. I slipped to the side and sleuthed my way toward the table, staying in the shadows. It couldn't be him, of course, but I had to know for sure.

I casually slipped to within 20 feet from the table and was shocked at what I saw. There John Robert in the flesh, gabbing away as a young woman listened intently. I saw his hand slowly stroking the shapely thigh of the blonde in a short mini-skirt. My feet were glued to the floor as I watched his repetitive stroking of her shapely thigh before bending toward her and locking lips. The bastard. Just as I got ready to launch into a full-blown confrontation, the two exited their booth and headed toward the back door.

I should have left it alone, but I couldn't help but follow. Slipping out the back, I remained in the shadows, observing them walking hand in hand deep into the parking lot. For a moment I couldn't decide what to do. I mean, I didn't think I could leave my friend and jump in the car to follow, but by the same token I wanted to tell the two-timing, no good jerk just what I thought of his little escapade while planting a size seven pump snuggly between his legs.

As luck would have it the two got into a car, but not the front. The two got into the back seat of a Chevy wasted no time in getting back to their make-out ways. I crept closer and watched as the two locked lips and passionately kissed for several minutes. I jealously watched them stroke each other's bodies. John Robert bent his head --- somehow he had lifted her top --- and nibbled on her nipples, alternating one side to the other as her head sank well back into the seat.

Just the night before it had been me making out with John Robert. We had a bone-jarring lovemaking session which left me completely satisfied. Less than 24 hours later he's with another girl, licking breasts and sucking face. I watched as the blonde backed away from the kiss and said something to my man. He laughed, then watched as she expertly opened his trousers. While I didn't have an excellent view, I knew exactly what was happening when her head bent over his midsection and began bobbing up and down. The bitch was sucking my guy's cock!

Up and down she went, bobbing her head like one of those bobblehead dolls. She started slowly but when she sped up I heard him moan her name. Candice. That did it. In an instant I sped to the car, banged on the window and cursed the startled couple. I told him I was going to Bobbitt him if I ever saw him again, and that I'd pull her tits through a ringer if she came in contact with me.

I think I ruined a perfectly good blowjob that night, but the prick deserved it.

It's funny how things come out after the fact. John Robert didn't have the balls to call me, not to apologize, not to give me a lame story, nothing. My friend Stephanie got on my shit list when she told me at a lunch date that she knew John Robert was running around on me, and that he was sleeping with a former friend named Caroline while sleeping with me.

After that debacle I cautiously dated several guys but each was a jerk in his own sort of way. After a bit I merely delved into my job and my volunteer worth at the hospital, figuring that in helping others I would be helping myself. I missed the male companionship and I missed the sex. For the time being all men were assholes and I was better than that.

My friends tried to cheer me up by setting me up all the time; I told them "Thanks, but no thanks" over and over. I needed time for myself to get over all of the bad karma. I worked out every morning, went to the job, did things I wanted to do and curse when I'd get those calls late at night waking me from a fitful sleep.

God, I hated those calls. Nobody was ever on the line. At first I thought it was a series of wrong numbers, but on several occasions I heard breathing on the other end of the line. Just what I needed, crank calls. I swore at them. Hung up on them. I even called John Robert at work and told him in no uncertain words to stop calling --- just in case it was him. It's funny, there wasn't a pattern, except that the majority of calls came in after 10 at night.

Late one Saturday night, after watching a couple DVDs, I slipped into an extra large tee shirt and slid nightynight between the covers. I had ran two miles in the morning and another two before dinner, so I was quite tired. Still when the telephone rang it woke me, abet with a start.

"Hullo?" I growled sleepingly into the receiver. Nobody answered. "Who is this? I spat. "Answer me!" The line was quiet, but I knew someone was there. I hung the phone up and attempted to go back to sleep. But I was awake, and pissed. The bastard had woken me from a deep sleep and now I was totally awake.

Counting sheep didn't help. Thinking nice, soothing thoughts didn't either. I got up and fixed myself a cup of hot tea, and while sipping the brew I spied the telephone on the wall. Instantly, an idea jumped into my head. Two could play this game. I grabbed the phone and hit Star-69.

"Speak to me," came the male voice on the other end of the line. At first it was my turn to be silent, then I demanded, "Just who the fuck is this?"

"Huh? ... You called me. Who is this?" said the startled voice on the other end.

"None of your business. You called me earlier and woke me up, and I think you are a jerk," I said, probably adding a curse word or two for emphasis. "What gives you the right to call me? Who the hell are you?"

"I, uh, I, well..."

I told him to spit it out before I called the cops, or better yet, tracked him down and de-balled him.

"My name is Richard."

"Ok, Dick (the irony there brought a smile to my face), why are you calling?"

There was silence for a bit, then he asked, "Is this Jenny?"

"The name is Jennifer, Dick, and I don't appreciate calls in the middle of the night. Do I know you? Who put you up to this?"

Again, silence.

Then he softly spoke. "I got your number off the wall."

Now it was my turn for silence. Wall? What wall? "What the hell are you talking about?"

Again there was quiet on the line, then a stammered response. "Uh, I was at The Drink Factory and I saw your name and number on the wall. I'm sorry, but I was lonely and I saw your name...I just called."

"Don't tell me, it said 'for a good time call' or something like that?"

"Uh huh. It said for a good time call Jenny at 867-5309, and I thought, well, why not, so I called."

Unbelievable. This jerk got my name off a bathroom wall. I told him to fuck off and then slammed the telephone as hard as I could. The nerve. It took a while to get back to sleep, I have to admit I wondered what kind of guy would actually call a girl whose number he found on a bathroom wall. A pimpled, deformed, demented loser undoubtedly. And I wondered how the hell my name got there?

Probably that bastard John Robert. Early the next morning I went for my run, pushing myself an extra half mile while allowing my mind to wander about the guy on the telephone. I chuckled to myself at how embarrassed he sounded, how helpless. But I put it all out of my mind as I attacked the series of hills which made up the last portion of my route.

Arriving home I jumped into a warm, soothing shower before slipping into some sweats and making breakfast. Just as the coffee was nearly done the telephone rang.

"Jenny, please don't hang up" It was the voice from the previous night, the prick of a pervert who woke me up.

"It's Jennifer, and goodbye."

"Wait, wait, I just wanted to say that I am sorry I called last night and sorry I woke you up. It wasn't like me, I had never done that before."

This guy, this Dick, sounded pathetic. "Then why did you do it?"

He stammered something about being lonely, about having too much to drink and then apologized again. He sounded pitiful. I had to smile. I pictured this spaz of a guy with heavily taped black glasses, a geek with a pocket protector. He probably lived with his mom and had porno mags hidden in his closet.

"Well, I just wanted to say I hope I didn't ruin your sleep or your evening," said the dismal guy. "I'm sorry and won't do it again."

My curiosity got the best of me. "Did you really think I --- or anyone you called off a number off a wall --- would talk to you?"

"Well..."

"Well what?"

"It's just guys talk, and I thought maybe you, I mean, not you, but that Jenny was a little loose or looking for a guy or something, I didn't mean it to be someone as nice as you. I heard these guys talking about a girl, that she was easy, and her number was on the wall. It had to be someone else. I'm sorry."

"Enough with the sorry. What's your name again? Dick?"

"It's Richard. You know, I'm no Dick," he said with a laugh.

"The jury is out on that, Dick, but okay. Apology accepted. Just don't do it again," I firmly said. "And do me a favor, get rid of the number from the wall, okay."

"Okay, Jennifer. I'll do that today. I promise. I'll have that wall so clean...well, it will be clean."

I chuckled to myself as I thought of this geekoid going to a bar with a pail of water and some cleaning solution, asking the manager if he could clean the bathroom.

There was a pause in the conversation. It was time to hang up and get on with the day. Still, something came over me. I didn't know what, but it was right there in my mind. I poured a cup of coffee, sat down, and shocked myself with what I said. "Have you had coffee yet?"

"Uh, no, why?"

"There's a Starbucks on the corner of 29th and Landis, and I'm heading over there right now. If you happened to be in the neighborhood I'd let you buy me a vente house and a cranberry muffin."

"You're kidding, right?"

"I'm as serious as sin. I'm leaving now, and if you are there you are there. I'm in blue sweats, I'm fat, and if you act like a jerk I'll call the cops. I have mace, and I've already dialed in the first two digits of 9-1-1."

"I'll be there," said Richard eagerly. "But it will take me 45 minutes. How about I make it a latte?"

I couldn't believe it, and at first I didn't think I would go through with it, but I had to see what this guy looked like. His voice was deep, nice, soothing, but he had to be some sort of a mutant or something to be calling women like he did. Still, at a place as safe as Starbucks I could get a first hand look at him and mock him or something to put him in his place.

It would be a kick, sort of a blind date without strings. It was safe, I could leave at any time, and what's more, I didn't have to dress up for it. Heck, I wouldn't even change. He calls and wakes me in the middle of the night, he deserves to catch me with my hair up and in pink sweats. Walking to the coffee house my mind wandered again to the kind of person who would randomly call a woman whose name and number he found written on a wall.

A girlfriend of mine had once written her name and number on a napkin and given it to a guy named James, only to be called the next night by a man who received the napkin from James after losing a bet. Imagine the stories she told at her bachelorette party a year later when she and that mystery caller, Jeremy, were getting married. But for every love story there had to be a thousand horror stories, hang ups and juicy midnight crank calls.

Sort of like when she was at sleepovers and one of her girlfriends called a local cigar store to see if they had Prince Albert in a can...and if so, told the proprietor to "let him out".

Or when she was in college and called a bar and asked for a man named Michael Hock. "Please see if he's sitting at the bar" and then broke out in laughter as they heard the barkeeper ask if "anyone has seen my cock."

Arriving five minutes late, I around but there wasn't a soul who looked remotely like what the mystery caller would look like. I considered ordering coffee but decided to sit and wait, picking a large plush couch. I'd give him a couple minutes to show, but figured he probably wouldn't. Gazing at the front door I watched two cars battling for the same parking place. There was another empty spot about 30 yards away, but both had to have the one right in front of Starbucks, like it was a badge of honor.

"Jenny?" came the voice from behind me, startling me. It's a good thing I hadn't ordered anything as my knee bumped the table in front of me, newspapers falling in a heap to the floor. "I mean, Jennifer?"

"Huh...uh huh, I'm Jennifer...Dick?"

He nodded and moved around and sat across from me. He appeared to be about six feet tall, and the bulky old man sweater he wore made it appear that he was 20 pounds overweight. His hair was mussed --- he was sweating just a bit --- and he had this nervous twitch above one eye when he smiled.

"I didn't think you'd be here, I thought it was a wild goose chase," he said. "Especially when I went to 26th and Landis and didn't find a Starbucks. I must have heard you wrong."

Smiling, I said I told him 29th Street, and asked why he was perspiring.

"I ran the three blocks, I didn't want you to wait, or to leave." Looking him in the eyes, I attempted to be cross, but couldn't help myself from smiling.

"You agreed to coffee and a muffin, and I don't have anything here in front of me. Do I have to get it myself?"

He bounded to the counter and was back in a flash, complete with a cranberry muffin and latte for me and a strange looking concoction for him. Dick sipped his beverage and looked me over while I did the same to him.

"You're nothing like what I imagined," said the man. "You expected Cameron Diaz, I presume?"

"No, no, I mean, you are very attractive and I guess it was that radio voice thing. You know, you hear a deejay and develop an opinion on what he looks like, then you see him photo and he look nothing like what your impression of him was."

Dick paused, sipped his drink, then continued. "I figured brown hair and brown eyes, a PETA patch on your peasant skirt and a smirk. Instead, I see a pretty woman with a magnificent smile."

I waved off his b-s line. "Cut me a break, cowboy, your corny lines don't do a thing for me. Lighten up or I'm out of here."

"You caught me, Jennifer, sorry," he said with a practiced smile. Then he moved to another chair and said he wanted to start over. Gone was Mr. Come On, and all of a sudden he was transformed from a jerk into a sensitive kind of guy.

"I don't know what it is, I didn't know what to expect," he admitted. "I didn't know if you were putting me on, making fun of me, or what. But let me just say I appreciate you allowing to buy you breakfast and I hope we can spend a few minutes just saying hello."

We did. And then a few more. He was a junior architect, lived in a tiny attic above a garage and enjoyed playing golf on weekends. He liked the beach, travel, football and hockey and found the time to read one mystery novel a month. He was kind of cute, in his own way, although he somehow found a way to wrinkle Dockers.

He admitted to having trouble with relationships because he managed to be just a little too independent. We shared stories for about an hour, before I told him I enjoyed his company but that I had errands to run and commitments to keep. He asked if he could walk me home --- I said no --- but agreed when he asked if he could call me again.

"You know the number, Richard," I said with a smile. I knew he would call, and I actually looked forward with anticipation to speak with him again.

The following night I answered the telephone and it was him. "Hi Jennifer. I took care of that wall, your number is erased," he proudly said.

Thanking him, we traded stories of our day. Then he asked if I was available Friday for dinner and a movie, and to this day I am amazed I agreed. There was something sweet about the guy I'd only just met. Friday was days off, but thoughts of Richard came into my mind several times over the course of the week.

Friday I was surprised at work by a small bouquet of spring flowers and a note asking if I had changed my mind about the date. I hadn't. We met at Screnci's Italian Restaurant at 6 and had a wonderful meal before heading over to the multiplex for a romantic comedy. He was the perfect gentleman.