Men who protect and serve. This was my addiction. From firefighters in their big, red, speeding trucks to sailors during fleet week, men in uniform, to me, oozed sex.
After years of “no strings attached” relationships with FDNY calendar pin-ups, Marines deployed to Iraq and cops who were perfectly happy with bachelorhood, though, this 28-year-old brunette from Staten Island went on the hunt-and-click for someone who didn’t wear his pride on his sleeve.
After days of deleting unwanted dating requests, I spotted a picture of a beautiful man whose profile displayed words of promise and respect. I scrolled down to his occupation and saw that he was in finance. Jackpot!
Richard was his name, Dick for short. On our first date, he arrived in a new BMW and took me for sushi in Manhattan. Over candlelight, I learned that Dick owned three condos, cashed out on lucrative investments before the economic crisis, owned two cars and a motorcycle and traveled everywhere. I sipped my wine and stared into irresistible brown eyes that batted the longest lashes I’d ever seen.
One date led to two, then three and, by week’s end, seven consecutive days went by that included dinners, movies, a shopping spree, flowers and crazy hair-pulling sex.
Money appeared to be no object for Dick. He shooed my wallet, saying, “A woman never pays when she’s with me,” as he’d take the tab, pay by credit card and crumple up the receipt. Chivalry, it appeared, wasn’t dead. “What are you doing this Friday?” Dick asked as he rolled off me one evening and put his Calvins back on.
“I don’t have plans.”
“Good, I’ll pick you up at 6. I’m taking you to Bliss in Soho for a carrot and sesame body buff. My treat.”
I sat up in bed surprised by the news. “The spa?”
“Yep,” he said and winked at me.
“Wow, thanks! Are you coming too?”
“No. It’s all for you, sweetie.”
What the hell’s a body buff? Who cared? I decided to go along with his plan.
That Friday, Dick dropped me off at Bliss. I floated my way into spa heaven; I was given a robe and slippers and was escorted to a lounge. Everything at Bliss emulates the very essence of the word, from the dim lighting to fragrant hallways.
I sat on a sofa awaiting my treatment until a woman led me into a private room. I rested on a bed of foil, sheets and heated blankets. From a small, cauldron-like bowl, she poured a warm, creamy orange concoction onto my body. I could get used to this. Her magical hands started massaging my back and then she wrapped me in the blankets. I lay with my eyes closed, envisioning rubbing Dick in repayment.
When it was over, I got dressed; my jeans like sandpaper against my newly buffed skin. I walked down to the lobby to thank the staff. “You’re welcome honey. That’ll be $170,” the receptionist said.
“Thanks, but it’s been paid by my boyfriend; please double-check.”
The girl looked at her clipboard and then at me. “I’m sorry but your boyfriend’s credit card only held the appointment. He did not authorize us to charge it.”
I felt the blood rush to my face. Hot with embarrassment, I fished my wallet from my purse. I signed off on my newly accrued expense and shoved the receipt into my bag, wondering if Dick just scammed me.
The next morning when he picked me up for breakfast, I prayed that he would correct last night’s out-ofpocket experience. No such luck. He avoided the topic in the car until I mentioned it. After hesitation, he said he was going to call the spa later to fix their mistake.When we went into Starbucks, I ordered a hot chocolate, which he didn’t offer to pay for.What was I to do? Unsure, I paid for and drank my cocoa, perplexed by the situation.
Dick began making and breaking plans with me. Then one day, he came to my house and asked me to go for dinner. I wanted to decline any future dates, but I still wanted to be reimbursed for the spa so I went.
“Work for me,” he proposed over dinner.
“Work for you?”
“Yeah, help me with my financial endeavors. You can collect my money and hold it.”
Now he really sounded like a con artist.
“No thanks,” I said, dabbing the corners of my mouth with my napkin. “But I’ll be happy to collect my own money.”
Dick gave me a crooked look.
I watched him sign off on our final restaurant tab, wondering if Dick’s credit card was really his. I had no intentions of dating a man in a black-and-white-striped uniform.
When we pulled up to my apartment, I broke it off with Dick and rushed upstairs to delete my online profile. The next guy I met the old-fashioned way: in a bar. He was a fireman.
Dawn Turzio is a native New Yorker who is currently working on her first book. She is still dating the aforementioned fireman.
rmazin
