Chapter Two: Cupid's Chokehold

There was a meeting that morning for the law department, and, instead of listening, I was staring out the window. My chin rested on my hand, my elbow on the table. The tips of my fingers idly stroked my mouth softly, as I thought about Calla Wiley and that kiss earlier in the day.

No matter that she didn’t remember it, I certainly did. I wondered what that was about? Was she crazy? Or was I? After all, her hair had grown a few inches in mere minutes, and she’d changed her clothes. Did she have a twin sister? Was it some weird Presque Vu? A hallucination?

“…A nice daydream? Hello, Diggory!” The presenter, Christopher Geertz, was waving at me.

“What’s that? Sorry, Chris, my mind must have drifted.” I folded my hands on the table and gave my best “yes, I’m listening” face.

What was it about her? The scent? Her intensity? Her eyes? I mean, she was a total stranger…

“Excuse me, Chris, but I, uh, have a call to make. Very important client, would you excuse me?” I held up a hand and left the room before anyone could protest, leaving my leather chair spinning in my wake.

I hurried to my office, not talking to anyone I passed in the ornate halls. I passed beautiful paintings without seeing them, failed to greet friends and coworkers.

“Meeting end early, Mr. Franklin?” called out Lorraine, my steely secretary, as I passed her desk.

“Hold my calls, Lorraine,” I said, ducking into my office and closing the door.

I sat down at my desk, running my fingers through my hair. What was wrong with me? Losing my focus, skipping out on the meeting, all for some stranger?

I picked up the phone and hit a speed-dial number, and waited while it rang.

“Dude, ‘sup?” A familiar voice answered.

“Matt, I’ve got girl troubles, want to grab lunch?”

“Sure thing, bro, I know just the place.” He hung up, no doubt returning to slacking off.

I sat down, feeling better. No one knew how to interfere with deep thinking like my best friend, Matt the Pimp.

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I had known Matt since grade school. Our parents played bridge together, and went to the same country club. He was the quarterback of our high school team, and I was the vice-president of the student government, and one of his receivers.

He was one of those guys who instinctively knew how to attract women. He was cocky, and knew he was King Shit of our high school, Turd Mountain. That was what I called him and our school, in my head. I wasn’t jealous of Matt, we were both pretty much equally popular. But he loved the attention, and I knew high school was full of melodrama, and didn’t really matter. At least, I told myself I was above that stuff.

Even so, all through university, I relied on Matt in social situations. He always knew the best parties, the hottest girls. He came to work for my dad in the PR division, and so we worked in the same building. I might have thought him shallow, but that didn’t stop me from benefiting from our friendship. He had set me and our other friends up on so many dates, I had started thinking of him solely by his nickname.

“What’s up, Digger?” He asked, as we met in the lobby and headed out to lunch.

“Just a weird morning, I need to clear my head, get out of the building.” I shrugged. Matt the Pimp raised an eyebrow.

We hustled down the street to a restaurant, ordering cocktails with our meals. He tilted his head to check out a waitress in her skirt while she served an adjacent table. He grinned at me, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“So, girl trouble?” He said, sitting up as she gave us menus. Matt flashed a grin her way, and she smiled back.

“Yeah. I met this girl…”

“Dude, if she’s not working out, come hang with us tonight. We’re heading over to Madison’s for drinks. Me and the boys are meeting the girls there.”

I shook my head. “The boys” meant our usual buddies, but “the girls” meant random women that Matt the Pimp tried to set us up with. He met them in bars, at dinners, the country club, through friends and family. I think his Blackberry had more women on it than I had numbers in my business Rolodex in the office.

“I don’t mean that kind of trouble. I’m not dating her.”

“But you want to be,” Matt chuckled. He glanced through his menu briefly, so I took the opportunity to scan for something to eat.

The waitress returned momentarily, and I ordered light chicken pasta with a salad. Matt the Pimp ordered a prime rib dinner for his lunch, and thanked the waitress. He watched her go with a grin.

“Could we focus here?” I asked.

“I am,” he said with a smile, and then turned back to me. “So who’s this girl?”

“Calla Wiley.”

Matt the Pimp’s eyes glazed over for a moment. I imagined he was scanning his mind like a computer checking its memory. Why he remembered girls’ names and not something useful, like how to do his taxes, I will never understand. He clicked back into focus.

“Nope, don’t know her. She new in town?”

“Maybe. She’s a grad student.”

“Ohhh, Digger’s picking up the brainy chicks now. I see.” Matt nodded appreciatively. I got the sense he would be doing the same if I said she was a model, a lawyer or a baker. He would just change “brainy” to some other adjective. “Well, bring her out. A night with all of us, she’s bound to have a good time and end up going home with you.”

“I doubt she’s that kind of girl.”

Matt the Pimp looked at me for a long time. “Dude, I’m totally confused. You’re not seeing her, you’re not trying to get in her pants… What is this chick to you?”

“I don’t know. That’s the trouble.”

“Maybe you better tell me what happened."

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