Miming is for Lovers, part four

Later that night, after Bernie had carefully washed every bit of clown make-up off his skin and slipped on his I-hope-no-one-can-tell-I’m-a-clown suit from JC Penny’s, he stood in front of Carl and shrugged his shoulders.

            “Well?” he said while walking in a circle, eyes following his image. Carl nodded his head.

            “I like it. Doesn’t shout I’m desperate and it has some class.” Carl patted Bernie on the back and followed him out of the house and into the car where they proceeded to drive twenty-seven minutes to B’nai Jerusalem.

            When they arrived, Bernie began to sweat. His hands felt shaky and he thought his voice might be too.

            “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Carl said. “Hey, if we don’t meet some ladies, at least we get free booze out of it.” Carl slapped Bernie on the back and headed into the temple.

            The two took seats on a long wooden bench much like the other thirty-five rows in the building. After seven minutes, a young-ish woman took the stand in front of the medium sized crowd.

            “Hallooooo everyone,” the woman said, her scratchy, nasally voice echoing in Bernie’s head. “I know,” she started, chuckling softly, “you’re probably thinking ‘where’s Fran Drescher?’, but I assure you this is only a cold and my voice will return to normal—“

            “That’s what she says every time,” a man sitting next to Bernie said.

“I just want to say welcome to B’nai Jerusalem’s single’s night. I’m Shanna and I’ll be your MC. We’re going to ask that all the men take a seat at an empty table in the social hall. Women, we want you to pick a seat. When our music starts, finish up your conversations and find another bachelor to chat with. By the time the music stops, we ask that you are seated at a table. Have fun and be nice!”

“Carl, we should just leave,” Bernie said. Carl shook his head.

“Nonsense,” Carl said while the two followed all the other bachelor’s to the social hall and each picked a table to sit at. Bernie chose one in the corner that had two pink roses instead of three like all the other tables. He noticed his tablecloth was a robin’s egg blue, while most of the others where white and plastic. When the music started, he bit his lip almost too hard and winced, closing his eyes for a second to recoup. When the music stopped, a petite woman was sitting in the chair opposite him. He admired her blunt bangs and high cheekbones.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry?” he said, holding a cupped hand behind his ear.

“Hi,” she said again, also leaning in. “I’m Samantha.”

“Bernie,” he said, holding out his hand. She placed her soft, cold fingers around his hand and shook slightly. Quickly, she placed her hand back in her lap and smiled. They sat in silence two minutes and twenty-eight seconds before the music began and she lept from her chair. Bernie rubbed his temples and sighed as another woman sat down.

“God, I am so f*****g tired. I had the worst day at work. This c**t from accounting was busting my f*****g chops today about some half-assed research a client of mine was doing, I mean…” Bernie quickly tuned our her harsh, smoker’s voice and looked down at his thumbs. “How much do you make a year?”

            “Why would you want to know that?” he said, a little annoyed and offended.

            “If you don’t make 100k at least, I’m not interested, sorry.”

            “I don’t make 100k,” he said softly, looking into his lap and praying that the music would start soon. They sat in silence for three minutes and forty-nine seconds before the music started. Bernie stood to stretch and noticed Carl across the room talking to a voluptuous younger girl with bleach blonde hair and a large tattoo on her sleeveless arm.

            Bernie closed his eyes and waited for the klezmer music to stop. He was afraid to open his eyes; afraid the next girl sitting in front of him would eat him alive or look at his bank statement before his eyes.

            “I don’t keep kosher, I don’t go to synagogue, I don’t eat matzos, I don’t give blowjobs,” he heard before he had even managed to open his eyes. He squinted at the large girl before him and sighed.

            “I need a wife,” he mumbled.

            “Good luck with that. How old are you anyway? Forty?” she said. She pointed at his outfit and smirked. “Nice suit.”

            “I’m thirty-two,” he said. “How old are you?”

            “Are you kidding me? You’re not supposed to ask people that. You’re supposed to say ‘wow, you look nice.’ or something like that.”

            “You look nice?”

            “Well you can’t say that now that I’ve told you to say that. God, what is wrong with you? Are you like, socially retarded?”

            “No, I’m just—“ the music began and the girl jumped from the table, heading towards a guy with slicked back hair and a rock band t-shirt. Bernie sighed.

            “I want to go home,” he mumbled to himself.

            “Me too,” a voice said from behind him. Bernie turned around to face a young woman.

            “I’m Sadie,” she said with an outstretched hand. Bernie sat down and took her hand in his.

            “Bernie.” He held onto her hand for a few seconds before he felt her trying to alleviate his grip. He let go and watched her delicate paint splattered hand fall to the table slowly. 

            “Do you have any hobbies?” Sadie said, tapping purple nails on the robin’s egg tablecloth. Bernie nodded his head.

            “I like to sit in the park and count how many adults smile when I say good morning or good afternoon. I know it sounds kind of creepy, but it’s kind of a hobby, I guess. It’s interesting to see how many people actually smile or say hello back. Manners today are so different than they were twenty years ago. Are you a painter?”

            Sadie furrowed her brow and looked at her hands.

            “Oh, this? I was confused for a minute. Yes, I was painting today... It’s my job. I work with kids.”

            “I like kids,” Bernie said.

            “Me too. I like your suit. It’s very, low key.”

            “That’s what I liked about it!” he said with a beaming smile. Finally, a woman that understood him. The music started and Bernie frowned, sinking in his chair.

            “Well, it was nice meeting you,” Sadie said with a smile that made Bernie blush slightly.

            “You too.” And she went to another table, sat down, and began chatting with a man that smelled of Armani cologne. Five girls and twenty minutes later, Bernie felt he couldn’t handle anymore. When an excited homely woman sat down and proclaimed her love of cupcakes, Bernie leapt from his chair and jogged out of the room and into the lobby where he ran into Carl.

            “This is exhausting. I want to go home,” Bernie said. Carl nodded his head.

            “It’s about time we got home, big day tomorrow! Halsted street festival. All of us are going from the agency. Let’s go.” Carl led the way out into the parking lot where Bernie noticed Sadie talking to another woman.

            “I liked her,” Bernie said, motioning towards Sadie. Carl nodded his head with approval.

            “She’s a looker. Why don’t you ask her out on a date?”

            “I don’t know, I couldn’t. I don’t think she was interested.”

            “Oh come on, remember, do it for London!”

            “Sadie,” Bernie shouted from across the lot. Sadie looked up and waved as Bernie made his way towards her.

            “Hi,” she said. “What’s up?”

            “Would you maybe want to possibly go to the park with me tomorrow after work? This thing I have to do will be over by four, so can I pick you up at six?”

            “Yeah, that would be perfect. I get off at four, too. Give me your email address and I’ll send you my address. I don’t have any paper,” Sadie said as she whipped out a shiny blackberry from her tote bag.

            “Stuck in a box at hotmail dot com,” he said. “I look forward to hearing from you.” He ran towards Carl and erected both thumbs in the air with a smile.