I whistle low in appreciation. “I bet you look sexy on a horse.”
She laughs. “Why, yes, I do. And you?”
“Do I look sexy on a horse?”
“Yes. Do you?”
I stare at the night sky, stars twinkling faintly in the distance. “I suppose that’d be for you to judge.”
“Maybe someday I can, indeed, judge that, cowboy.”
“Maybe,” I say, wondering where in this city I could find her. I want to picture her. “Where do you live?”
“Chelsea. Sixteenth and Seventh. A cute studio that works for me.”
I can picture that perfectly. I, too, like that she told me, knowing she doesn’t divulge that to just anyone. “My next party is at a warehouse on Nineteenth Street.”
“Maybe I’ll crash it,” she teases.
“You hate my parties.”
“Hate is a strong word.”
“And yet I used it.”
“You did.” Then her tone shifts again, and she clears her throat. “And maybe I do hate them.”
“Do you really?”
She sighs. “A little. But c’est la vie. We like different things, and that’s just the way it goes. Batman and Joker, after all.”
“Archenemies to the end,” I say.
We both sit in silence for a bit, then she fills it. “Hey, I should go. I have to finish some things for work.”
I sit up straight. “Sure. Of course. I’ll . . . see you around.”
“Yes,” she says. “Maybe you will.”
She doesn’t sound convinced. I’m not sure we’ll meet again either, and that bothers me. “It’s been . . . interesting.”
“It has, cowboy.”
She hangs up. I stare at the phone, feeling like that whole conversation took place in a foreign language.
19
Bellamy Hart’s A Million Frogs . . .
Episode: The Human Algorithm
* * *
Picture this:
You’re staring down the barrel of your next birthday. Your best friend is engaged to be married. Your other close friend is expecting her first baby. The woman down the hall at the office just found the love of her life on Tinder. Everywhere around you are people in love.
It’s something you’ve been seeking for a long time too.
At least, I have. And I’ve learned you have to kiss a lot of frogs as you search for your one and only. On the way there, you might want to travel down many dating paths, including a new old-fashioned thing—a Carpe Diem party.
Lately, listeners have been asking how to score an invitation to one of these events. They’re the talk of the town. One night could supposedly change your fate, put an end to the merry-go-round of Bumble and Tinder and all the rest.
Dear listener, I’m here as your most devoted guide to romance to let you know you’re not missing a damn thing if you don’t snag one of those invites that seem to promise the world.
And even if you do get one, who’s to say you’ll find love at those fancy, chichi, dare I say, overhyped, parties?
Look, I believe in the conquer-all power of love. The tell-the-world-on-a-billboard-in-Times-Square kind of love.
And, sure, many have found that love at these parties. So, a big yay for that. But most of you won’t even have a shot, and that’s not your fault. The parties cost gobs of money to attend, plus you have to get on the host’s radar.
These parties rely on the human algorithm. On one person hand-selecting a list of matches for you. Carpe Diem parties are elitist, over-curated affairs that cater to the city’s beautiful and intelligent—those anointed a winner by the city’s very own old-fashioned Cupid, who’s also a capitalist.
Don’t just take it from me though. You can hear it from the man himself. I sat down with Easton Ford, and he’s happy to tell you why his parties are the best and only way to meet your future love.
Our edited interview follows . . .
So, there you go, straight from the source. But he didn’t change this romance addict’s mind. I say this to all of you wondering if these parties are your only chance . . . They are not.
Take heart, my friends. Keep on trucking. Keep making those online profiles. Keep swiping right or swiping left.
Go to the pickling class. The bar. The jazz club. Join a gym. Ask out the guy who works in the coffee shop.
You’re not missing out if you don’t warrant a Carpe Diem invite.
The only way you’ll miss out is if you stop turning over every rock as you find the great love of your life.
Kiss all the frogs!
This is your most devoted guide to romance, signing off.
20
Ruthless
From the Email Correspondence of Bellamy Hart and Easton Ford
* * *
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
Really?
* * *
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
Did you think I’d be anything but honest?
* * *
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
I appreciate honesty. But that was character assassination, and you know it.
* * *
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
To quote you back to you . . . Really?
* * *
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
Fine. But at the very least I vehemently disagree with your assessment. And I want to talk to you and explain why.
* * *
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
We’re talking now. I’m happy to listen.
* * *
My best,
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
I’m not going to march into your studio. I’m not going to show up at your place of work and demand to know why you wrote that. I’m simply asking if we can talk in person.
And if the answer is no, I will be on my way and you will never hear from me again. I am always a gentleman even when I am a determined motherfucker.
* * *
Easton
Dear Determined Motherfucker,
* * *
Honesty is sexy. So is gentlemanliness. I’m at the gym down the block, though. Later?