‘So, what did you do?’ I ask.
‘We brought him in, took some pics of him in the lounge smiling with his mouth shut. Within a week, we scored him a date!’ Derek tells me with glee.
‘Oh, great!’ I enthuse.
‘Well, kind of…’ Derek grimaces. ‘When his date saw him in person, she ran a mile. In the end, he got his teeth fixed. Found someone eventually.’
‘He got his teeth fixed?’ I balk.
‘Yeah, a full set of veneers,’ Derek explains, sitting back down at his desk.
‘Eek. That must have been expensive.’
‘Sometimes you’ve just got to do what you’ve got to do.’ Derek shrugs. ‘You can’t expect someone to fall for you warts and all. Life isn’t a fairy tale. People are more superficial than that, especially in New York. Sometimes you have to up the effort. Lose some weight, beautify yourself. Packaging is important. You’ve got to make yourself as appealing as possible in this competitive dating world. I thank God I met my wife before online dating took off. I have no doubt she would have swiped left on me!’ Derek jokes.
I laugh. Derek is funny – in fact so far, he’s surprisingly easy company – but I can’t help feeling just a little bit deflated at his words. Does finding someone really have so much to do with great ‘packaging’? Are New Yorkers really that superficial? My heart sinks a bit at the prospect as I save Andy’s picture onto my desktop and click onto Match.com where I’m already halfway through setting up his profile. I feel a bit guilty now as I look at Andy’s picture. Here I am, judging him for his pudgy cheeks and non-descript looks. I’m probably not much better than the woman who ran a mile at the site of her date’s Austin Powers teeth. Maybe Derek’s right and dating success does come down to looks, in which case, I could probably stand to lose a few pounds and tone up a bit. I upload Andy’s photo and set about choosing another. I opt for a shot of him playing tennis. It shows off his tall and fairly athletic physique. As I scroll for a third, my thoughts wander to Brandon.
‘So, if dating is all about packaging, then how come people like Brandon are single?’ I ask.
Derek looks over, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘Like the look of Brandon, do you?’
I laugh nervously. ‘He’s objectively good-looking. I mean, he looks like a model,’ I point out in what I hope is a matter-of-fact business-like tone.
‘I’m just teasing!’ Derek jokes. ‘Yes, he is good-looking. And he’s a great catch all-round. He’s a partner at Statten & Jones – one of the most highly respected law firms in the city, he’s donated a lot of money to charity. He played semi-professional soccer in his early twenties and studied at Harvard on a sports scholarship. He even designed an app, which he sold to Google when he was twenty-eight. He’s an absolute genius. And he’s set up for life.’
‘Wow…’ I murmur, in awe. ‘He designed an app in his spare time?’
‘Yep! While making partner at his firm. He’s an exceptional guy,’ Derek tells me proudly, as though Brandon is his firstborn child.
I suddenly feel incredibly mediocre, realising there are people like Brandon in the world who can design lucrative apps in their spare time, while I’m sat at home guzzling pizza and watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Maybe I need to step up my game. I make a mental note to brainstorm app ideas when I get home.
‘He’s quite something,’ Derek adds with a twinkle in his eye. Derek seems so fond of Brandon that I’m almost beginning to wonder whether we both have a crush on him.
‘Mm-hmm, he sounds it,’ I agree. ‘So seriously, how is someone like him single? He’s the full package!’ I blurt out, before blushing a little.
Derek smiles knowingly.
‘I mean objectively-speaking, from a matchmaker’s point of view, I need to understand this stuff.’ I clear my throat.
‘Of course.’ Derek winks. He leans back in his chair and gazes ponderously into the middle distance, steepling his hands over his pot belly. ‘You see, the thing about Brandon is he’s very picky. Very, very picky. I’ve told him he should be more flexible in his criteria, but he wants what he wants and he simply won’t settle for anything less.’
‘Oh right,’ I reply, a little taken aback. ‘And, erm, what does he want?’ I ask in as light and breezy a tone as I can muster.
Derek raises an eyebrow sardonically, knowing full well that I’m into Brandon. ‘He has very specific criteria, I’m afraid,’ Derek tells me. ‘He likes blonde girls with blue eyes. Petite – preferably under 155cm. Slim. Toned.’
‘Really?’ I grumble, realising that with my brown hair, untoned body and 164cm height, I’m not even remotely his type.
Derek nods. ‘Yep, he’s very specific. Has a thing about waist to hip ratio too and torso to leg ratio. It’s all got to be in proportion for Brandon,’ Derek tells me, his voice tense. I get the feeling Brandon’s been giving him grief over prospective dates for a while.
‘Hip to waist ratio?’ I gawp.
‘Yep, you asked why he’s single!’ Derek takes a bite of another Oreo.
‘What about personality? Does he have specific criteria for that too or is it all about the “packaging”?’ I ask.
‘Nope, he has specific criteria for that too,’ Derek sighs. ‘She must have been to an Ivy League university. He wants a high flyer. Someone corporate – a businesswoman, a PR boss, a consultant, that kind of thing. She has to be independent, preferably a homeowner. Sporty too. Oh, and she needs to enjoy travelling. Brandon’s a bit of a jet-setter.’
‘Jesus!’ I say, without thinking.
‘I know, right?’ Derek rolls his eyes and pops the last piece of his Oreo into his mouth.
‘How does she have the time to be a sporty traveller while she’s a high-flying businesswoman?’
Derek shrugs, causing his pot belly to wobble slightly. ‘Don’t ask me.’
I laugh. It’s clear that Derek’s not exactly an expert on juggling work commitments and fitness.
I can’t help feeling a little disheartened. I got a distinctly flirty vibe when Brandon and I first met in the hallway last week, and I’d secretly hoped that that maybe – just maybe – I stood a chance. I don’t usually date guys like Brandon, but I thought I might somehow get my very own Hollywood-style romance. I can’t pretend I haven’t entertained girlish daydreams over the past few days in which he whisks me off my feet like a knight in shining armour and we end up having a sickeningly cheesy happy ever after. Ha. As if. It turns out I’m not slim enough for Brandon, or Ivy-League-educated enough, or fancy and corporate enough. Hmmphh. I dread to think what he’d make of my flat-share in Brooklyn with Gabe or my employment history of being a barmaid at The Eagle. Brandon would never want a girl like me.
‘The thing about Brandon is he can get pretty much anyone,’ Derek comments, interrupting my self-pitying thoughts. ‘And I think it’s gone to his head. He thinks that because he can have everyone, he can impose all these criteria and still get what he wants but we’re only matchmakers, we’re not miracle workers. Yes, Brandon’s a catch, but there’s only so much we can do.’ Derek shakes his head exasperatedly.
‘Hmm…’ I narrow my eyes. Yes, Brandon’s criteria are specific and annoying and extremely demanding, but there are surely a ton of women in New York who fit the bill. Even walking to the office this morning, I saw at least half a dozen petite blonde women marching through Wall Street in corporate suits who looked like Brandon’s type and would probably