8-Where All The Men Are

On Saturday, Nicky and Mary were about to do the one thing they both loved most: shopping. For Nicky, buying clothes was an expression of her creativity. She took pride in mixing and matching the different outfits in ways other women could never imagine.

For Mary, the shopping trips provided a break from her husband, William. Mary loved her husband, and he loved her, but like most marriages, sometimes you just need space, and this was Mary’s chance to get away. They planned to meet up at Mary’s apartment.

Nicky and Mary lived only a few blocks away from each other in the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It was an area loaded with yuppie Moms and Dads. Mary and William were still a few years away from having kids, but they moved to the area for its more laid-back neighborhood. Nicky chose her apartment because it was only blocks away from Central Park.

William was watching television in the living room when the phone started to ring. He ignored it, thinking his wife would pick it up, but after a dozen rings, Mary yelled from the bedroom, “Will you please pick up that phone? I’m getting ready.”

William sighed, like she was nagging him to throw out the trash. He was watching a recorded game between the Phoenix Suns and Sacramento Kings on his DVR. He was wearing his favorite Kings basketball jersey. He put the game on pause, and got up to answer the phone.

“Hello.”

“Hi, I’m looking for Mark Simon,” an energetic voice said on the other end of the line.

“You have the wrong number,” William was about to hang up, when the person on the other end, yelled out. “Wait, wait. I need your help.”

William looked at the game on pause, and brought the phone back up to his ear. The voice on the other end seemed to discern William was listening.

“Is this apartment 5-D?” the voice asked.

“No, 5-E,” William wasn’t quite sure if he should have volunteered that information, but it was already too late.

“My friend Mark lives in 5-D, and I’m really worried about him. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for days, and he’s not picking up the phone. I just want to make sure everything is okay with him. I know this is a big favor to ask, but would you mind walking over and leaving a note on his door?”

William looked at the notepad and pen in front of him on the kitchen table.

“Sure, what do you need me to write?”

William jotted down the caller’s name and phone number, along with a note that read: “Simon. I really need to talk to you. Give me a call at 212-664-5415. It’s important. James.”

When William was finished writing the note, he walked it over and put it on his neighbor’s door. He was back on the couch when Mary walked in, putting on her pearl necklace.

“Will, why don’t you paint this apartment since you’re home all day?” Mary asked.

William flipped the channels back and forth between ESPN1 and ESPN2. He ignored Mary.

“William,” Mary yelled.

“What? I’m listening,” William said.

“Then what did I just say?” Mary asked. She put her hands on her hips.

“You asked me to help you,” William said. He was still watching the television.

“Help me do what?” Mary walked in front of the television. William put it on pause. The television was in the middle of a Budweiser commercial with girls in bikinis washing a car.

“What do you want me to do now?” William asked.

“I want you to paint our kitchen.”

“Our kitchen is fine. It doesn’t need any painting.”

“Our kitchen looks like it’s from the Brady Bunch era,” Mary said.

The walls in their kitchen were painted a lime green that was from the 1970s. Their dark brown cupboards were even older, from the 1960s.

“It’s retro,” William said. “I think it looks cool.”

He pressed play on the television.

“C’mon, I’ll help you paint it,” she said. “We can make a day of it, a bonding experience. I’ll even let you drink beer.”

Mary walked over to the couch and put her arm around William. She put the game on pause, and started massaging his shoulders.

“I know you’re under stress, looking for a job, but I think if we paint this apartment, it will keep your mind occupied,” Mary said.

She was now caressing William’s face. He leaned back on the couch and stretched his neck, like a puppy.

“Okay, what color do you want to paint it?” William said.

Mary pulled a paint palette from her back pocket. She showed him several shades of brown paint samples.

“Ralph Lauren, suede. You’re such a good husband. How did I get so lucky?”

Just then, the doorbell rang once and Nicky walked in without waiting for a response. She dropped her purse on the kitchen table and waved a copy of the New York Times in her hand.

“I can’t handle this anymore, I can’t. I’m canceling this subscription. This coverage is just too much,” she said, in a high-pitched voice.

“The war coverage?” William asked.

“No, this wedding section. It’s just too depressing. If I read one more article on a 23-year-old debutante marrying a 29-year-old banker, I’m going to scream.” Nicky threw the newspaper at William, like he was the enemy.

“Nicky, I don’t get it. You meet so many guys, how can you possibly say you can’t find the right one,” William asked. “I liked that guy, Alex. He was really into you, and he’s smart.”

“We work together.” Nicky sat on the couch between William and Mary. She picked up the remote control and changed the channel from the basketball game to the Lifetime channel.

“What are you doing?” William screamed. He tried to get the remote back from Nicky.

“That game is from last week,” Nicky said. “Everyone knows the Suns won in a last second shot.”

“Everyone -but me,” William said.

“Nick, you have to change your mindset. There’s more to a guy than the physical,” Mary said. “If I had stuck to my high standards, I never would have married William.”

“Hey, I’m good looking,” William said, pointing his fingers at himself.

“I know honey, you are. And we both know when we first met, you weighed only 110 pounds.” Mary caressed his beer belly.

“I was a freshman in college. All 18-year-olds weigh that much,” William got up and walked into the kitchen.

“Let’s not go off on a tangent here,” Nicky said. “I think I found the perfect source for finding my dream guy. I went with Charley to the gym this week, and it turns out his club has a database of its members. I think with William’s help, we can create a query that narrows the list down to my ideal guy.”

William now had a beer in his hand. He picked up the remote on the couch and sat on their comfortable leather chair in front of the TV.

“You want me to hack into your gym’s network, so you can find a perfect husband? Break the law, so you can find a guy who meets your shallow requirements?” William asked.

Nicky shook her head yes, like it was a simple request for coffee.

“I’m not going to risk prison, so you can find a guy who is rich and fit. Find one like the rest of us, by making mistakes. Besides, I’m going to be busy painting our kitchen. I just decided on a color palette.” William waved the paint sample.

“Okay, but when I’m 50 and single with cats, I’m moving in with you two,” Nicky crossed her arms.

“Maybe there is a way to get into that system,” Mary said. “Why don’t you just walk into the trainer’s office when he’s not there and look at his computer?”

Nicky brought her hand to her mouth.

“Could it be that easy?” Nicky asked.

“Of course it’s that easy,” William said, taking a drink of his beer. “Have you seen those trainers? Not the brightest bulbs in the factory.”

“But what if I get caught?” Nicky asked.

“Do the same thing you always do: smile and flirt,” William said.

“You’re right,” Nicky said, smiling.

“Of course I’m right. You have to take life by the horns, girl, if you want to get ahead in life,” William said. He leaned back on his chair and turned the channel back to basketball.