The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series) (14 page)

“Quit your laughing!” I turn around and snap at her. “At least it’s a car.”

“Yeah, those are some sweet wheels you got there, hot mama,” she says cackling. “The ‘wheels of steel!’” She continues to laugh as I walk toward her. Karen puts up her hand to stop me. “Oh, no. You can’t park your car in front of our house. People might think that it belongs to me, and I can’t have that. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Oh, that nice neighbor reputation where you call your neighbor’s kids evil and you call their mother Shrek?” I ask sarcastically.

“No,” she answers, smirking. “It’s the reputation where I don’t want a fucked up vehicle taking up space in front of my house.” She starts to wave at the smoke in the air. “That can’t be good for the environment.” The car lets out another big bang and begins to shake. Karen pats me on the back. “Well, at least now you have transportation for when you conduct your ‘man experiments.’”

“Yeah,
” I say sarcastically. “Sweet wheels. My car is fire.”

“Yup, your car is fire,
” Karen agrees. “The hottest in town. Fire.”

“Yup,
” I say. “Fire.”

Karen points to the car. “No, Leslee. I don’t think you understand. Your car actually is on fire.” I turn around and watch th
e gigantic clouds of smoke emit
from the car and the tiny flames as they dance on the hood.

“Oh no!” I exclaim
running back toward the car of H
ell.

“So I’ll be inside calling the fire department and watching from the window,” Karen tells me. “Whatever it is, you might want to get that checked out,” she says laughing at my despise.
Ugh!
I think to myself.
Just ugh.

After various phone calls and three desperate voicemails, I have finally touched base with my old friend Annie who has happily agreed to be my trusty assistant in my ‘BACHELORETTE’ experiment. Of course, I didn’t go into full scientific detail about the project. I just asked her if she wanted to hang out while I was in town, go to a few bars and whatnot. I’ll have to be open and honest with her eventually, but for now I’ll stay mum on the project. Everything is normal, everything is normal …

“What do you think about this shirt?” I ask Annie as I pick up an item of clothing from a rack, an item that I can no longer afford. The first thing on our agenda is shopping in which I will be doing more ‘window shopping’ than actual shopping. We decided to venture to what I believe is the best mall in the world: the King of Prussia Mall right outside the city.

Annie thinks for a second. “Hmm … it’s a little too sheer for my taste,” she says as she picks up a v
ery plain, pumpkin
-colored shirt from another rack. It’s safe to say that we have very drastic differences when it comes to clothing. Where I would wear a sexy, low-cut top with hip-hugging Hudson jeans and a pair of sexy stilettos, Annie would rather wear crisp white t-shirts, some outdated flare jeans, and a pair of Timberland boots. Yeah, we are
that
far from each other on the fashion spectrum, but part of that could be because our body figures are the complete opposite. I am a tall, skinny, fashionable woman whereas she is short, chunky, and looks about ten years older than she is. Genetics can be such a bitch at times. Then again, I have seen some very fashionable plus-size women in my time and I’ve also seen skinny women dress like they’ve just climbed out of a trash can, so maybe it’s just confidence. I think I’ll stick with that theory.

“So, what do you want to do this weekend?” I ask her hoping that she doesn’t buy the top she’s holding.

Annie shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe we can hit up a few bars. It’s been awhile since I’ve been out. All Brianna and I do is stay indoors and watch
Desperate Housewives
and
Law and Order
.” Brianna is Annie’s chunky monster daughter, a mini-me of herself. Annie prides herself on how she’s able to spoil her daughter with expensive things when little does she know that she’s raising a brat in training. Then again, what do I know? I don’t have a child, so maybe she’s doing the right thing.

“So, um, do you know what you’re gonna wear this weekend when we go out?” I ask innocently. OK, I know it’s wrong to judge, but the white t-shirt thing is so … blah. I can’t go out with her wearing something as plain as that. Do I want to look like I am playing the Portia to her Ellen? No. Period.

“I haven’t really thought of that,” she says. “I have a few things at home.”
Another white t-shirt perhaps?
I think to myself. Maybe I should try and find another trusty assistant, someone who actually cares a little more about their appearance and whose favorite name brand isn’t Hanes.

“Maybe you should wear some nice hee
ls, a pair of nice jeans, a presentable
shirt …” My words drift off. I don’t want to offend her too much, but I’m just trying to be a friend. Granted, I do have an ulterior motive, but it is for good reason.

“I’m sure I can find something, Les,” she huffs and moves to another unfashionable rack.
Oops!
I think I crossed the line.

“Leslee!” I hear a voice shout from the background. I turn around and my mouth just drops.

“Candace? Candace from Temple?” I say. I can’t believe this. I haven’t seen Candace since our days at Temple University, and I have to say that she looks fantastic as ever. Almost better even!

Candace and I give each other a hug and the traditional Hollywood cheek kisses. “I can’t believe this!” she says to me. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Not since graduation,” I remind her.

“Wow, that long, huh?” she says. “It feels like it was yesterday.” Candace slowly runs her fingers through her hair and I notice the glistening
rock on
her left ring finger. I’m almost positive that she does this on purpose, you know, so I can see that she’s married and that the diamond on her ring is as big as an Easter egg.

“Oh, wow! So you’ve gotten married I see,” I say through the fakest smile that I’ve ever put on my face. “That’s nice. So where’d you meet him?”

“At Temple, of course,” she says, boasting.
“Do you remember Earl
Bruschelli?” On any college campus, there’s always an obnoxiously rich kid with an obnoxious, stuck up attitude. During our days at Temple, Earl was that kid. He would slow ride down Broad Stree
t in his brand new Range Rover
and spent money like he had not a care in the world. He was the complete epitome of a douchebag: rich, spoiled, and annoying.

“Yeah, I remember him,” I reply and she nods her head.
Duh, Leslee!
How come I didn’t see the obvious? “Oh, you married him! Congratulations!”

“We’re going on four years now,
” she brags. “We’ve been traveling the world and running our own restaurant in the area.”

“Oh, really? That’s nice,” I say in a pleasant tone, when I really would like to ring her neck a bit. Another woman
bragging
about her perfect relationship. My, how the tables have turned for me. “Well, you know Karen is getting married,” I tell her as I notice Annie eavesdropping just a few feet behind us.

“I saw that on her Facebook,” Candace says. “Her and Russ getting married? That’s exciting.”

“Yup, she and Russ are getting married,” I say. “The unlikely couple.” I hear a loud bang behind me. I turn around and see Annie picking up clothes from a broken rack on the floor. I give her a questioning look. “Oh, I almost forgot my manners. Do you remember Annie?” I ask Candace as I wave Annie over to us. “She went to Temple with us for a short time.” Candace squints her eyes at Annie’s face trying to remember her. She shakes her head.

“No, I don’t remember her,” Candace says as Annie stands next to me. Annie smirks.

“Well, you may not remember me, but I definitely remember you,” Annie says glaring at Candace. “I remember when you were dating that rich kid.”

“Yeah, well we’re married now,” Candace says flashing her finger.

Annie smirks again. “Didn’t he already have a girlfriend when you two got together?” she asks, vindictively smiling.

Candace laughs nervously. “Well, that was a long time ago. We like to leave the past in the past.”
Ah, yes, but who could forget that you were fake and a bit of a homewrecker?
“So, anyway, are you gals single?”

“Why, yes,” I say. “Well, I’m recently single. My ex-fiancé and I just called it quits a few months ago. He is a very well known anchor man in New York City.” Yeah, I can brag a little about my past, though it seems just a tad bit pathetic.
Sigh.

“Well, this coming weekend my restaurant is having a speed dating event and I think you two wonderful ladies should be there,” Candace says as she hands Annie and me flyers for the event. “It’ll be a lot of successful business men there, very goal-oriented, looking for love
…” Speed dating! This can be my experiment number one and the start of it all. This will be the perfect event to meet eligible men, all in just a short period of time. This is almost too perfect. This is fate I tell ya! Fate!

I can’t seem too desperate, though.
Play it cool, play it cool …
“I’ll have to look at my schedule, but it sounds like fun,” I say nudging Annie. “Right, Annie?”

“Yeah, sure,” Annie says nodding her head. “Hell, if Candace can find a husband, then how hard could it be? Even if it means stealing a man right from under your—” I nudge Annie again and laugh.

“She’s just joking,” I say nervously. “Annie’s such a jokester.”

“Well, the information is on the flyer,” Candace tells me. “Pre-registration is required, make sure you bring money to the event, and I hope to see you there.”

“Yeah, I will really look into this,” I say.

“You won’t regret it,” Candace tells me while shooting Annie a dirty look that would make mass murderers cry. “Well, it was nice seeing you, Leslee!” she says and walks away. In my hand, I hold the golden ticket. It’s the golden ticket of love. Speed dating might be just the thing for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Speed dating. It's one of the few things that give single women hope in finding that
‘
white knight
’
so to speak. In a very, very short amount of time, you are able to find out if someone is compatible with you or not. In some ways, speed dating is a good thing. You can weed out the bad and save yourself the aggravation of being on a much longer date with someone that interests you as much as a bland bowl of broccoli would. In other ways, speed dating can be a bad thing. In that short amount of time, men (or women for that matter) can tell you exactly what you want t
o hear and then turn out to be
complete jerkoff
s
when you
really get to know them
. But, anything's possible in the game of love, and I'm willing to experiment in any way that I can, for womanhood of course. I’ll finally be able to unlock the secrets to a man’s heart, and in the process, maybe I’ll find love for myself.

As I prepare
for what may be a magical night
by straightening my overly frizzy hair, plucking my eyebrows,
and
applying
my
makeup (beauty is pain they say, and a lot of work), I hear a car honking outside. It has to be Annie, and she’s thirty minutes early. Doesn’t she know that thirty minutes is crucial for me? It takes me forever to get ready, unlike her; she just throws on a tee and calls it a day. I sigh as I walk toward my bedroom window and open it, flat iron in hand. “I’m almost done!” I shout to her. “I’m still doing my hair!”

“Well, hurry up, beauty queen!” she snaps. “We’re gonna be late!”

"OK, OK," I say. "I'll be right out." I straighten the last pieces of my hair, apply some lip gloss and take a last long look in the mirror. I think I look good. My black halter and my jeans are hugging every single curve of my body.
Perfect!
I slip on my silver, open toe Manolo Blaniks (which cost more than my life right now and are
one of the
the only designer shoes that I didn’t sell), grab the silver purse that I set out on my bed, grab my cell phone, and I jolt out of the house and into Annie's car: a brand new red Ford Mustang (ugh, why does everyone have a better looking car than me?).

"How do I look?" I ask her as I flip my hair around. She stares me up and down.

"
Nice, sexy, and a bit desperate,
" Annie replies. I look at her outfit: a sleeveless, low cut red top, tight black pants and black roach killer heels.
Better than the t-shirts she’s always wearing.
All in all ...

"You look like a walking menstrual cycle
," I say and she laughs.

"You know, that was just the look I was going for: that angry, bitchy, PMS look." It suits her well, almost too well.

“Touché,” I say as Annie begins to drive. Our drive to Bruschelli’s Restaurant is a quiet drive, only music. I think it’s nerves … well, more nerves on my end. Annie on the other hand, quietly hums with the radio. It seems that her nerves are calm, unlike mine. I need to get it together though. I need to have my dating game face on.