Pistis Darren - The Recruiter

The pop up ads never end.

Darren swipes them away to get to his conversations page on the dating app. There's a notification for the start of a new conversation. The first in almost a week. He opens it and feels the wings cut from his fluttering heart.

"What kind of car do you drive?" Is the first thing the blonde woman asks.

Darren hesitates in his response, knowing a single sentence can mean victory or defeat. But he can't help but type in the truth and be straight forward.

"I don't own a car. I just commute on transit to work," he types.

The conversation ends and the profile disappears, then another pop up comes up.

"Not lucky this time? Buy our $500 a month subscription for better chances at your dream date!"

Darren tosses his phone onto the couch of his high rise apartment and heads for the elevator to head to work.

Another notification front he app comes in as he grabs his comfortable winter jacket. It's from his only dating prospect he's been working on for weeks that has slowly crawled forward towards a first date. She gives her name as Genevieve but he knows it's not her real name.

"Can we go to Donatellos instead? I'd be more comfortable there," she texts.

Darren looks up the restaurant. It's just at his price limit per plate. It's in her neighborhood and far from his. It even has an Instagram area for staged photos. The hashtag for the restaurant shows its a hot spot, a place to be seen, for those on her level of social media followings.

Darren's mouth almost opens in shock as he sees, next to the dress code, that there's a minimum social media follower count for at least one person in the party.

He drops his regular work coat on the floor and makes his way to his closet. He begrudgingly dresses up in a suit, grabs a tie from the top shelf and stuffs it in his pocket as he walks out of the door.

The phrase, *like squeezing blood from a rock* comes to mind as he gets to the elevator.

#

Darren's long day at the biotech firm ends later on Friday night than it should. The stress of meetings as a project lead dissipates from his neck as he adjusts his tie. All of the squabbles, the arguments, and the energy to stay level headed with high strung people is part of the job that he knows how to let go as he leaves. But as he leans back in the plastic seat, all he wishes is that the plastic would reach back and caress his neck and sooth him.

Instead, he's met with the jarring breaking of the subway car as it stops in the dark tunnel. More delays. He'll be late for his date with Genevieve. Normally he's never late, as a form of respect to others. But after the barrage of arguments, the constant nagging of ads tugging at his pockets, and now a husband hunter pulling the strings of his heart, he feels something growing in his mind and ripping at the seams.

The subway pulls into the station, and he exits the doors last. He meanders up the stairs and into the cold night to take the long walk to the restaurant.

And he takes his time.

---

## His Date is Not Happy

Sitting at the white table cloth, Genevieve is dressed in an over-priced branded style mini skirt that, he thinks, makes her look like a poor modern art installation. She orders champagne as he tries not to shake his head as he sees the tags tucked into her dress.

"What do you do for work?" She asks.

Darren shifts in his seat, knowing very well that she's already looked at his LinkedIn profile. He hates that he has to have it, especially since it's a requirement that his firm has to have these social profiles. Anyone is supposed to be able to look at it. And anyone can draw the lines for what kind of work he does... Especially for what it's known to pay in salary.

His date has done her research.

"I uh..." he hesitates as the waiter comes back to pour the champagne. He declines. Genevieve takes the liberty to order two dozen oysters, another martini, a set of caviar that comes with a special hashtag she can include in the picture.

Darren blinks at her as she takes out her phone to take a selfie, then looks at him expectantly to answer her question.

Darren undoes his tie.

"You know, I don't really want to talk about work much. If that's alright."

The pretty faced woman gives an ever so slight scowl that Darren picks up as she brings the glass to her face to drink, then picks her phone back up. She looks at the diamond studded case in her manicured hands as she speaks to him.

"How am I supposed to get to know you if I don't know what you do for work?" She asks.

"Well, I'm more than what I do for work."

"It's important what a man does for work. If we're possibly going to be an item, I need to know if you can support me. I'm not settling for a man that can't give me what I deserve," Genevieve says.

She takes out her lipstick and adjusts herself, using the phone as a mirror.

"You still haven't told me what you do for work," Darren says back.

"I can't trust a man like you yet. We just met," she says.

Darren can feel the last of his patience start to leave him. But the feeling that rips the seams of his mind since the subway has grown more and is pouring over his mind. He feels something, a thought and a belief, leaving his soul. The sadness that replaces it makes him lean back in his chair.

"Why is it that you get to know everything about my work, who I am, and have access to all of my background checks. But I can't even know your real name. That doesn't seem equal," says Darren.

A different waiter in a white jacket and stout hands, possibly the manager, comes and sets down the roysters, the extra martini, a set of caviar, and then reloads Genevieve drink as she pulls all of the items in her direction.

Darren can't help but exchange a side glance with the waiter in the white jacket. The man looks at Darren with a slight pang of sympathy.

"Can I get you anything sir?" he asks.

Darren goes to answer but Genevieve speaks for him.

"No, you can come back later. Actually, can you bring out the ceviche? I want to include that in my reel," Genevieve says.

There's an awkward silence as the waiter turns and looks at Darren.

"I'll get you some more water sir," says the waiter, taking his glass off of the table to go and reload for him.

"That's not how this works," she says to Darren, finally setting her phone down.

Darren looks into her colored contacts and sees the contracting blue covering up her brown eyes. He sighs and feels an argument coming on. But he picks his words carefully. Escalation is not his style, even in this weird state he feels.

"You mean you don't see this as an equal exchange?" Darren says.

Genevieve puts a finger up to him to make him wait while she takes more photos of the food in front of her. More selfies. She then goes to hand him the phone so he can take pictures of her.

But Darren doesn't take it.

An awkwardness builds across the table as she holds it out to him. Her facial expression slowly melts into displeasure.

"You're not going to take a photo of me?" she asks.

"Are you going to answer my question?" says Darren.

Genevieve retracts her phone and an air of flustered energy shoots out of her body language.

"The world is different now. Dating is different. It has to favor me, as a woman, or I could lose everything. You could hurt me. And, I'm in demand. You're not. So no, we're not equal in this regard. You have to *earn* me and you need to work for it. And it starts with you showing that you work for it at a good job."

The waiter in the white coat sets the ceviche down, this time in front of her instead of the middle of the table. She gets her phone and busies herself with more photos.

"Excuse me for a moment. I'm going to use the restroom," says Darren. But she ignores him as she's engrossed in her photo taking, posting, and clicking her nails over the screen. Darren pauses a beat to see if she responds, then gets up and heads to the back of the restaurant.

He passes the waiter in the white coat, now behind the bar at his working screen. The waiter flags him down.

"You sure you don't want me to put in something for you to eat or drink sir?" he asks.

Darren stops and feels the seams finally rip and burst forward the sadness in his mind.

"I never do this, but..." Darren reaches into his coat pocket and hands the waiter his credit card. "Just bring out everything she wants to eat. Double the tip at the end for yourself. Make sure she gets all the photos she wants and help her when she asks. I'll come and pick up my card at closing," Darren says.

Before the waiter can say anything, Darren is out the door into the cold.

---

## Darren Walks for an Hour

After his hands become numb, he checks his phone.

No new notifications. Just the empty box with no conversations.

Genevieve just ended their connection without so much as a question.

He feels lighter knowing that he will never have to know a person like that again.

However, his feet grow heavy and cold as he walks around the city, hands in his pockets, letting the cold air into his neck and chill him as he walks. The cold as always helped him think. And he contemplates this new feeling of sadness as he saunters into the night.

After a few hours, he turns back to Donatellos, knowing that he will arrive within ten minutes before closing.

As he approaches, the restaurant is empty except for the waiter in the white coat and a lonely man in a long black coat sitting at the bar. But before Darren enters, the waiter gives the black coat man at the bar a nod and says something. The man of dark hair and complex eyes looks at him as he comes into the bar rubbing his hands.

"Hello sir. I was the man from earlier that left my card. You know, she was wearing that strange pink and orange dress?" Darren says.

"She racked up quite a bill," he says, rubbing a glass.

"I figured she would. Didn't matter to me. Least I could do for leaving her like that," Darren says.

"Why did you do that," asks the man in the black coat.

Darren looks at a man with set eyes and a serious face. He feels another new feeling that takes the side of his sadness. As with part of who he is, he answers plainly.

"She was being very rude to me. And... to be quite honest, it just made me not want to date anymore. Doesn't seem worth it."

"I haven't seen men like you walk away from women like that. Actually, that's the first time in years I've ever heard of a man walking out on a woman like that in a place like this. She must have been exceptionally rude."

"Yes," Darren says. "She said that we weren't equal. And I disagree. So I left," Darren says.

"You tell her that?" asks the man.

"No, because in order for someone to receive that, they have to know how to listen. It's the first part of being able to trust someone. Can't trust someone who doesn't listen. And you sure as shit can't argue with them either."

The waiter and the man with the black coat exchange a look, and then the waiter smiles at Darren and walks away into the restaurant.

Darren thinks he's going to get his credit card when the man at the bar produces it.

"Here's your card," he says.

Darren looks down at his credit card but sees another card underneath it. He looks up at the man.

"Do you work here? Or own this place or something?" he asks.

"No," says the man flatly. "But I'm very connected to places like this. A high amount of influence, you see."

He extends Darren's card out. Darren slowly takes it in his hand and feels the different weight of his card and the card underneath. He takes it out and looks at it.

It's a black weighted card with an inlay of a golden laurel of leaves. It's of fine make and looks both technological and hand made at the same time. Darren inspects it for a moment then looks at the man.

"What is this?" he asks.

"Do you know why I come to this place as part of my rounds?" he asks.

"Rounds?" Darren says back.

"Yes. My recruiting rounds. Places like this are full of pretentious women treating men like crap. Very often, actually almost always, men put up with it because they're usually focused on one thing only; Getting that woman into their bed. So they spend the coin, put up with their rudeness, and let themselves get walked all over for them to be left completely unsatisfied. But, based on your action this evening, I take it that you're not the kind of man that wants to be treated like a piece of plastic."

Darren tries to make sense of what the man is saying as he turns the card over in his hand.

"I guess that feeling of wanting to be treated better by women just started this evening on my way to this date. And you're right, I don't want to be treated like a piece of plastic," says Darren.

"What if I told you there's a place for men like you so you don't have to be treated like this anymore?" he says, rising out of his chair.

"I'd say that no such place exists without a price," Darren says.

His response makes the man laugh as he gets close to Darren, putting a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Well there is. And yes, there is a price. But this isn't a rock you have to squeeze hoping blood will come out of it. This place is filled with fruit, ones that yield easily to the touch and gives you the finest and sweetest juices just for being yourself."

The man pats him on the shoulder and leaves. As he exists, he says one last thing.

"Hope to see you there," he says.

The door closes, and Darren is left with the black card in his hand.

He feels something mending in his mind the more he looks at the card.