Upon Deciding To Capitalize On His...

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Mild-mannered Eric seeks visits dating service.
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kidthor
kidthor
3 Followers

Eric sat stonefaced, looking into the camera hardly surprised at his lack of words. The blonde woman sitting behind the camcorder cursed under her breath.

"Jesus, here we go again." And then louder, "Look Mister uh…. Rupert," she said looking down at her bundle of unorganized applications and release forms. "You should really say something. Women don't tend to inquire about the tapes where men just stare at the camera looking all pensive. It makes us feel creepy."

Eric shifted nervously. The blonde was petite and rather attractive in an apathetic sort of way. She was just the kind of woman who rarely had any use for him. The stool he was perched on was godawful uncomfortable and he shifted again. This whole place was rather disturbing from the stool that was just a little too high to the garish blue screen background. (Make sure you don't wear any blue clothing the petite blonde had made particularly clear when Eric had booked the appointment, as if he had schemed to ruin her day by deciding to deck himself out in all sorts of azure tones from head to toe. He had briefly wondered weather a pensive, floating head on a background of lovely cumulus clouds or even a babbling brook, would make women feel creepy.)

"Anytime your ready, Mister Rupert."

Eric nervously apologized. "I'm sorry. I thought it would be easy to just sit here and talk about myself, but now I'm drawing a blank."

"Really," she replied with feigned misbelieve. "Okay Mister Rupert…"

"Eric. Please call me Eric," he said a little too nervously.

"Mister Rupert," with emphasis, " why don't you begin with the facts," the blonde suggested in an ever more agitated tone. "Tell us your name."

"Uh…you know my name."

The blonde threw a "why me" look to the ceiling and said, "The camera, Mr. Rupert. Look at the camera and tell us your name," she moaned emphasizing the word us by scratching imaginary quotation marks in the air.

Eric smiled nervously and pointed to the camera. "Oh, you meant to the camera. Sorry, I just…." He trailed off when he realized that his explanation was falling on deaf ears. The blonde looked at her watch and then began looking through her stack of papers again. Satisfied that she still had time to salvage this fiasco, she continued.

"Now, Mister Rupert, please tell us your name…to the camera."

"Rupert. Uh… Eric Rupert."

"Mister Rupert, I'm filming you, not taking a mug shot. Feel free to talk in complete sentences. Women like that."

"Sorry. My name is Eric Rupert."

"Ah progress. Isn't this fun? Now Mister Rupert, what do you do for a living?"

Eric was beginning to get warm. He began to loosen his tie but stopped when he received a rather stern look, no doubt prompted by his unrehearsed action. (Eric had another flashback to the telephone conversation in which the blonde had told him that it was absolutely imperative that he not only be hygienic for the filming, but also presentable. She went on to explain that presentable was considered to be a dress shirt, preferably ironed, and a tie, preferably not of the clip-on variety. He thanked her for her fashion advice.) Eric straightened his tie and continued. "I'm a writer. Well, to be more accurate, I write technical instruction manuals for an appliance company. You know coffee makers, toaster ovens and so forth."

"How romantic," she said rolling her eyes behind the camera. "Mister Rupert, what sort of things do you like to do in your free time?"

"Well, I like to read of course. I also write. I mean, not stuff for work. Just personal stuff. Poems, short stories and the like. Someday, I hope to write a novel. I just have to find the right story. That's the hard part." Eric trailed off laughing, but stopped when the blonde failed to find any interest in his answer.

"Mister Rupert, what sort of …umm…social things do you do? You know, things that two people can do? Like on a date."

"Well, I suppose I enjoy movies. Eating out." Eric paused in thought. "Well you see, it's kind of hard for me to say what I enjoy doing on a date. I haven't exactly had too many of them."

"That's why you're here isn't it, Mister Rupert. What would you do on a date if you got one?" The blonde wasn't even looking at him anymore. She just concentrated on her papers, waiting for him to answer her questions.

"Well, I don't know really. What sorts of things do you like to do." She suddenly looked up from her papers with a sort of deer in the headlights look.

"Mister Rupert, I umm…. Uh…." She sat franticly searching for an answer, and then in sudden relief, she blurted out, "We're not allowed to date customers Mister Rupert." Eric's face instantly turned crimson.

"Oh no, no, I wasn't asking you out. I mean, not that I wouldn't. I wasn't, but…I…oh boy." Eric was starting to believe that this had been a very bad idea. The heat was now making him sweat. Great, I'm sweaty, nervous and pensive, but I'm presentable, and I know everything you ever wanted to know about electronic lint brushes. He'd have to fend the women of with a sharp stick when they saw this video. "Jesus, this is stupid. Why the hell am I here? Even if somebody likes this tape, I'll never call her. I feel too damned uncomfortable. And besides that, if somebody does like this tape, she'll probably be a damn wackjob!"

Eric's tirade was interrupted by the telephone ringing in the front room. The blonde was visibly relieved, as she had been trying unsuccessfully to hide her uncomfortable amusement.

"I have to get that. Will you please excuse me?"

Eric nodded, "Be sure to tell him not to wear a blue, clip-on tie." The blonde retreated leaving Eric alone with the camcorder. He heard a barely audible "loser" outside the door. He looked at his watch and saw that his lunchbreak was almost over.

The red light, flashing like a heartbeat on the camera, told Eric he was still being videotaped. The lens bore into him like an unfeeling, unblinking eye and after about a minute of silence, something in Eric Rupert snapped. He looked directly into the lens and spoke.

"Look, I don't know why I'm here. I mean on the surface it's because I'm hoping this'll get me a date with that one perfect woman, and we'll fall madly in love, and get married, and procreate like mad, but deep down, I know that won't happen. I'm just lonely. Lonely and desperate. So, I thought I'd try video dating, but it's bullshit. It's all bullshit. Why should I have to hire a service to help me meet women? Am I really gonna find anybody that's any different than all the other women who ignore me, not to mention my perfect mate?"

Eric wiped a stray lock of hair from his forehead and gave a heavy sigh. He contemplated leaving for a moment. He should get back to work. But he began speaking again.

"I guess I'm just sick and tired of the whole thing. The game, the hunt, the pursuit. Whatever you want to call it. Why should I have to chase women? I don't want to chase anybody. I just want to talk to them, and maybe go out if we like each other, and take it from there. Just 'cause I'm talking to a woman, it doesn't mean I expect, or even want, sex. Maybe I just want someone to talk to."

"I'm not one of those guys who thinks about sex all the time. I think about work. I think about politics. I think about how I'm gonna kill my cat if he's pissed on the rug again. I mean sure, sex is fun and all, but in the grand scheme of relationships there are more important factors. Sex doesn't make me feel safe. It doesn't even make me feel loved. That's all I really want is to feel safe and loved in a relationship."

"I hear women say that there are no good men left. They've been saying it for years so apparently the whole state of maledom is critical by now. Now, if your idea of a good man is Brad Pitt with a seven figure net worth, then you will be undoubtedly disappointed with me. What most people end up realizing, usually later than sooner, is that physical beauty is fleeting, and mercurial, and no matter how much money you have, it's not enough. I do not look like Brad Pitt, nor am I independently wealthy. Sorry about your luck. I do however, have a few qualities you may appreciate someday. I believe in loyalty, honesty and monogamy. That is a good man. There are admittedly not many of us left, but if you look hard enough, we're around. Use your heart to look not your eyes. It gets so much easier."

Eric stopped abruptly, and slightly embarrassed, he looked at his watch and then back at the camera.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to turn into a rant. This isn't even remotely close to what this was supposed to be. I don't even know who I'm apologizing to. If I'm lucky, this will be taped over by yet another loser who's lookin' for love. I don't mean to give the impression that all women act this way, and I must admit that the male species definitely has its fallacies. If pressed, I would have to admit that we've all acted this way at some time or another. But that doesn't make me feel any better or help my situation at all. I'm still lonely as hell."

Eric brushed his hair back again. He was now, neither sweating, nor even particularly warm. In fact, he was strangely calm. He checked his watch and that's when he noticed the blonde standing in the doorway. Eric didn't know how long she had been standing there. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were red and puffy. She had a handful of tissues in one hand and the whole box in the other. Eric was taken aback.

"Miss…umm…is there something wrong?"

She looked blankly at him and then she began to cry again. She sat down in her chair and hunched over, her head in her hands. Soon she was sobbing with heaving breaths and uncontrollable tears.

"Miss, is there anything I can do?" Eric asked nervously.

She was a quivering, fetal ball of tears. Eric considered gathering his coat and leaving her be. He felt uncomfortable, and he didn't want to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she already was, but there was something tugging at him from the inside. He should say something. Do something. But what? He could scarcely relate to his own mother on such a personal level, let alone a near total stranger, but the feeling would not let go.

He cautiously walked over to where she sat sobbing and attempted to place his hand on her shoulder, but stopped short. His hand hovered above her shoulder, shaking slightly, as he watched in dismay. The events of the previous half-hour flashed through his mind. Why in the hell can I talk so easily to a Goddamned video camera, and I can't for the life of me think of one simple thing to say to this poor girl, he thought. Jesus, what's wrong with me? I'm human. She's human. I've got more in common with her than I'll ever have with any piece of machinery.

Then, much to Eric's surprise, she looked up at him, mascara running in rivulets down her face. There was pain in her eyes and he knew pain. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder and began to speak.

"Look miss…. What's your name anyway?"

"Shelly," she said in a tiny, wavering squeak. Eric smiled kindly to comfort her.

"Shelly, please tell me what's wrong. Is there any thing I can do to help?"

Shelly began slowly shaking her head from side to side. "I don't…he's…he's dead. I mean dead. It's been thirteen years and he's just gone."

Eric looked mortified as he felt his breath betray him. "Good Lord. Poor girl. I'm so sorry for your loss. Is there someone I can call to pick you up? Do you need to call his family?"

Shelly had continued, barely paying attention to Eric. "I knew he was sick, but I always expected more time. God, I hope he didn't suffer," then she stopped. "Did you say family?" she asked looking up at Eric confusedly.

"Your boyfriend, he replied. "Is there any family you should notify?"

For one long moment, she just stared at Eric. He could see the corners of her mouth begin to twitch as if forming a smile, and suddenly, Shelly burst into laughter. Eric was taken aback. Soon the laughter became hysterics. Shelly was nearly falling off her chair, and Eric was no longer sure if she was crying out of sadness or hysteria. The thought suddenly occurred to him that she was playing some sort of joke on him. He began to back away but she caught his arm.

"Please, don't be mad," she managed between fits of laughing. " I think you've misunderstood. It wasn't my boyfriend. I don't even have a boyfriend. It was Rags, my dog."

"Your dog?" Eric asked more confused by the second.

"Oh I'm sorry Mister Rupert. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that Rags has been my pet since I was fourteen. He was the runt and I just had to have him. I told my parents that it was him or nothing. For the first few weeks, we weren't even sure he'd make it. I guess I just never thought about losing him. I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression."

Eric ran his fingers through his hair, still confused but slowly catching on. Shelly began gathering wadded up tissues from the floor. She was still crying, but from time to time a little chuckle escaped her lips. Eric put on his coat and checked his hair in the mirror. After apologizing once more about her loss, Eric started to leave when she caught him.

"Mister Rupert. I could really use a break and someone to talk to. Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"

Eric looked behind him as if maybe she were talking to someone else and then pointed to himself. "You want to have coffee with me?" She gave a slight laugh.

"I totally understand if you've got to get to work, or if you just don't want to," she said in her soft voice, raspy from crying.

"No, no, I mean yes," he stammered. He stopped took a deep breath and continued. "What I mean is that I'd be honored to accompany you. May I use your phone to call the office?"

It was nine o'clock when Shelly's key clicked in the office door. She and Eric were laughing silhouettes in the doorway. She clicked the light switch and they were bathed in fluorescent light.

"Thank you Eric. I feel so much better. And thank you for my new dog." She held up the tiny stuffed dog that Eric had bought her from a street vendor, and stroked it behind it's tiny, pink felt ears. " I think I'll call him Rupert."

Eric smiled, his face turning red. "Remember what I said. My friend knows a lot of breeders. When…if you want to get another dog, let me know. I'll give you his number." Eric followed Shelly into the video room as she gathered her things. They both noticed at the same time that the red light on the video camera was still on. Shelly pointed to the camera and then gestured to the stool.

"Well, Mister Rupert," she began quietly. "Shall we start again from the top?"

Eric smiled at her and said, "I think that would be a good idea." He held out his hand, and she accepted rather confused. He began to shake her hand and then said, "Hello. My name is Eric Rupert. I'm a writer and I like long walks with beautiful, distraught, professional matchmakers. Would you like to go out sometime?"

kidthor
kidthor
3 Followers
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