“Okay. Call me as soon as you’re done.”
Just as a matter of accuracy, I checked the directory for the suite. When I noticed only the initials BLA on the plate, I thought that was suspect. Why didn’t they want to publicize that they were the Black Love Agency?
Before getting on the elevator, I took a deep breath. Inside the elevator, I took another deep breath. As the elevator went higher and higher, my reasons increased: You can’t be single forever. An occasional date to accompany you to professional engagements. A nice guy to take you out to dinner. And after a three-year drought, an occasional lay probably wouldn’t hurt either.
I stood in front of the young receptionist and smiled. “Uh…”
“Good evening. Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes. My name is Fatima.” As I was about to state my last name, I felt like I was committing adultery. When I looked at the twenty-something black chick across from me, I wanted to beeline out of there. Most people who knew people knew Derrick Mayo. How could I use his last name at the damn Black Love Agency?
“Fatima Barnes?” she asked.
My eyes expanded and my smile stretched even wider, because Mya was clever enough to book the appointment using my maiden name. I felt pumped again.
The receptionist handed me a clipboard with a stack of papers. “If you could just fill these out and give me your thousand-dollar deposit, we can get started.”
Can’t I appraise the damn prospects before they want to take my money? I leaned onto her desk, “So, do you think it’s worth it?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “A lot of people say it is. Many of our clients have gotten married.”
“So, usually how many dates do most people go on before they find what they’re looking for?”
“Well, we charge a thousand per month and you get unlimited dates. So, it’s hard for me to say. I mean most people stay with us on average three or four months.” Trying to whisper, she added, “You know, depending on their personality, some are with us longer.”
“This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this.”
Her smirk assured me that she thought I was lying. “Yeah, I understand.”
“Do you have any tips?”
She chuckled. “Only pick men who are new to the service.”
“Thanks.” I checked out the nameplate on her desk. “Shakee-me-a. Did I pronounce it correctly?”
“Yeah, most people get it wrong. That’s amazing.”
Being that people often mispronounce my name, I know how important it is to get it right the first time. “Yeah, I hate when people say my name wrong.”
She nodded. “I know. I blame my mother though.”
I laughed and plopped into one of the chairs in the waiting area. “Uh-huh. Me too.”
We giggled a bit about the name game before I began filling out the stack of papers. As I plowed through the pages, I became apprehensive. There were too many clauses. They’re not responsible if someone kills me. They will not refund for loss or damaged property. This is ludicrous. As I disputed everything on every page, I scribbled in my address, my name, my expectations, my signature, and damn it, I signed my check.
I stepped back up to Shakemia’s desk and handed her the clipboard. Before I gave her the check, I asked, “Are you sure it’s worth it?”
She nodded. “Yeah, we have a good selection of men. You’ll be happy with our services.”
“Okay.”
She winked. “I’ll look out for you.”
I covered my chest with my hand. “Really?”
“I gotchu, Ms. Barnes.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Someone will be out in a second to take you back.”
A middle-aged lady opened the door, came out, and smiled. My insides frowned. How is she supposed to help me find someone with the right combination of street and intellect? I crept toward her, “Hi.”
Her quivery voice said, “Hello, Ms. Fat-a-mah.”
I smiled at Shakemia, and corrected her, “Fa-tee-mah.”
“Yes, Fat-a-mah, I am Gertrude. C’mon back.”
As we walked back to her conference room, she went over what I was supposed to have read. “I’m sure you know that I’ve been doing this informally for over thirty years. The business has been in existence for about ten. I’m really good at what I do. I help you handpick all of your dates. I do a full psychological profile before the first date.”
“We have to do this tonight?”
“It depends when you’d like to go on your first date. Are you in a rush?”
“Oh no, I’m in no rush to date.”
She snickered. “No, honey. I mean are you in a rush this evening?”
I checked my watch as if I had more to do than read manuscripts and she waited for my response. I shook my head and she invited me to sit at the conference table.
“Okay, we’ll profile you this evening.”
The dysfunctional connotation associated with profiling rattled my nerves. “How do you profile?”
“You take a series of quizzes.”
“Are they open book?”
She didn’t respond. Her fifty-something maturity didn’t find me at all humorous, so I reverted to intellect. “So what do you conclude from these quizzes?”
“They give me an idea of what you’re looking for. How you expect to be treated. What type of person you’d be most attracted to.”
“So, when do I get to the pictures?”
“Well, you’ll only see pictures of men that you’re compatible with.”
“So, how long does it take you to grade the quizzes?”
She chuckled and pointed to the computer workstation. “Your answers will be analyzed immediately. Then, our database will be automatically searched for matches. And you and I will analyze the results. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds good.”
As I sat down at the workstation, she gave me basic instructions. I raced through the series of questions that had nothing to do with me going on a date and became irritated. Why Mya thought this made more sense than online dating perplexed me. The nine hundred and eighty dollar per month overhead charge for this fluffy office was the only difference I could identify. If nothing comes of this, I swear Mya is giving me back my money.
When I finished the useless profile, I walked to her office and smiled. “All done.”
As she looked at her computer screen, she motioned for me to have a seat. “A widow, huh?”
No matter how often I hear it, the word makes me cringe. “Yes, my husband died three years ago.”
“He really took care of you, huh?”
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Get to the point, lady.
She smiled. “I’m just analyzing your results.”
“I thought you said the computer does that.”
“Well, Fat-a-mah.”
I curled my lips. She continued, “We have a large database of professionals and it’s rare that you come up with no matches. So, when that happens—”
“Are