Firefighter's Virgin

I really had nothing against people with a Brooklyn accent. In fact, I’m fond of people with accents different than mine. The guy was decent looking, for sure. His large biceps bulged out of his dress shirt and his deep, brown eyes were mesmerizing. Unfortunately, calling me baby and asking to buy me a drink at an event that served free alcohol really wasn’t a great way to pick me up.

On the surface, the cute guy would have been exactly the type of man I liked to date. He was clean cut, dressed well, and obviously took care of himself physically. The exterior package was not everything, though, and I really had learned that over the last year of trying to date. I would much rather date a decent-looking nice guy than a drop-dead-handsome jerk of a guy.

“Nope. Enjoy your night,” I said as I pulled Mattie with me and fled the scene.

Markus followed obediently behind us as we went over to the large painting I had pointed out earlier. Standing up close with such a large painting made each detail come to life. From across the room, it had looked like just some paint splattered onto the ten-foot-tall canvas, but here, I could see words and pictures embedded into the paint. In the red, there were words of hate and as I read them, my heart raced and my emotions stung. I quickly moved over to the blue paint with words of kindness and love and felt my heartrate slowing down as I reviewed the rest of the painting.

The blue in the painting really looked more like waves from an ocean and the red like the sunset, although I wasn’t exactly sure what the artist was trying to portray. Art was one of those things where if you saw something meaningful, then it was a significant painting to you. Another person might not see the same thing and wouldn’t be willing to pay the same price.

To me, art was just another expression of what was on the inside of someone. Music and theater were some other art forms that really showed the soul of the artists. That was why I loved the arts so much: the emotions and pure feelings that artists, singers, and actors put into their work were incredible to see.

Sometimes, I’d thought I really wanted to be an artist when I grew up, but then I became a mother and realized I had to have a job that was more responsible.

“One million dollars!” Mattie exclaimed so loudly that everyone in the room turned to look at us.

“Shhhhh.”

“Del, they are seriously selling this painting for one million dollars. How on earth did I not become an artist? If this is how much money they make for putting globs of paint onto a canvas, I seriously need to rethink my profession.”

“Come on now, this painting took a lot thought and work, look closely,” I said in defense of the artist. Although, I couldn’t imagine anyone would pay that high of a price for artwork, either. It seemed pretty astronomical.

“You just like it because it looks like something Connor would paint for you at school,” she laughed.

“I have to agree; it does look a lot like one of his paintings. Except he doesn’t charge as much for his artwork. I could make a real killing if I started marketing his school artwork. Maybe I should get started on that.”

“How is Connor doing in kindergarten?” Markus asked.

“Really good. I like that he doesn’t have to go to daycare all day. The school day is much better because he really loves to be busy, just like his dad. I don’t think he ever sits down.”

The mention of my late husband quickly had both Mattie and Markus quiet. Anytime I mentioned Spencer, people didn’t know what to say. It was as if I had set off a bomb in the room. First, total silence; then, a quick change of subject so no one had to talk about the dead husband or that fact that I was officially a widow at only twenty-seven years of age.

“Do you think anyone will buy this?” Mattie asked as she changed the subject to avoid being uncomfortable. “It seems like a lot of money for someone to pay for one painting. I mean, not even a rich person would want to pay this much, right?”

“I don’t know, probably. There are a lot of really wealthy people here, and art is so subjective. Maybe the painting will mean something to the person who purchases it. You just never know.”

“It blows my mind that there are people in the world who have an extra million dollars to just buy spattered paintings. I mean, think about it: if they can afford a painting like this, it means they’ve paid for all their bills, all the fun extra stuff, probably have a summer house and tons of extra money. You don’t just spend this kind of money if it’s your last million dollars. The person who buys this is going to be so filthy rich, they literally think this is just a fun purchase. That’s mindboggling to me.”

“A lot of our clients at work are this rich. That’s why it’s called Dating the Rich, Mattie,” I laughed.

“Technically, I know that, but it’s always an abstract thing since I’m just on the phones for customer service issues. Really, most of my conversations are with ditzy girls who are trying to set up their profiles and can’t figure out how to upload their scantily-clad photos. It’s odd to me that these girls end up landing the rich guys. I mean, come on, do they have no shame, at all? These guys are actually just looking for a piece of ass.”

“Yep, that’s basically what we do. Hook up old, rich men with beautiful, young women who want their money,” I said, and we both busted into laughter.

The dating criteria some of the men from our website had seemed a little ridiculous. Many of them were simply looking for a pretty girl to show off and didn’t actually care if she was smart, career oriented, or had any goals in her life. There were some guys who seemed to be looking for a real partner and love match, but they were much fewer than the other type of guys.

“Excuse me, ladies,” a young man said as he walked past us to put a sold magnet over the placard for the painting we were looking at.

“It sold? I can’t believe that,” Mattie exclaimed.

“Yep, we only have a couple paintings left; they are over there, if you’re interested.”

“Okay, thanks,” she replied as she tried to play off her shock as being upset because she was just about to buy it. I could hardly contain my laughter and turned away so the worker couldn’t see me. “I’ll go take a look. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, doll face,” the handsome Brooklyn man said as I turned almost directly into his chest. If I hadn’t stopped quickly, I would have run smack dab into him.

I had to admit the firmness of his chest was very appealing. It had been months since I had been laid, and although that wasn’t a driving factor in choosing a date, I was starting to consider the benefits of a one-night stand with this guy. With a babysitter in place and a whole evening to myself, it did seem like a waste not to at least have some sex.

“Are you enjoying the art show?” I asked in an effort to test the waters and see if I could handle an evening with him.