Holiday for HIre(6)
Next order of business, then. Jane created a poll about the wedding .
Who was going? Who was going solo? Who was going with someone else ?
The answers rolled in immediately, along with loads of caveats in the comments section. The invitees were evenly split among who was attending out of spite and who was boycotting on principle .
One thing they could all agree on, however, was that anyone who attended had to bring a date. Just as Jane had assumed. Not even the single girls suggested partnering with a fellow BBB. No one, but no one , would dream of accepting the invite without a rich, handsome—ideally famous—plus-one .
But though everyone concurred on that fact, no one had any suggestions about how to find such a magical being .
So Jane was back to square one—where the heck does an independently wealthy woman find a man who isn’t threatened by her, or attracted to her bank account, or merely after a diversion? A man hotter than the one who’d just dumped her ?
She considered what she knew of dating sites through her head. OKCupid was free, so wrong crowd. eHarmony seemed to have fallen out of favor with all but the super-religious set. Tindr was tawdry. Grindr was gay. Match was too inclusive .
What on earth was a straight girl with high standards to do? Hire a boyfriend ?
It turned out, after a fair amount of Googling, that hiring a date wasn’t actually that far off base .
In Japan, for example, there was a massive industry devoted to hiring dates. The dates were teenagers, so not exactly the ideal situation, and probably a little illegal and a lot creepy. Jane shuddered. But there were a couple articles on reputable feminist gonzo journalism sites about nice girls here in America hiring dates for family events that seemed—well, they seemed completely reasonable .
The women who wrote the articles all seemed to be about her age and mostly residents of Brooklyn. It had to just be a matter of using the right keywords in her search engine .
It did take a goodly number of tries, but Jane finally hit on a site called “MatchMade” that seemed extremely promising. You merely input the barest amount of facts about yourself and a hefty amount about your ideal date and someone would email .
She flew through the questionnaire: not interested in working, not seeking emotional attachment, seeking a rich, tall, ambitious, handsome man. Click, click .
Her cursor spun for a moment and then there was a ding .
Unmatchable , the screen read in fancy cursive script. Pastel so as to not upset her. With a gentle floral background to soften the blow .
It was one of those life moments that telescoped, where she could she see years into the future and the word “unmatchable” would be echoing in her mind then and always .
Unmatchable.
Unmatchable.
Un—fuck that .
Maybe Blake would say that about her, but she wasn’t willing to self-apply a label like that. If the dating sites wouldn’t have her, there was somewhere else that would. Someplace where everyone had a home .
Not Cheers—craigslist .
After all, she knew for a fact that it was where Blake had initially met the matchmaker slash bride, Andy. Angry though she was, it did make a nice romance story, didn’t it? Jerks. She wouldn’t agree to coo over anyone’s happy ending if she didn’t have one of her own .
After a fair amount of angry-clicking, Jane stumbled across an ad that seemed promising .
Need a guest for a family holiday or dinner? I’m your guy. I promise I’m not a psycho. I’m just hungry and overly unemployed. In exchange for your family meal, I am happy to pretend to be in love with you, to be your best guy friend, to be a crazy dude you just picked up to horrify them …
Basically anything you want. The whole gig goes for $100 plus chow, but I’m totally willing to put my college acting classes to work and go for any scenario you’d like for a negotiable fee .
Respond to this ad and make me your new boyfriend, elf on a shelf, wedding singer, or private detective. Seriously, I’ll do it all .
It was desperate. Incredibly desperate. As desperate as her. Ugh, was she really going to stoop this low? Sometimes it was best not to think too hard on a subject .
She hesitated for the barest instant, and then wrote back .
Hello,
I have been invited to a wedding for which it is imperative I have a date. It is on Christmas Eve, which I understand may be a difficult time for you to accommodate. Because of this, I’m happy to double your pay .
Please feel free to contact me at
She stopped. Was she really going to give this guy her phone number? The angel on one shoulder told her never to give out her number, but the much louder devil on the other reminded her that a cell number isn’t a home address .
So with a few more clicks and a flourish, the deed was done .
Jane was feeling an odd combination of relieved to have made strides and keyed up over potentially having made a bad decision .
What if Mystery Man was a total creep? A mother’s basement type? A serial killer? Perhaps she should have done a Blake and put an ad for herself on Craigslist. She could have hired someone to weed out the dates for her into only the most suitable. Just like Blake .
But Jane did not want to be like Blake .
What if Mystery Man was a total Quasimodo? She truly required a handsome face for this particular event, but she wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings. Perhaps he’d agree to help her with the Christmas decorating. She’d pay him the same amount as a public appearance. And it would save her the trouble of dealing with the teenage neighbor .