little,
you know—”
“Yummy?”
Charlie wandered back to Samantha’s desk.
“She’s just kind of, that is, she seems to be more the type who’d go for, I
don’t know. Maybe, the boy next door.”
Sam rose to her full height. In her
five-inch heels she towered over him. “We are dream brokers, Charlie. Nobody
fantasizes over the boy next door. Not
unless he looks like this.” She plopped Eric’s photo into Charlie’s sweating
hands. “I recommend that you send something personal first. A card with a
snapshot and some kind of gift. That is, before you call her.”
Charlie’s throat went dry. “I call her?”
Samantha shook her head in a way that
pummeled Charlie’s confidence. “We’re only renting his image. Of course, you’re the one who calls her. You
supply the actual voice, hopefully a scintilla of personality to pepper it up.”
“The voice, right,” Charlie
acknowledged. “But what if she recogni—
What I mean is, what if my voice sounds—”
“Create a character,” Samantha replied,
her impatience growing. “Go over her specs and be the guy she wants. Look, are
you sure you can handle this?”
“Sure. Yeah.” The words came out much
less convincingly than Charlie had hoped.
“Then handle it,” Sam replied as she
showed him out the door.
Back at his Operator’s station, Charlie
sat, sifting through photos of Eric. Clearly, these pictures were intended to
look like snapshots, as if taken on the spur of the moment. Truth be told, he
questioned how could anyone look so good no matter the situation or angle. Some
people were just more photogenic than most, Charlie decided.
Other than school photos only a mother could
love and a smattering of candid shots from his growing up years, there were
relatively few photos of Charlie in existence. He wasn’t really sure if it was
because his parents weren’t exactly camera bugs or if he didn’t provide
sufficiently inspirational subject matter. Seeing so many great photos of Eric
made Charlie wonder.
There were surfing shots, backyard pics
as grill chef at a barbeque, even one with Eric swinging a child in a circle by
his arms, just like Charlie used to like to do with the kids at his dad’s
Sunday School picnics. Kids clamored to Charlie. They didn’t care how average
he looked. They only cared that he enjoyed spending time with them. What it was
about growing up that changed all that, Charlie didn’t know. But what he wouldn’t give, just once, to
spin Kate Valentine around in his arms.
As Charlie perused the Virtually Mine stock room’s offerings, the options seemed limitless. Kate had only paid for an
introductory level Imaginary Boyfriend, so though he was tempted to bump what
he sent her to their deluxe level, he dutifully pulled a card from the
introductory shelf. Somehow, he would make less into more.
Charlie shivered as he walked through a
set of glass doors, into the refrigerated section where a sea of cut flowers
were kept fresh. He hadn’t seen so many arrangements since his grandmother’s
funeral. Grandmother Butters had always liked roses, but something in Charlie
wasn’t sure about roses for Kate. He wandered past lilacs, lilies, sunflowers,
and spider mums, stymied by the decision. Birds of paradise were a no-brainer
for him. Those things were just plain scary.
♥
♥ ♥
M.J. motored around the corner toward Rob’s house in her Meter Maid Mobile.
Ocean Avenue was nice, but there was just something about turning onto Palisades
Drive that felt like a world apart. These were the homes of the Santa Monica
elite, the people who’d rather pay off the parking tickets she’d write than
bother to move their cars. Manicured shrubs set off handsome landscaping. These
were lawns a dandelion wouldn’t dare attempt to invade.
Actually, M.J. liked dandelions. As a
child, she’d wiled away many an hour by plucking stems that had gone to seed.
Then, she’d blow them to see just how far her breath
you know—”
“Yummy?”
Charlie wandered back to Samantha’s desk.
“She’s just kind of, that is, she seems to be more the type who’d go for, I
don’t know. Maybe, the boy next door.”
Sam rose to her full height. In her
five-inch heels she towered over him. “We are dream brokers, Charlie. Nobody
fantasizes over the boy next door. Not
unless he looks like this.” She plopped Eric’s photo into Charlie’s sweating
hands. “I recommend that you send something personal first. A card with a
snapshot and some kind of gift. That is, before you call her.”
Charlie’s throat went dry. “I call her?”
Samantha shook her head in a way that
pummeled Charlie’s confidence. “We’re only renting his image. Of course, you’re the one who calls her. You
supply the actual voice, hopefully a scintilla of personality to pepper it up.”
“The voice, right,” Charlie
acknowledged. “But what if she recogni—
What I mean is, what if my voice sounds—”
“Create a character,” Samantha replied,
her impatience growing. “Go over her specs and be the guy she wants. Look, are
you sure you can handle this?”
“Sure. Yeah.” The words came out much
less convincingly than Charlie had hoped.
“Then handle it,” Sam replied as she
showed him out the door.
Back at his Operator’s station, Charlie
sat, sifting through photos of Eric. Clearly, these pictures were intended to
look like snapshots, as if taken on the spur of the moment. Truth be told, he
questioned how could anyone look so good no matter the situation or angle. Some
people were just more photogenic than most, Charlie decided.
Other than school photos only a mother could
love and a smattering of candid shots from his growing up years, there were
relatively few photos of Charlie in existence. He wasn’t really sure if it was
because his parents weren’t exactly camera bugs or if he didn’t provide
sufficiently inspirational subject matter. Seeing so many great photos of Eric
made Charlie wonder.
There were surfing shots, backyard pics
as grill chef at a barbeque, even one with Eric swinging a child in a circle by
his arms, just like Charlie used to like to do with the kids at his dad’s
Sunday School picnics. Kids clamored to Charlie. They didn’t care how average
he looked. They only cared that he enjoyed spending time with them. What it was
about growing up that changed all that, Charlie didn’t know. But what he wouldn’t give, just once, to
spin Kate Valentine around in his arms.
As Charlie perused the Virtually Mine stock room’s offerings, the options seemed limitless. Kate had only paid for an
introductory level Imaginary Boyfriend, so though he was tempted to bump what
he sent her to their deluxe level, he dutifully pulled a card from the
introductory shelf. Somehow, he would make less into more.
Charlie shivered as he walked through a
set of glass doors, into the refrigerated section where a sea of cut flowers
were kept fresh. He hadn’t seen so many arrangements since his grandmother’s
funeral. Grandmother Butters had always liked roses, but something in Charlie
wasn’t sure about roses for Kate. He wandered past lilacs, lilies, sunflowers,
and spider mums, stymied by the decision. Birds of paradise were a no-brainer
for him. Those things were just plain scary.
♥
♥ ♥
M.J. motored around the corner toward Rob’s house in her Meter Maid Mobile.
Ocean Avenue was nice, but there was just something about turning onto Palisades
Drive that felt like a world apart. These were the homes of the Santa Monica
elite, the people who’d rather pay off the parking tickets she’d write than
bother to move their cars. Manicured shrubs set off handsome landscaping. These
were lawns a dandelion wouldn’t dare attempt to invade.
Actually, M.J. liked dandelions. As a
child, she’d wiled away many an hour by plucking stems that had gone to seed.
Then, she’d blow them to see just how far her breath
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