Waiting for Mr. Right

Short Story: Character: A woman obsessed with scarves
for consideration in "Talent Pond Winter X-Games"  [E]

Susan thought her life very ordinary. At college she had maintained and average grade and an average group of friends: those who made up the numbers between the various sects of cheerleaders, emos, geeks and the brilliant. At work she occupied a gray booth in a faceless financial corporation, and at home she shared a plain flat, with a plain flatmate, downtown of the business district.

Susan Smith's obsession with scarves started with a coldsore.

Two Christmases before, her mother had sent her a brightly decorated scarf. At the time, it had been accepted with a smile, even though Susan knew it would remain boxed. It was far too outlandish for her. But the appearance of that disfiguring coldsore had been a boon. It had to be hidden, and the scarf was all she had available to her. It changed her life. On the commute to work she had been offered a seat on the overcrowded bus by a smiling business man. The magazine vendor had waved away her attempt to pay for a morning paper, the doorman to the building where she worked tipped his hat at her entrance, and Bill from accounts included her in a round of coffee. None of these things had happened before. It was a sure sign that a scarf could do wonders. So, when the coldsore healed, she treated herself to a new scarf, and then another, and then another. Susan's popularity at work flourished, as did her career, and for the first time in her existence she discovered she had a social life. It was as if a flash of bright fabric revealed her to the world, mocking her previous invisibility.

One area where the scarves did not seem to work wonders was her love life. Intermittent at best, and always something of a chore when it did happen, love chose to ignore her other successes.

"What are you waiting for?" Michael, best-friend and lover of all things beer flavored, asked her over their Friday night drinks at McGinty's Pool Bar. "You're not going to find Mr. Right hanging around bars with me and the girlfriend." He nodded appreciatively in the direction of the latest in a string of Latino lovelies, who was struggling to chalk her cue, never mind sink a pool ball.

"Hell, I don't know--hearts, flowers, explosions and goosebumps. You know, the usual."

Michael snorted and threw his arms wide. "Ain't we all, princess? Good attracts good, and positive attracts positive. Just look at me."

"You're hardly a poster-boy for heady romance."

When Michael didn't come back hard with a witty response, Susan looked up from her wine glass. Michal quietly stared at her. He appeared to be genuinely surprised.

"Aren't I?" he asked. "Look again. I'm an overweight IT support officer with a shitty flat in a bad neighborhood, and yet I'm blessed with the most beautiful girlfriends. Come on, fess up, you must have thought they were out of my league."

"That's an awful thing to say! Out of your league? I would never say that." Susan spluttered.

"But it wouldn't stop you thinking it." Michael winked at her. "It's alright, I don't mind, because it's true. I don't ask out the girls I think will say yes--I ask out the girls who I think will say no. The way I see it, I could get rejected by the ugliest, so why take that risk? If I aim low, the best case scenario is that I end up with a 'make-do' girl. I'd rather get rejected by the hottest women there are, and gain the possibility of ending up with a goddess on my arm."

Michael's goddess approached the table with a pout. She couldn't make the pool 'stick' work. Michael rolled his eyes in delight and left Susan to shred her napkin and think. She wasn't like Michael. She couldn't become the life and soul of a party on a whim, or turn into some seductive temptress who always got her man. She was Susan: thoughtful, loyal, quiet, studious, non-fuss-making--a spectator in life. But then... hadn't she come a long way with her scarves? Bill remembered just how she liked her coffee, the young intern leaped at the chance to help her with her photocopying, and even the girls from the typing pool considered her a lunch-buddy these days. If she could do so much, why not this one little thing?

She looked down into her lap, where all the torn little streamers of napkin lay, and her scarf caught her eye--she'd need a new one. She'd need one that oozed sex and charisma, that fluttered flirtatiously with her body's movements, that hinted at the exotic and untapped reservoirs of passion. She needed to shop. Now. She looked at her watch. It was late, but the larger department stores would still be open if she hurried.

"Michael," she called out and regretted it immediately. Michael was doing a very good job of teaching his girlfriend to line up a shot. It was practically indecent. He looked up, eyes glassy with enjoyment and a big grin on his face. Susan stuttered, "I'll get you both a drink. I've got to go. Have a good night!"

Michael nodded and got back down to the nitty-gritty of how best to form a bridge with the fingers. Susan scurried to the bar and waited to be served. Against all her principals of hygiene, she scooped a handful of beer nuts off the bar and tipped them into her mouth.

"Are you that hungry?" asked the man waiting beside her. Amusement flashed in his eyes. He smiled a perfect smile. He was breathtaking. In fact, Susan took too deep a breath and choked on a nut. Why did this have to happen to her now, when she hadn't bought the perfect seduction scarf yet? He was everything that made her belly flip in novels: tall, broad-shouldered, sandy-haired and blue-eyed. He looked as if nature had tipped the raw physique of an Olympian into the mold of a high-flying city-boy and had created the perfect example of man.

"You look like aftershave," she said, instead of thought. Back track, her mind screamed, and she grabbed hold of his question. "Yes, I am. I haven't eaten, yet."

"Pardon?"

"erm, I don't usually eat bar snacks, but I've got to shop before I eat, or the stores will be closed."

The mysterious hottie smiled at her again, only this smile was even more delicious--it was lopsided, and cute. "Aah, you're shopping for aftershave."

"No." Damn! her mind screamed at her. Now he thinks you've got someone to buy aftershave for. Set him straight! "I mean that you look like you should be on a Hugo Boss billboard somewhere--in a suit, obviously, not underwear or anything too risqué..." What the hell was she saying?

The barman arrived. Susan slammed a twenty down, avoiding all eye contact with the beautiful stranger who would now forever be Hugo in her imagination, and nightmarish memories. "A beer and a spritzer, for the pool players, please."

"Want to take some nuts with you, to keep you going while you shop?" Hugo's voice seemed playful.

Susan felt her ears redden. She turned toward him, reconciled to her mortification, and smiled. "No need. As you've probably guessed, I'm nuts enough."

He laughed, stood up, and towered over her. "Shopping's like hunting. It takes a lot of energy. You'll be ravenous afterwards. I feel it only decent to feed you up properly." He handed her a business card, and she took it numbly. "There's a great little ethnic place a block down, Salome's. I'll be there in an hour, if you want to join me." He forewent the drink he was waiting for, and grabbed his briefcase. "I'll walk you out."

"Sure." There wasn't much else to say. Besides, she'd have her new scarf by then, and he would be putty in her hands. A little thrill buzzed through her entire frame as they stepped onto the wintry city street together. She was sure that a pretty blond girl shot her a look dripping with envy.

"Wrap up," he advised, and gently coiled her scarf around her neck. His fingers brushed her skin as he did so, and set off a new avalanche of giddiness crashing along her nerves. He hailed her a cab and held the door for her as she stepped in. "You obviously need a lot of looking after. It's a good job that you met me."

Susan refused to let her giddiness get the better of her. She did not look back, even though it hurt her eyeballs not to. Instead, she took the opportunity to read the business card he'd given her:

Hugo Wright
Retail Buying Director
Hermés Paris

Disaster! How could she even think of meeting him for dinner, now? No matter what scarf she bought tonight, it wouldn't be good enough. Susan ripped the little card in two. A spot of retail therapy would soon have her feeling her normal self.

(1,500 words, not including prompt)