Sex in the Title (9 page)

“But I’m not really interested in you.” She looked over at Carlos, but he was still completely focused on Heeb.

“I know you’re not really interested in me because – well – you’re not interested in me at all…I understand that…In fact, I would be completely shocked if that weren’t the case. But perhaps we can just discuss an issue that’s been on my mind all night. You know – just as friends…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I hate to the use the F word with a pretty woman I just met, but I’m feeling like we’ve achieved some comfort level with each other here.”

“It takes a lot longer to become friends in my book…What do you want to talk about?”

“Nothing that will change your opinion of me. But something that I just need to get off of my chest – and which could change the universe for the better.”

“What do you mean?”

“In a totally mechanical universe determined by the laws of physics, everything affects everything, including even my taking a moment to vent my frustration and make an anonymous confession – I mean, you would never give me your number and you’d never call me if I give you mine, right?”

“Right.”

“So this is definitely an anonymous confession because I’ll never see you again. But I’m going to share it with you because it might just affect your behavioral patterns in some small way, which could have significant results for how the planet evolves and thereby lead to an improvement in the universe over the long run, if you take chaos theory to its logical extension, that is.”

Carlos spoke for the first time in the redhead’s presence: “Sometimes Sammy gets really deep. You’re getting a rare treat here, so listen closely.”

“Really?” she replied, trying to increase her interest in whatever it was that Heeb was about to say.

Feeling fully empowered, Heeb declared, “I just want to point out how this is not the best of all possible worlds.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Do you think it’s fair that I was born wanting women like you with no chance of ever having them? Do you think that’s really fair? Just be honest with me for a moment.”

“I guess not.”

“Clearly this is not the best of all possible worlds. I mean, why couldn’t I have been born to find women like you unattractive? And that way I wouldn’t care if you find me unattractive, or if you ignore me, or blow me off. Why couldn’t I have been born to find women like you ugly? Or why couldn’t you have been born to find guys like me hot? Life would have been so much better. So much easier. So, you see, there’s definitely something wrong – something cosmologically unfair – with our universe.”

“Hmmm…That’s deep. In an adolescent sort of way. And how is this anonymous confession of yours going to improve the universe?” she replied.

“Because the next time you see someone like me who belongs in economy but is trying to upgrade into first class, you might actually look beyond his assigned seat and remember that you have the power to make the world seem like a dramatically more fair and happy place to this guy.”

The train came to a halt. Carlos and Heeb exited, with a departing smile at the redhead. She looked back at them, perplexed. Carlos was proud of Heeb’s Kojak. Even if its results weren’t yet consistently there, its spirit had tremendous promise.

Heeb’s senior year in college was his best year ever in terms of fun, self-worth, and success with women (although, by his own admission, fun and self-worth were really just a function of success with women). He even managed to date a pretty girl for about three weeks. Heeb thought she was arguably seated somewhere between economy and business class, and was therefore somewhat baffled that she had nevertheless taken some interest in him. His only explanation was the metaphysical speech he had given to the redhead on the T (and, of course, the slow but steady improvement in his Kojak).

“Chucky, the world is infinitely interconnected,” he theorized, as they lounged around in their Adams House dorm room, the night after his second date with Debra. “And everything you say or do affects the entire universe. That’s the only way I can explain why Debra agreed to go on a third date with me.”

Then, four days into their courtship, he discovered what he thought was the only real explanation for why she had taken an interest in him (Kojak and chaos theory notwithstanding): she was half-Jewish. At first he struggled with this bad news, but – considering that this was the best-looking female Heeb had ever managed to interest – he decided that half-Jewish was acceptable.

“I knew you’d eventually compromise on that stupid rule of yours,” Carlos pointed out, as if he was finally vindicated.

“Look, she’s not technically Jewish according to Orthodox law, which follows matrilineal descent.”

“Are you Orthodox, Heeb?”

“No. But still. She’s not really Jewish in my family’s book.”

“So what?”

“So that means that if I married her it would cause heart attacks in both of my parents and all three of my living grandparents. Now I’m not so crazy about my paternal grandfather, but I am worried about the others.”

“So you wouldn’t have to take her seriously because there was no chance that you could marry her?”

“Right.”

“And this is because half-Jewish doesn’t really count in your family?”

“Yeah. She probably celebrates Chanukah for only four out of the eight days.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Or even worse: she fasts for only half of Yom Kippur.”

“Do you always fast for all of it?”

“Not always. But I will when I have kids.”

“You’re completely crazy, Heeb.”

“Why?”

“How do you expect to have kids when you can’t even date a woman seriously?”

“I’m still sowing my oats, Chucky. Especially now that you’ve helped me with my Kojak.”

“Great. So now you’re just going to be a bachelor, exploring the reaches of Kojakdom for the foreseeable future?”

“Until I’m twenty-eight. Then I’ll give myself two years to find a wife.”

“Why twenty-eight?”

“That gives me about six years to fool around and two years to find a wife.”

“You’ve really got your priorities straight, Heeb. You’re willing to spend six years fooling around on women you’ll never see again, and only two years looking for the woman you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.”

“Look, how much time you give yourself is ultimately arbitrary. I mean, some guys find their wives in high school. Others don’t find their wives until their forties, no matter how hard they look. It comes down to luck really, so how many years you give yourself is essentially arbitrary. At some point you just have to call it quits and pick someone.”

“And for you that cutoff point is thirty?”

“Yeah. Anyone in my family who’s still a bachelor at thirty is viewed as some kind of alien curiosity. I might as well show up to holiday dinners as a unicorn.”

“I submit to you – as a matter of scientific and irrefutable fact – that you are completely whacked, Heeb. A real meschugana, as your people would say. But that’s why I love you.”

“We’ll see who’s a meschugana. With your crazy Carlos criteria, it’s guaranteed that you’ll still be a bachelor at thirty…A virgin bachelor.”

“The sad thing is that you’re probably right.”

Heeb and Chucky could not have been more mistaken.

Chapter 6
Chucky Gets Lucky in New York

In June 1995, after the commencement ceremony, the packing, and the goodbyes, Heeb left for DC to start his work as an actuary for a major life insurance company. He would be paid well to use his prowess with statistics, and within two years, would be promoted to oversee a team of twenty actuaries and researchers.

Carlos decided to seek his fortunes in New York City. But unlike most of his college buddies who headed to the Big Apple, he didn’t go with any concrete plan, having decided during his senior year that he had no interest in any of Manhattan’s coveted corporate positions – in management consulting, investment banking, and public relations – available through on-campus recruiting. The reputedly long hours and conservative culture of such jobs were enough to persuade him to seek his fortunes in some alternative career path. Carlos figured that in a city as large and diverse as New York he was bound to find the right workplace for himself.

Two days after graduation, Carlos took the five-hour bus ride from Boston to New York City with a college friend whose sister lived in the city. The sister was away on vacation until Friday evening, which gave Carlos exactly three nights to crash on her living room sofa and three days to find an apartment and a job.

In New York City, capital of the enviously malcontent, it is virtually impossible to find and keep all three of the following for more than two years: 1) a good enough apartment, 2) a good enough job, and 3) a good enough mate. That’s why, when Carlos found all three of these things during his first three hours in the city, he finally and completely embraced the nickname that Heeb had given him nine months earlier. Shortly after dropping off his four large bags and taking a cool shower, Carlos boarded a local bus to midtown, where his destiny awaited him.

Meanwhile, Carolina, a ravishing Italian woman with cocoa-colored hair and long, dark lashes, joked on the phone about how hot and muggy her office felt, even though the air-conditioning had just been upgraded in the entire building.

“It’s as if God is trying to prove that technology will never keep up with a Manhattan summer.”

“We’re all in this sauna together, Carolina.”

“That’s irrelevant, Ann. The fact that others share my problem only makes things worse.”

“Why?”

“Because then there are more people in the city spending more of their time bitching about more things because they’re grumpy and uncomfortable.”

“So you’d rather be the only one feeling this muggy heat?”

“Well at least I’d be interacting with more pleasant people.”

“I guess,” Ann replied.

“Except then people would be less empathetic to my bitchiness because they wouldn’t understand the discomfort that was causing it.”

“Very true.”

“So maybe they wouldn’t be more pleasant.”

“Was Greg more pleasant?”

“Greg?”

“You know, the guy who gave you the bouquet on Third Avenue.”

“Oh, that Greg. No. It was all downhill after the bouquet.”

“Why?”

“He was boring like the others…I’m sick of dating, Ann.”

“So is every other woman I know in New York.”

“Again, the fact that others share my problem just makes things worse.”

“Why?”

“It’s just a reminder of how much competition there is for the few good men out there.”

“You have no competition, Carolina.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Ann. But I need results, not a support group.”

“But I’m serious. You turn every sidewalk into a movie set with your looks and charming style. And you’re only twenty-five for God’s sake. You’ve got plenty of time.”

“Your flattery is too kind, Ann. But I’ve been single for seven months now, without one fruitful encounter besides the lesbian masseuse who offered to give me weekly massages at no charge after I told her that I’m straight.”

“It’s not like no one’s interested…What about that guy, John, who started dancing with you when we were out last Saturday?”

“Very nice. As long as he doesn’t talk.”

“What about that grad student, Eric, from your comparative literature class?”

“He’s great. As long as he only talks.”

“But I thought great conversations turn you on.”

“They do. But he just doesn’t do it for me. He’s too much of a pencil-head. And his nose comes up to my breasts for God’s sake. I need a little more height than that.”

“How about that tall venture capital guy you said wants to invest in your company?”

“He just wants to invest in my pants. And I think his portfolio is already diverse enough without me.”

“What about that guy your parents set you up with?”

“Please.”

“Really?”

“Any question that consists of the words ‘What about that guy your parents set you up with?’ has already answered itself.”

“What about getting back together with Hal?”

“Hal? Are you joking?”

“What would be so bad about that? You Europeans are famous for your environmentally enlightened ways. Why not recycle a little?”

“He was far too middle America for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He spent his entire life in Missouri before we met at Stanford. He had American flags on his underwear for God’s sake.”

“You know he’d fly out here for you in a heartbeat.”

“I know. He’s a real sweetheart. But too provincial for me. I need someone a bit more worldly. Looks and brains alone aren’t enough. I spent two years realizing that.”

“So what are you looking for exactly?”

“A virgin Latin lover with manners, culture, and a brain. Is that so much to ask?”

“A virgin Latin Lover? That’s an oxymoron! I think you’re being way too picky, Carolina.”

“Maybe.”

Carlos opened the front door to Arezzo Properties Limited, a midtown real estate brokerage firm advertised in the newspaper that he had scoured during the long ride down from Boston. He walked into a superbly stylized yet minimalist office with black and white photos of great Manhattan architecture, marble floors, white walls, and a black leather couch positioned next to a splendid window view of the city, twenty-eight floors below. A pretty receptionist told him that a broker would be with him shortly and that he could take a seat on the sofa until then.

Through the closed circuit camera transmitting images of the waiting area to Carolina’s large computer screen, Carolina noticed Carlos take a seat. She zoomed the camera in for a closer look at his face. He sat there, cool and in his element, as he waited for a broker. His thick black hair, still moist from his shower, blended with his chocolate eyes and his golden dark skin.

“Why don’t you try letting go a little?” Ann suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you just go with the flow? Guys come up to you constantly. Why not just start dating the first one who looks remotely appealing?”