The Big Search

                                                 THE BIG SEARCH                                                                                          
         My name is Staci Archibald and it was about a year ago when I thought my luck would change.  I was at the grocery store shopping for food and trying to decide what to have for dinner when I saw her.  I was forty two and still single and she was the most beautiful woman I’d seen in years.  Now I would consider myself fairly handsome. I’m tall, well built and pretty strong.  (In fact, just the other day I was at the gym and maxed out on the bench press at a hundred and fifteen pounds.)  So one would think that it would be hard for women not to notice me.
         
         Anyway . . .  She was kneeling down looking at some cans in the same aisle I was in.  I sucked up my gut and shook off all my nervousness and walked up to her.  She didn’t notice me at first.  So, leaning a little against the shelves, I cleared my throat slightly and waited.  The lady still didn’t seem to notice me standing there, so I cleared my throat again, this time a tad louder, and spoke, “Beans go good with tacos you know.”
         
         She looked up at me with a little puzzled look on her face so I explained. “If you just have meat and cheese then the taco tastes dry.  I like to think of the beans as the ‘juice’ of the taco.  But from personal experience, the brown ones taste the best.”

         “Ah,” she said.  “Thanks for the advice.”  She started standing up then.

         “Any day.  My name’s Staci by the way.  Staci Archibald,” I said extending my hand in greeting.

         “Uh. Annie,” she said slowly.  Annie didn’t return the handshake, probably because she was too nervous or captivated my handsome looks. 

         She nervously started to turn away and leave.  Not wanting to loose my opportunity, I quickly asked her before she left.  “Would you like to have dinner with me sometime Annie?”

         “Excuse me?” she asked.


         “Dinner.  Maybe we could go out to a fancy restaurant tonight and then catch a movie or something, and afterwards head back to my place for dessert and hot coco while we snuggle by a warm fire,” I said.

         “It’s July.”

         “Oh. Well, we can do without the fire and hot coco then.  Save it for winter,” I said.  “So what about that date?”

         “I’m sorry. I have to go now.”

         “Wait. Before you go, what’s your number so I can call you?”

         She walked away quickly.    Shrugging my shoulders and sighing, I said, “Oh well.  Maybe next time.”  When I turned back to my grocery cart I saw an old woman looking at me.  “What?” I asked.  She just gave me a dirty look and shook her head before walking away.

         When I climbed into my car, I asked myself,  “Now what did I do wrong in there?”  I concluded that I did everything right.  Fate just scared her away.
         


“Honey. I’m home,” I said as I walked through the front door with my groceries.  The orange tabby cat ran towards me and meowed, rubbing against my leg.  Looking down at the cat, and chuckling softly, I said, “Well hello there you little rascal.  How are you doing?”

         The cat answered with another cry. 

         “Hungry are you? Well let me get you some dinner.”

         The cat pushed his way past me into the kitchen, stopping in front of his bowl and crying constantly.  Setting the grocery bags on the table I opened a can of cat food while the cat stared at me, the whole time meowing more and more rapidly. Filling the bowl, I set it on the floor. 

         “There you go, Honey.”

         I watched as the cat tore into the food like a starving lion.  Smiling, I put the groceries away.


After dinner, I relaxed in my favorite chair and read the newspaper.  Honey curled up on my lap and was soon purring loudly.  “Let’s see if I can’t get me a date for the Fourth of July party tomorrow night,” I said.  So with a pencil in hand, I turned to the classifieds first and began reading the wanted ads–“Women seeking men.” 

         The first one I found read: “A Brainy Beauty: Writer/artist/Fulbright Scholar, slim, gym-fit and shapely works in belly of downtown Los Angeles media beast. Sweet, earthy, free-spirited iconoclast (azure eyes, long locks, leftist politics) seeks handsome, fit, 40's or 50's, accomplished, passionate, reliable, gentle genius to adore.”

         “Oh. That’s a good one,” I said, and circled it.  On the small end table next to the chair, sat the cordless phone.  Picking it up I dialed the number.

         “Hi.  This is Jamie Miller.  I’m not home right now, but if you leave your name and a message, I’ll call you back as soon as I get a chance . . . And if this is Staci Archibald, the answer is still ‘No’ And please stop calling me, okay? Thank you.  Goodbye.”

         Beeeeeeep.

         “Hmm,” I said. “I thought that number looked familiar.  Let’s see what else is there is.”

         “A RARE FIND: 38, 5'3'', European attractive intelligent highly educated elegant kind fun playful emotionally secure female into travel theater music & art, in search of a long term meaningful relationship with a white, class act gentleman with similar qualities, 38-46, 5'9'' + non smoker, serious inquiries only.”

         I circled this number and then called.          

         “Hello?” said the person.

         “Hi. This is Stac–”

         “Is this Staci Archibald?”

         “Why yes it is.”

         Click.

         I picked up the newspaper and found another ad. This woman was looking for a “reasonably good looking, selective, educated, challenging, well-read, cultivated, civilized, confident, presentable, decent, kind, old-fashioned, SWM, 30 – 45, for a once in a lifetime relationship.”

         “Ha!” I said. “That’s me in a nutshell.” So I called.

         “Hi. Can’t come to the phone right now. Leave a message.”

         Beeeeeeep.

         “Hi. This is Staci Archibald and I was calling abou–”

         Click.

         How about this one? I thought.

         “I’m sorry, but the number is no longer in service.  Please check the number and try again.”

         Well . . . I tried again.

         Riiinnnggg.  Riiinnnggg.  Click.

         After several more failed attempts, I spoke to my cat, “Well, there’s one ad left.  What do you say. Should I give it try?”

         The cat just purred. 

         “Okay then.  One more try.” So I dialed the number and waited. 

         After five long rings, I finally heard the noise of some one picking up the phone. This is it, I thought. This is the one.

         “Mm hello?” came the voice at the other end.

         “Hi. This is Staci Archibald and I noticed your ad in the paper for a date and I was wondering if you would like to go out with me tomorrow night?”

         “No.” Click.

         “Well, so much for that, Honey.  Looks like it’ll just be us again this year.  Maybe next year.”


The next day, after mowing the front lawn and leaving th lawn mower parked where I had finished, I rested on the porch with a cold glass of lemonade.  I picked up the phone which I had placed on the porch, for just such an incident, and made my daily phone call to my parents.  When they answered, all I heard was an awful piercing nosie in my ear.  Instinctively I  yanked it away from my head as quickly as possible and turned it off.  A moment later I called again.

         “Hello?” I heard on the other line.

         “Hi mom,” I said.

         “Oh hi, Staci.  Did you just try calling?”

         “Yeah. You know you should really get a new answering machine.”

         “Sorry about that.  So, how’s everything going?”

         “Pretty good.  Just doing some yard work.”

         “Oh Good for you.  Do you have any plans for tonight?.”

         “Nope. Not really.  Me and Honey will probably just stay home again and watch some TV or something.”
         
                   “Oh don’t do that.  You should really get out, do something fun.  Get a date.”

         “I tried finding a date, Mom. But I’ve had nothing but bad luck.”

         “Oh, I’m so sorry, honey.  Don’t give up though.  You’ll find some one.  You can’t just pick anyone you know.  You have to pick the right one, some one special, meant just for you.”

         “Yeah, I know Mom.  But I sure wish it were easier to find her.”

         “Just keep at it and don’t give up.”

         “Okay. I won’t.”

         “Would you like to speak to your father?”

         “Sure.”

         “Okay. He’s right here.  It was good talking to you. I love you and miss you.”

         “Love you too, Mom. Bye.”

         There silent pause before I heard another voice on the line.  “Hello?”

         “Hi, Dad.”

         “Oh hello, son.  So what’s new in your parts?”

         “Oh, nothing much really.”

         “Got a hot date for tonight?”

         “No. I don’t.”

         “I’m sorry to hear.  Keep looking kiddo.  You’ll find her soon enough.”

         “Yeah.  I don’t get it though.  I’ve tried every possible way to get a date but nothing ever comes of it.”

         “Have you tried the internet?”

         “No.”

         “Well, you might want give that a go and see what happens.  I’ve heard they have these online dating things that are guaranteed to match you up with the perfect person.”

         “I haven’t thought of it really but you have a good point.  I’ll give it a shot and see what happens.  I’ve got nothing to loose right?”

         “Right.  Hey, son I’ve got to go get some things done before your mom and I go out.  Just hang in there. You’ll find her I’m sure.”

         “Yeah. Okay. And thanks for the advice.”

         “What’s a dad for anyway?”

         “Money?”

         “Very funny.  Talk to you later. Bye.”

         “Bye.”

         Click.

         I sighed and sat down on the porch.  The internet. I wonder why I’ve never thought of that before.  I’ll have to give it a try.  Maybe tonight, after the special that’s on.  Standing up, I set the phone back on the porch and continued my yard work.                     


It was almost a month, later, July 29th to be precise, when I finally found someone on the internet that would talk to me and not block my email address. Her name was Molly and she lived on the other side of the country in a small town in New England. We sent long emails to each other as often as we could.  She seemed to be the right person: a friendly, country girl.  Just the sort of person I have always wanted.

         By mid September I got an email from Molly.  It said:

                   Dear Staci,
I’m going to be flying out to Los Angeles next week for business and was wondering if you wanted to meet up for some coffee or something?  It’ll give us a better chance to get to know each other.  Anyway, let me you what you think.
                   Molly.

         Wow! She actually wanted to meet me.  I sent her back an email and said I would love to get together for some coffee.  I knew this great little coffee shop on the corner of West Foothill and North Vista Bonita Boulevard–Sweet Daddy’s Coffee Lounge.
         

         That week flew by fast and before I knew it the day I would meet her in person had come.  I offered to pick her up at her hotel but she said her company had provided her with a rental car, so I told her where the coffee shop was and met her there instead.  Molly was already at the coffee shop when I arrived. 

          I had never seen a picture of Molly, but every imagination I had of her never prepared me for what I saw then.  She was more beautiful than the most beautiful woman on earth.  She was slightly shorter than me with smooth, black, curly hair that draped gently over her shoulders.  Her rich dark eyes immediately snared me and her skin was soft and lightly tanned.  “Hello.  You must be Staci?” she said as I approached her table

         “Uh . . . yeah . . . Hi,” I stammered.  My stomach began feeling light.  I stared into her eyes for awhile not saying anything.  She said nothing, but smiled a very captivating smile. 

         “Why don’t you sit down,” she finally suggested. 

         “Oh. Yes.  Of course.”

         We made small talk for awhile, commenting on the weather and stuff.  I asked her how her flight was and she related a long story I can’t remember.  I really wasn’t paying much attention.  I just couldn’t help thinking to myself that she looked familiar.  I knew her from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place it.

         “So Staci, what do you do for a living out here? An actor or something?”Molly asked.

         “No. I’m a cartoonist.  I work for a large syndicated company.  In my spare time though, I’m working on my own cartoon.  It’s going to be about these two guys, friends I think, but they might be brother’s.  Anyway, they’re not very smart but they think they are and make up wild schemes of robbing different places.  But of course they never do.  All the humor will be in the planning.”

         “Ah. I bet it will be really funny,” she commented.

         I then got an idea and asked Molly, “So how would you like to have dinner sometime before you go back home?”

         “Well, I don’t know...”

         “Oh come on. It’ll be fun.  You know you want to.  How about tomorrow night? Huh? What do you say?”

         “Hhmmm . . . well . . . okay.  Tomorrow night then.  You seem like an okay guy.”

         “Great.  I know this wonderful Mexican Restaurant.  You like Mexican, don’t you?”

         “Yeah.  Mexican sounds great.  What time?”

         “Is seven o’clock fine?”

         “Yes.  It’s perfect.”
         

I talked Molly into letting me pick her up this time.  She was a little reluctant but I think that was because she was nervous about the date.  But at seven o’clock sharp I was there and she was ready.  And boy!  She was more stunning than when I saw her the day before in the coffee shop. 

         When she saw me she said in a casually joking manner, “Looks like you’ve kind of out grown that suit a little bit.”

         “Oh. I don’t think I’ve grown that much in the last ten years,” I said.  Molly just smiled and we walked to the car.  I opened the door for her and then climbed in. 

         The ride to the restaurant was quiet.  I was so nervous I didn’t know what to say and Molly was having the same problem.  But fortunately we didn’t have far to go and before we knew it, we were there. 

         The wait looked long but I had made reservations and we were soon seated and looking at the menu.  I ordered my usual–two enchiladas with beans and rice.  Molly ordered the fajitas.    As we were waiting for our dinner to arrive, we sat in silence. Molly smiled at me so I smiled back.  I was trying real hard to think of something to say, but Molly beat me too it.  “So, Staci,” she asked, “how long have you lived here in L.A.?”          

         “Pretty much my whole life.  I was born back east in Maryland, but my parents moved out here when I was three,” I said.

         “Oh.  Do you date much?” she asked.

         “Nope.” I said.  She looked at me so I went on to explain, “I guess I’ve just never met the right person; that special someone, if you know what I mean,” I said, and then winked at her.

         “I see. Yes,” she said. She paused and then continued, “So Staci.  Tell me.  What is this ‘special’ person like?”

         Just then our food came.  I immediately picked up the bottle of hot sauce that was on the table next to us and dumped it liberally into my beans and rice.  And mixed up my beans.  I also mixed the extra salsa in with the beans as well.  “You know Molly,” I said, “ the beans always taste a whole lot better when they’re spiced up a little. There’s nothing like spicy hot beans to make you sweat a little. Not to mention warm the insides up a bit too.”

         Just when I had a good sized bit in my mouth, Molly looked up. “You have some food on the side of your mouth,” she said.

         “Oh. Thank you,” I said, and wiped it off.

         “So,” Molly said.  “You haven’t answered my question yet.  What is that ideal woman like?”

          I waited until I had finished the bite, before answering. “Well,” I said. “She’s kind and gentle and compassionate, she likes cats, and is a good cook.”

         “Is that all?” Molly replied. “What does she look like?”

         “Well,” I took another bit of enchiladas and thought about it.  “I guess she looks a lot like you.”  Molly face flushed and she almost choked on her food, before quickly looking away.

         The was some awkward silence after that.  I guessed that her face flushed because she excited.  My mom always told me that a woman almost always knows, before a man does, that the man will someday be her husband.

         “Have you ever been married?” she said after a little bit.

         “Nope.” I said. Then added, “how about you? Have you ever been married?”

         “Once,” she said. “Just after college.  But after a year, the jerk ran off with his old girl friend.  I’ve dated a few times since then but that’s all.”  She looked at me a little strangely for a moment before commenting, “Is your ear plugged?”

         “No,” I said.  “I’ve just got an itch in my ear.  Probably wax build.  I get it a lot.  Are you going to finish your food?”

         After dinner, I dropped Molly off at her hotel.  We sat in the car for awhile not saying anything; the silence was a little awkward.  Finally, she looked at me and said, “Well I should go now.”  She unbuckled her seat belt but didn’t move.  “It was a very wonderful evening.  I enjoyed it immensely. Thank you.”

         “Your welcome.  I enjoyed it as well,” I said. 

         She then began opening the car door, but before she got it fully open, I asked her, “May I kiss you goodnight?”

         “You want to kiss me goodnight?” Molly repeated, sounding a little startled.

         “Uh . . . Well . . .” I stammered, feeling kind of nervous and a little embarrassed, “That’s what you’re supposed to do right? Kiss your date goodnight?”

         I guess when she looked into my eyes, she just couldn’t help herself.  “Okay,” she said.  “I guess you can kiss me goodnight.”

         I was suddenly feeling kind of excited despite my nervousness.  This was the first time in my life something like this had ever happened.  Usually my date gets scared and leaves as quickly as possible.  Leaning slightly forward, I could almost feel her warm breath, I was about to kiss her when I suddenly hiccuped.  “Oops. Sorry,” I said.  “I accidentally burped up some dinner.” I recovered and leaned over to try again.

         “Uh. That’s okay.  Maybe another time,” she said and started climbing out of the car.

         “Here, let me walk you back to your room at least,” I offered.

         “Okay,” she said, hesitatingly.

         When we reached her room she turned towards me and said, “Thanks again, Staci.  You’re a very sweet man.”  We were silent again for a few moments and then she turned around and shut the door behind her.  She was quite nervous, and, I think, even a little taken with me.

          I was almost half way back to my car when it suddenly hit me.  I quickly turned around and hurried back to her room.  I knocked on her door and when she opened it, she looked a little surprised.  “Yes, Staci?” she asked.  “What is it?”

          “I just figured it out.”

         “Figured what out?”

         “Where I recognize you from.”

         “And where’s that?”

         “You look just like my mom when she was in college.”

         “Uh . . . yeah.  Thanks.  Bye.”

         “Bye.”
         


That was the last time I would ever see her.  She emailed me once after that just to tell me to stop sending her emails and that there was nothing between us.          I thought she was the one but I guess I was wrong . . . again                                        

         It is now the fifth of July, almost a year since I first met Molly on the internet.  I still do not have a girlfriend, nor was I able to find a date for the company’s annual Fourth of July Party.  I drove here to my favorite beach, one I frequent quite often, mostly to meet girls though.  But as is my habit, or maybe tradition, I always visit this beach the day after Independence Day.  I always sit on this particular bench and look across the beach and out over the ocean and watch the waves crash on the shore and listen to the gulls cry out to each other.  Even from here I can smell I the salt of the sea.
         
         Sunset is my favorite time.  I enjoy watching the sun drop below the horizon of the sea.  Honey is lying curled on my lap and I softly pet him.  The red orange glow from the sun, hiding behind a few thin clouds, is casting long shadows across the water.  “That perfect woman is out there somewhere, Honey,” I say.  The cat shifts position and begins purring loudly.  “Probably hiding.  But she’s out there.”