"We're going over to Cara's house tonight," Leslie said earlier Saturday. "You should come!"
"Can't. I have a date."
"Not the guy who texted you at 10:30PM Friday to say he was at your complex and wanted to know if you were around, right?"
"The all-star who played baseball for UNC?"
"Man he had a nice ass. No. He's now head of sales for the entire US so he's married to his job."
"That dad? The WebMD guy you had a few dates with?"
"Huh. Haven't heard from him. But I think he's consumed with his new biz and his kids. Anyway, no. New guy. Vassar alum. He does something with commercial real estate."
"Cool. Have fun!"
Twenty minutes shy of meeting my date, the heavens opened and sheets of water plummeted to the earth. Rivers snaked through my parking lot. Suddenly my four-inch, platform pumps, the ones made of a soft tan leather that stains from the tiniest drop of water, were tucked back into their box. Suddenly I was questioning if there was any way I could make Gortex sneakers look sexy. Luckily the rain let up enough to permit heels, but only the kind that can manage puddles.
We talked over margaritas and chips. We connected over fish tacos. The conversation flowed rather easily, even though I already knew I wasn't interested. He was pleasant enough, nice enough. He was enough. Just not witty enough, smart enough, or charming enough for my taste. This meant I had no concern to speak freely when the topic of dating surfaced.
"So how's JDate treating you?" he asked.
"Good! With the exception of the racist windbag I went out with last week, everyone has been incredibly pleasant," I replied.
"I went to this Jewish cocktail thing at the Landmark a few weeks ago and I was the youngest person there," he said with a chuckle.
"Ha! Some guy I've gone out with, his ex-wife was an organizer for that event."
"No clue. I only know him as James JDate. But this guy sold his business to WebMD. Now starting over in the medical field. Job placement stuff."
"Has to be Rachel Rosenson."
Later that night, I shuffled through my front door and collapsed on my sofa. Then, for the first time since getting back into the dating game, I googled one of my suitors. James Rosenson rendered no results. But Rachel Rosenson did, one of which included a photograph from a few years ago with the guy I had gone out with, and his full name was noted as James Goldberg.
"Remember that dad of three I went out with?" I said to Leslie at Mother's Day brunch. "The guy who sold his business to WebMD."
"Yeah. I liked him!"
"Um, in 2010 the SEC filed charges against him. Ponzi scheme."
"Wait," my brother in-law chimed in when he finished chewing some bread. "My friend's parents got swindled by some Atlanta guy. I think the trial is coming up."
"No the people my guy swindled lived in Florida," I explained.
"Yeah, the parents live in Florida. Majorly orthodox though."
".....this dude was raised orthodox."
We blankly looked at each other, falling quiet to digest the situation. Then I spoke.
"I guess JDate should consider adding 'White Collar Criminal' to the list of professions?"
"Did he ever ask how you felt about conjugal visits?" my brother in-law inquired.
"At least you can't take his silence personally. Dude's busy preparing for prison," Leslie added.
"Yeah, there's the silver lining I was looking for."