Something Tangible

Ready to Rumble

Retrieving her reporter cap from Steven, Katarina decided to turn the tables on him.

"Do you use those dating websites?"

"No I don't," he said curtly, his mind still stuck on Katarina's array of digital suitors.

She tapped her fingernails on the tablecloth in a pronounced fashion.

"Now who's stalling? Give and take Mr. Andrews."

The feel of her admonishing sapphire eyes jarred him back to the present. "Excuse me Ms. Constantine. You're right — as always," he bowed his head. "My dating life is usually an extension of my professional life. I typically meet women at work-related functions or through business associates or even occasionally through my exes."

"Holy crap! So let me get this straight, you've built up a referral network of women, from the women you used to date! That takes mad skill."

He chortled with pride.

"Now you're giving me too much credit. To be honest, they were a young, impressionable bunch. They were as risk-averse to commitment as I was, so ..."

"It was a mutually beneficial arrangement," Katarina finished his sentence, rolling her eyes. "I remember your lovey-dovey description from Paris. So what was the average age of this 'bunch' of girls?"

"I don't know, mid-20s I suppose." Steven could see through the narrowed slits of Katarina's eyes that she did not approve. "No, sometimes late 20s," he added in a feeble attempt to defend himself.

"Hmmph, you must've raided the retirement home to find those old biddies," she sniped, her tone laced with condemnation. Does this guy think a woman's boobs melt or something after the magical cutoff age of 30? That if you have one wrinkle you no longer qualify to serve in his harem?

Steven had stirred a tempest of latent insecurity. Katarina was well past her 20s but competing with that generation, both professionally and personally. Her fuse of indignation was lit and about to explode.

"I'm sorry but that is a bit cliché Mr. Andrews" — and I'm not using your last name in a cutesy way either. "I'm sick of the whole 'I'm incapable of dating women my own age' load of hooey that older men spew to justify their vanity and fear of being challenged by their equal," she hissed, surprised by the vehemence in her voice. Geez Katarina, tame that feminist roar. The man's just being upfront with you.

Duly chastised, Steven took a long chug of wine, cautiously eyeing Katarina over the rim of his glass. I'm not the one who apparently has a whole army of suitors lined up in my inbox. Fuck, look at her. She's really pissed! Salvage this sinking ship before she gets away!

"Let me explain Katarina" — even though I've never had to before.

"No Steven wait," she cut him off, feigning indifference. "You don't owe me any kind of explanation whatsoever. Your private life is your business." And it's just that — business-like. "I have a nasty habit of spewing out things you're not supposed to say in polite society. Just ignore me." And put this date out of its misery because we're clearly on two different wavelengths.

Steven's throat constricted at the prospect of their date going south. He could feel her walls crashing down on him.

"No Katarina, please let me just say something," he began, trying to hide his obvious distress. "I have dated older — ahem — women my own age before, but I find I cannot meet their expectations. They know what they want out of life, as do I, and the two are usually not mutually compatible. Whereas with younger women, I will be perfectly frank, they tend to be less complicated, more transient. They're not looking for anything serious — nor am I — so when we invariably part ways, it's more amicable. I'm sorry but as I told you in Paris, I'm unapologetic about my lifestyle" — even though I just apologized for it. Fuck, she still looks disappointed! Maybe I should apologize again?