9 comments/ 11280 views/ 12 favorites Setting Up Cupid By: JayDavid I was sick of the jokes, and had been for my whole life. When your name is Larry Cupid, every February pretty much anybody I met thought it would be clever to make a joke, as if I hadn't heard every one. And to make it worse, I'm a salesman, so I'm constantly introducing myself to new people every day. "Gonna find me someone to love this year?" "Where's your bow and arrow?" "Are your wings stuffed under that sweater? Very fucking funny. I couldn't wait for Valentine's Day to be over, because at least the jokes slowed down. This year was no different. Everyone that I spoke to felt the need to make a joke about my name, but because I am generally a nice guy, and a good salesman, I had no choice but to chuckle, as if it wasn't the millionth time I had heard the oh so clever quip. I love my family, but why couldn't they have changed the name? I know that my dad was teased, but it never seemed to get to him. And to make it worse, apparently it wasn't even the original family name—some moron at Ellis Island decided to shorten Kupidowitz. I wonder if guys named Scrooge or Claus had it bad at Christmas. That would be great. And to make it worse, there I was, single on Valentine's Day. It had been nearly 2 months since Tracy had dumped me, not that I didn't see it coming, because things had been pretty tense between us the past few months. But still, it was better to be in a relationship, even a crappy relationship, on Valentine's Day, than to be single. Now, a smart man would have left work, headed home, ordered in Chinese food and watched basketball, but no, I'm such a nice guy that I agreed to meet up with a bunch of friends at a bar, before they went out on their special dates. Of course, I had agreed to this before Tracy had split, but these were my friends, and so I figured I would go, have a beer or two and then head home. Basketball games don't get interesting until the second half, anyway. I left the office, took the subway uptown and got to Malone's about 15 minutes late. Bill and Jenna, Alex and Gabby and Markus and Olivia were already there, drinking and laughing. I worked my way through the crowd to their table and squeezed in between Markus and Alex. I couldn't help noticing that the three women looked good, and were dressed for a more interesting night than we were currently having. My friends were going to have a good fucking night, and a good night fucking. Good for them. I had hundreds of cable channels at my disposal and the entire Internet. After exchanging greetings, man hugs and air kisses, I ordered a draft IPA and pretended to enjoy myself. It is difficult enough to be third wheel; being a seventh wheel was excruciating, especially since everybody spent the night dancing around the fact that I was single on what is generally considered the most romantic night of the year. It got worse when the soulful voice of Sam Cooke began to sing, "Cupid, draw back your bow, and let your arrow go...." My friends stopped talking and whipped their head around to look at me. Annoyed, I spat out, "What? I know, my name is Cupid. I've heard the song before, you know." They all did know, but couldn't help themselves, it seemed. They continued to make uncomfortable conversation, until, one by one the couples headed out to their romantic dinners, leaving me alone. At that moment, Connie Francis' recording of "Stupid Cupid" came on the sound system. I banged my fist hard on the wooden table, causing Alex's empty beer glass to fall off and smash onto the floor. The waitress came over and asked me if everything was alright, and I lied, saying that it was. I decided to pay my tab and hit the road. As I was waiting for the check, I smelled, over the beery scent of the bar, a sharp but pleasant perfume. I looked up and saw a blonde woman standing next to me. Being a man, I noticed that she was not bad looking, with a pretty good body. She wouldn't turn heads, necessarily, on first look, but her blue eyes and friendly face would probably grow on you over time. "Tough day?" she asked in a strong, clear voice. "Yeah, I guess," I responded, a bit embarrassed. "Not a fan of Valentine's Day?" she replied, and without waiting for an answer, continued, "me neither." I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask, so I pointed at the chair next to me and said, "Can I buy you a drink?" The woman smiled. "I'll join you, but I can buy my own drinks." "Fair enough," I responded, "please have a seat." She sat down, and it was clear now that she was shorter than me, and as I looked closer, I thought she was kind of cute and maybe it wouldn't be another crappy Valentine's Day, after all. "I'm Larry," I offered, sticking out my hand, awkwardly. "Val," she said, shaking my hand firmly with a small hand. "So, what happened?" "Happened?" "Yeah, I saw you pound the table. Valentine's Day breakup?" That seemed a bit direct. Whatever happened to subtlety, discretion, privacy? I thought, before responding, "um, no, not really. It was a couple of months ago." "I'm sorry. That sucks," she replied, showing concern on her face. "I'll be fine," I replied. The waitress brought us drinks, and Val insisted on paying for the round. I agreed, and promised to pay for the next one. "So," she asked, "if it isn't the traditional reason why people get angry on Valentine's Day, can you tell me what the problem is?" "You'll laugh," I replied. "I could use a laugh," Val responded, but in a way that was funny, not obnoxious. I smiled sheepishly. "My last name is Cupid." Val stared at me for what seemed like a minute before breaking out in hysterical laughter. When she caught her breath, she said, "Oh my god, I could see why today really sucks for you." I nodded. She continued, "And the music, Sam Cooke, and so on, right?" "Yeah," I chuckled, "it was Stupid Cupid that set me off tonight." Val shook her head, "I know what you mean." Emboldened by Val's directness, I said, "Really, how do you know?" "Val," she said, pointing at her small, but attractive chest, "short for Valentina." I nodded. "Right," he responded, "I guess you do know what I go through." "It gets worse," Val said with a smile. "How? " I asked, smiling, "your last name isn't 'Day' is it?" "My parents were cruel, but not that cruel," Val replied with a small laugh. "My last name is Hart." I could not believe that someone had it as bad, if not worse than me. "Your name is Valentina Hart? Seriously?" Val reached into her purse and pulled out a wallet, then extracted something and tossed it across the table. I picked up her New York State drivers' license. The picture predictably did not do her justice, but it was clearly her. And the name on it was "Valentina Hart." I noticed that the address was only a few blocks from the bar, which gave me some fleeting hope of taking her home. "O.K.," I said, tossing back the license. "Either you win the 'bad name on Valentine's Day' award, or you are willing to go very far for a laugh." Val chuckled, "So, we have something in common. Can I ask you, though, 'Cupid' is an unusual name—" I interrupted. "Supposedly, when my great grandfather Moshe Kupidowitz came through Ellis Island, they changed it." "Makes sense," she replied, "but I honestly think I'd rather be 'Larry Cupid" that 'Larry Kupidowitz.'" "Most of the year, I guess," I responded. The conversation reached an awkward pause, and we finished our drinks and ordered a second round. Once that was out of the way, our conversation flowed pretty naturally. We talked about work, a little about our backgrounds, some music and even a little sports. We watched the couples come into the bar, and made up stories about them—the older man with his younger girlfriend, the guy who furtively checked out every other woman in the bar and ignored his date, the mushy couples trying hard to live up to the Valentine's Day pressure. About three rounds in, we actually got to see what looked like a woman breaking up with her date, from the look on his face right before she put on her coat and walked out of the place, and the fact that he appeared to order a number of amber colored shots, which he downed quickly and joylessly. Val excused herself to go to the ladies room, and I checked my watch, surprised that it was already 11:30, and even more surprised at how much I was enjoying this usually annoying day. I realized that it was about to reach the critical moment, where I would ask for her phone number, or try to walk her home for the proverbial nightcap, and I would find out exactly how good a Valentine's Day it was going to be. When she came back to the bar, before I could say anything, Val said, "Larry, this has been nice. You seem like a nice guy. Can I have your phone number?" That seemed pretty promising, so I offered to call her cell, but she insisted that I write down the number on a bar napkin, which was less promising, but not unreasonable, considering we had just met. I had such low expectations for the night that it didn't bother me that much—I definitely would have called her for another date, but if she wasn't interested, I wouldn't kill myself. She put on her coat, so I did the same, and walked her to the door. "Thanks, Val," I said, "for helping to make what usually is my least favorite day of the year fun." "Thanks for everything," she said, reaching her face up and kissing me on the cheek before heading out to the street. Having nothing better to do, I followed her out and started to walk to the subway. I have to admit that over the next few days, I kept hoping that she would text or call me, and kept checking my phone, in vain. And by the following week, I had pretty much moved on, figuring that she wasn't interested. So, I was surprised to get a call from her one evening while I was watching one of my favorite sitcoms. "Larry, it's Val," she said. "How've you been?" I asked, trying to keep my voice flat. "Good, and you?" "Pretty good, I guess," I answered truthfully. My bad day had passed, and I had made a couple of pretty good sales at work. "This may be a little weird," Val started, "but I have a friend that I would like you to meet." That was unexpected. She liked me enough to set me up with a friend, but not enough to go out with me. It was both flattering and a little annoying. "Really?" I asked, "that is a little unexpected." "I know, trying to set Cupid up on a date...." she started, trailing off when I didn't laugh. "Yeah, thanks," I said, disappointed that she of all people would trot out another line that I was quite familiar with. "So," she asked, "are you interested?" "I don't know, tell me about her." "She just joined my company a few months ago and is really nice and pretty. Tall, skinny, nice figure, blonde hair. She seems really smart and has a good sense of humor. . ." There were as many red flags in that description as there were lures, but I'm a nice guy, so I figured, what the hell. "Sure, why not?" I responded. "Great—I'll give her your number, and she can call you to make arrangements." "That's fine—what's her name?" "Oh yeah, you will probably need that," she laughed. "Sherry. Sherry Wine." It was my turn to laugh. "Really?" "Yeah. I figured if anyone would be sympathetic to her name issue, it would be you, Larry. And I thought you were a nice guy who would get along with Sherry." "Sure, I'm sure it will be great." I paused and figured, what the hell, before continuing. "Val, can I ask you something?" "You want to know why I'm setting you up with a friend when we had such a good time the other night, right?" "I knew you were smart," I said. "So?" "I wasn't completely honest with you. I was at the bar to meet my boyfriend, and he got stuck late at work. I was already at the bar, and figured I would have a drink. Then you offered me a drink, we had the bad Valentine's Day connection and you were a nice guy and it was fun. But I'm in a relationship and happy, so it wasn't going to go any further. But I thought Sherry might be a match for you." I was a little disappointed, but realized that Val had never been anything but honest with me—I never asked her if she had a boyfriend, and she never really led me on. And maybe my date with Sherry would be fun. "I appreciate your honesty, and if you endorse Sherry, I'd love to go out with her." Sherry called me the next day and we made plans to get dinner on Friday. She sounded nice, if a little shy, but perfectly pleasant. Friday rolled around as it does every week, and as we agreed, I met Sherry at a small Italian restaurant in the non-touristy part of the Village that she suggested. I was early, as usual, and was having a beer at the bar when a tall, slim blonde walked in. When she took off her coat, I could see that she was wearing a skirt, blouse and blazer, looking like she came straight from work. My first impression was that she was attractive, if not head-spinningly beautiful, but assuming that it was Sherry, I wasn't prepared to sneak out and stand her up based on appearance alone. Not that I would do that. She looked around the restaurant looking a little uneasy, and I stood up and walked over to her. "Sherry?" I asked. "Yes, Larry?" She asked, sticking out her hand. "Yes," I responded, shaking her hand, and noticing that she had a strong grip. Dinner was excellent, and the conversation was fine, if a little labored at first. Sherry was, as advertised, nice, smart and had a subtle, cutting sense of humor. I liked her, although I didn't feel that same easy rapport that I had with Val. But it was also just a first date, and a blind date at that, so the fact that it was enjoyable at all was a plus. After coffee, we left the restaurant, and although it was a cool February night, there was little wind, so that it was comfortable to walk and without discussing it, we walked through the streets of the Village chatting, puffs of fog escaping our mouths. It didn't seem like we were heading any place in particular, but Sherry stopped in front of a brownstone building and said, "This is mine." I was about to say good night and tell her that I had a good time, when she asked, "Would you like to come in?" Why not, I thought. It was not the best date I had ever been on, but it was far from the worst, and I was enjoying Sherry's company, so I said, "Sure." I followed Sherry up the stoop and waited while she fumbled in her bag for the keys and opened the door. I expected that the building would be subdivided into a number of apartments, but was surprised to walk into a wood paneled entrance hallway that opened into a central room that had a staircase at the back, and doorways to rooms on both sides. "This is all yours?" I asked, surprised because nothing in Sherry's manner, or her description of her job, indicated that she could afford to own her own brownstone in one of the nicest neighborhoods in New York. Sherry looked a little embarrassed and said, "It is. I grew up here, and my parents passed away a few years ago, leaving me the building, not to mention enough money to pay for it. It's really too much for me alone, but I love it and could never sell it." "I'm sorry about your parents," I said. She shook her head. "It's O.K. now. But it really isn't good first date conversation, is it?" I nodded and appreciated the way she handled the issue. "Take off your coat," she said, and I obliged. She took it and hung it up in a coat closet that looked to be half as big as my bedroom. I think that she saw my fascination with the house, so Sherry asked, "Would you like a tour?" Of course, I said yes, and she started off showing me the downstairs rooms, including a beautiful kitchen and a library filled with more books than the shelves would hold. I followed her upstairs and she showed me the bedrooms, including the one that had been her childhood room, all of which seemed bigger than my entire apartment. She opened a door that could have been a closet, but which turned out to be another staircase, and I followed Sherry up the stairs into a master suite that filled the entire floor. It was decorated in a restrained modern style that was both functional and attractive. I looked around the room, and when I turned to look again at Sherry, she was unbuttoning her blouse, giving me a glimpse of her fair skin and the bra that enclosed her small breasts. I honestly had not expected more than a drink, or a cup of coffee, but I was certainly not going to reject the advances of this attractive and interesting woman. After she had finished unbuttoning her shirt, I stepped toward her and pulled her close for a kiss, which felt very nice. Within a very short time, we were naked and in Sherry's large, comfortable bed, exploring each other's bodies. Sherry wasn't my usual type—I generally went for shorter, curvier women—but Sherry's body was really flawless. She had virtually no body fat except where you would want some, and I found out that night that she was a particularly talented and attentive lover who enjoyed both giving and receiving pleasure. Which is a nice way of saying that in that bed, she totally rocked my world, to use a cliché, and if her screaming my name was any indication, I had a similar effect on her. I woke up the next morning, naked, thirsty and sore, lying next to Sherry, and in the morning light, her body looked even better. I watched her breathe for a while before getting up to use the bathroom, take a drink and splash a little water on my face. I was not the most experienced guy in the world, but I had been with a few women in my life, and there was no question that was the best sex I had ever had. And there was a big gap between that and second place. When I returned to the bedroom, Sherry was lying, nude, uncovered, on her back, her long legs spread, and her trimmed pussy appearing to be waiting for my attention. I touched her between the legs and she sighed, so I began to rub harder. She reached out and took my hand, pulling me toward the bed, and I landed on top of her prone body. The next thing I knew, I opened my eyes, it was after noon, and I was exhausted. Sherry was nowhere to be found, so I got up, took a quick shower, dressed and went downstairs, following the smell of coffee to the kitchen. Sherry was there, her hair wet apparently from a shower that she had taken while I was not conscious, wearing a robe, drinking coffee from a mug. She smiled at me and said, "Coffee?" "Yes," I croaked, "please," and she poured me a mug of the steaming brew. I added some sugar and milk and took a deep swig. I then noticed that there were fresh bagels and cream cheese on the center island, and I realized that I was famished. We ate breakfast and made small talk, and after we cleaned up the breakfast disthes, I turned to Sherry and said, "I want you to know that was the most incredible sex that I have ever had." She smiled, and her face lit up. "It was pretty amazing, you were amazing." It was my turn to smile, and as I did, she walked past me and started walking up the stairs. I had a pretty good idea why, and I followed her up to her room. She took off her robe, confirming my suspicion that she was naked underneath it, and within seconds, I was also undressed, and we were going at it again. Over the next few weeks, Sherry and I spent an incredible amount of time together. Dinners, either out or in, followed by mindblowing sex. There wasn't anything she was unwilling to try, and she pushed me to try things that I never would have considered. She was also a clever conversationalist, quick with a joke, and never took offense when I kidded with her. During early May, Sherry was sent out of town on a business trip, and I realized that it had been a long time since I had a guy's night with my friends, so I made arrangements, and met up at Malone's with Alex, Bill and Markus. Setting Up Cupid After the obligatory man hugs and joking insults, we ordered a round and caught up. They were happy to hear that things with Sherry were going well, and it seemed like they were all happy in their relationships. Markus tried to convince me that maybe I shouldn't be so negative about Valentine's Day, but I told him that it was a pretty weak argument to tie my relationship with Sherry to my meeting Val that day. I said that as long as people insisted on making stupid Cupid jokes, I'd hate Valentine's Day. Of course, all of my friends were whipped, and one by one, they made excuses to leave and get back to their women. I figured that I'd go back to my apartment, which I rarely visited these days, and watch a little TV before bed, when I saw Val walk in the door. I hadn't seen her since Valentine's Day, but I owed her at least a thank you and a drink for setting me up with Sherry, so I waved and got her attention. She smiled when she saw me, and sat down in the chair that I gestured to. "My boyfriend is meeting me here, and I'm early, so I can sit with you until he shows up," she said, getting right to the point, a characteristic that I appreciated. "I just wanted to say thanks, and buy you a drink for introducing me to Sherry," I said. "I'll take you up on that," she smiled, and I noticed that she seemed to be more attractive than I recalled from our last meeting. "I hear from Sherry that things are going well with you." I must have had a real shit-eating grin on my face, because Val said, "Sherry has that same look on her face when she talks about you." "I will say that she is an amazing woman, but a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." Val smiled and said, "Well, if the same rules are supposed to apply to ladies, then your girlfriend is no lady." I felt my face get warm, and assumed that it was bright red. Val chuckled and said, "You should be proud, not embarrassed," and I shrugged bashfully. We ordered our drinks and had a great talk until Val's boyfriend Sasha showed up. He was a tall, handsome guy who looked to be a few years older than us, and had a slight Russian accent. Val introduced us, we shook hands, and I made excuses and headed home. As I walked to the subway, I thought about how strange things were—it was clear to me that Val and I had some chemistry, but because she was seeing someone, she introduced me to Sherry, and now I was in a great relationship with her, and not Val. I got home, changed into sweats and started watching TV when my phone rang. It was Sherry, calling from the hotel in Indianapolis, and we caught up. I told her about my meeting Val and her boyfriend, and she suggested that the four of us should go out, which seemed like a great idea. She then told me that she was naked, and described, in detail, exactly what she was doing to herself and what she intended to do with and to me when she came home in two days. I'd never had phone sex before, and it was pretty incredible. When we had both reached satisfaction, Sherry said good night. I cleaned myself up and went to bed. Sherry returned a few days later, and we picked up where we left off. But as much as I enjoyed the sex, and I did, and her company, there were times that I felt like something was missing. Those thoughts were fleeting, but never totally out of my consciousness. For her part, Sherry seemed happy, and I was glad that we were having fun, and that there were no signs, at least any that I could see, that Sherry wanted to move our relationship to any other place. A months after her business trip, we went out for dinner with Val and Sasha. Sasha turned out to be a pretty fascinating guy, a computer genius who had moved here from Russia as a child and had serially started a number of Internet companies, selling them for increasingly obscene amounts of money. And as always, I enjoyed talking with Val. In fact, I had to admit that at one point, she and I were chattering away and I noticed both Sasha and Sherry looking bored. I forced myself to engage Sherry, and things proceeded well after that. Later that night, when we were in bed, Sherry said, "You and Val seem to get along really well." Being an idiot, and not thinking, I responded, "Yeah, we seemed to hit it off right away." A somewhat dark look passed quickly over Sherry's face, which changed into one that usually meant something good was about to happen to me, and she said, "Well, do you think that she would do this to you? And she commenced to do something with her mouth and a finger that shortly brought me to a screaming, trembling orgasm. After I had tried with some apparent success to repay Sherry's kindnesses, I lay there thinking and wondering about what it would be like if Val, in fact, did that thing, and I smiled to myself before dropping off to sleep. Unusually, Sherry's ardor did not seem to wane, and we continued to fuck like bunnies, but also spend time doing other non fucking things together. While it was mostly very enjoyable, sometimes it was like I had a small stone in my shoe that increasingly would, out of the blue, cause me discomfort. I tried to confide in my friends, but, to a man, they fell back on the standard responses—you enjoy her company, she is good looking, the sex is great, why would you want to rock the boat? It bothered me, though, because I figured the longer we were together, the snowball careening toward a permanent relationship would build up speed, and I would find myself, in a tuxedo, with a face covered in wedding cake before what would certainly be a honeymoon not to be forgotten. And some days, I would kick myself, because most people never find anyone who is even close to perfect, and Sherry was certainly close. But you know what they say about "close," and I hated that it bothered me so much. One evening in January, I went to Sherry's office to pick her up before dinner, and she had just gotten a call from a client and needed to do some hand holding. I sat in the office reception area checking my phone, when Val came out, presumably on her way home. It was fall, but still warm, and she was wearing less clothing than any of the other times that we had met, and I had to admit she was pretty striking. "Hey Val," I said, and she turned her head and smiled at me. "Larry, why are you waiting here?" "Sherry and I are going out to dinner, but she got a call and had to take it." "Sorry to hear that. I'm going to meet Sasha at Lucky Peach—you guys should join us." I had always wanted to try it, but we had never gotten around to going there, and I figured it would be fun, so I said, "O.K. with me, but I'll have to make sure it's O.K with Sherry." "Call me on my cell when you know, and I'll let them know." "Fine," I said, more excited than I should have been, and I enjoyed watching Val walk to the elevator, her hips swaying seductively in her tight skirt. A few minutes later, Sherry came out into the reception area, looking very cute, as she usually did. After we kissed, I said, "I ran into Val on her way out, and she and Sasha are eating at Lucky Peach, and asked us to join them." I noticed a flicker of something pass across Sherry's pretty face, but thought nothing of it. "Um, sure, that would be great," she said, and I believed her. I called Val and told her that we would be there in a few minutes. Taking Sherry's hand, we walked to the elevator, left the building and grabbed a cab to the restaurant. When we arrived, Val and Sasha were sitting at a table for 4, and I sat down across from Sasha, with Sherry on my left and Val on my right. Conversation flowed along with wine, and the food was amazing. I ate combinations that seemed to make no sense until you put them in your mouth and then the chef's brilliance was demonstrated. I was having a great time—Sasha was interesting as always, Val and I chatted effortlessly, and Sherry was her usual clever and funny self. Right before dessert, Val's leg accidentally brushed against mine, and I drew back as if I had touched a hot stove, almost falling out of my chair. Everyone looked at me, and I whipped my head around, making eye contact first with Sherry, then Sasha, and finally with Val, whose furrowed brow indicated to me that she understood that her touch was what caused my reaction. I couldn't stand her gaze and looked back at Sherry, who had a blank look on her face. I stammered out some stupid excuse and pulled myself together. We made it through dessert without further incident, paid the check and headed out. My head was spinning. I always knew that I had some sort of rapport with Val, but that had been electric, and I didn't hear Sherry right away. "Are you O.K., Larry? You've been acting strangely all night." I tried to gather my wits, and said, "Yeah, it's all good. Just trying to figure out why I lost my balance in there." Sherry looked at me and I thought she was going to call bullshit on me, but instead she turned and hailed a cab. The ride to her place was quiet, and when I looked at Sherry, she was looking out the window, pensively, and I watched her as the lights flashed, alternating light and dark as we hurtled down the avenue. And that night, although Sherry's desire for sex seemed unaffected, I thought that maybe her heart wasn't really into it, or maybe, in retrospect, it was my heart. But the next morning, things seemed back to normal. That night, though, as we sat on the couch, watching television, Sherry looked at me and said, "Larry, where do you see this going?" The time had finally come, it seemed, to define the relationship. As much as I was enjoying it, we were both at the age and time of our lives where people were either getting married or moving on. Sherry was entitled to that, and to be fair, I was happy, and could see being happy with her for years. But I wasn't sure about it, and the thing with Val was certainly troubling. On the other hand, she was happy with Sasha, and was it worth blowing up my relationship with Sherry for the minute chance that something would someday happen with Val? I realized that Sherry was staring at me while I was thinking. "Larry, are you there?" she asked, with an edge to her voice. I decided quickly that a version of the truth was needed, and I said, "I'm very happy with you, and I hope you are with me. And we should think about the future." That non-answer answer seemed to satisfy her for the time being, and she cuddled against me and we watched TV for a while before going to bed. Unfortunately, my promise to think about the future seemed to set Sherry off, and over the next few weeks she dropped hints, some subtle and some more blatant, that something needed to be resolved, and soon. And, it appeared, preferably by me giving her a diamond ring. I thought about it, and even priced a few rings, without much enthusiasm. I could see myself married to Sherry, but I wasn't ready to be married to Sherry. It wasn't that I needed to know her better—I was satisfied that I knew her well enough to realize that she would be an amazing wife and, should we go down that road, an incredible mother. But I just could not pull the trigger. Of course, Valentine's Day was approaching, and it was shaping up to be another disaster. Not only was I getting the usual "Cupid" crap from everyone, but it was clear that Sherry expected me to propose. I came very close to buying a ring once—I even had one picked out and my credit card in my hand, but got cold feet and walked out of the store instead. I walked the windy streets of New York and decided that I owed it to Sherry and to me to tell her the real truth, and let the chips fall where they may. Best case scenario, we would stay together and take more time to decide whether we wanted to make a lifetime commitment to each other. I had made reservations for dinner at our favorite French restaurant, and Sherry looked phenomenal, and there was a light in her eyes that was extraordinary. Which worried me, because I knew that I was going to disappoint her. As usual, the food was excellent, the wine perfect and the conversation was great. Before we ordered dessert, I decided that it was time. I cleared my throat and said, "Sherry, this has been an incredible year. You are an amazing, beautiful, smart and funny woman, and have been an incredible girlfriend." I could see her smiling at the compliments, and I continued, "I know that you want to know where we are going, and I think I know what you want." Sherry's smile had disappeared, replaced by a questioning look. I had no place to go, though, but forward. "I think that someday, you and I could think about marriage, but I want to be honest with you—I'm not ready yet. And if you will bear with me and give me more time, I hope we can get there." Sherry's questioning expression turned to anger, then sadness, then back to anger. Through clenched teeth, she hissed, "Are you serious? After everything I have done this year? You need more fucking time? Not going to happen." She stood up sharply, took a step away from the table, turned and said, "Don't bother coming to my place. I'll ship your crap to you." I felt everybody's eyes on me. I sat there quietly for a few seconds and realized that I had now added a public breakup to my reasons for hating Valentine's Day. I began to laugh, first quietly, then louder, until I was nearly convulsing. When the spasms stopped, I noticed our waiter hovering over the table. "I assume that you will want the check, sir?" he asked calmly, as if stuff like this happened every day. Which seemed hysterical to me, so I laughed again and said, "Yes, please." When he returned, I gave him my credit card. When the final bill came, I added a nice tip, signed the receipt, got my coat from the coat check and headed out of the restaurant. I started to walk to the subway to my apartment, but decided that I needed a drink. And I figured that Malone's was as good a place to go as any, so I changed directions, went to the station and took the train uptown. In the few blocks between the subway exit and the welcoming doors of Malone's, I must have passed a dozen couples, holding hands, kissing, and generally looking happy. I, of course, was seething. I knew that I did the right thing for me, at that moment, but there was a nagging doubt in the back of my mind that I had not made a good long-term decision. I opened the door to the bar, and, as expected, it was mostly filled with couples, or groups of couples, on Valentine's Day dates. I pushed my way through the crowd and wedged my way to the bar and ordered a Maker's on the rocks. The smoky sweetness of the bourbon burned when it went down, but then caused a pleasant warmth to spread up from my gut. It felt better as I drained my first glass, so I ordered another. I was about two sips in when that fucking Sam Cooke song came on again, and without really thinking, I slammed my glass against the dark wood bar and said, louder than I should have, "Fuck. Not this again!" "Seriously?" I heard a familiar voice say, and I turned around to see Val, dressed to kill in a form fitting black dress that hugged her curves. "What are you doing here?" we said at the same time, and laughed. She put her hand on my arm, and I felt that electricity again. "You first," I said. Val shrugged and said, "Sasha and I went out for dinner, and after the appetizer, he mentioned that he had found what he called an irresistible opportunity to move to St. Petersburg—the cold one in Russia—and run a big Internet company. He wanted me to come along." "That was nice of him," I said. "Yeah—I should move thousands of miles to a country where I don't know anyone, and don't speak the language and give up my job which I love. Real nice," she said, scowling. "But I was mostly pissed off that he had made these arrangements without ever discussing them with me. I told him 'Do svidanya' which is pretty much the only Russian I know, and walked out. And what happened with you and Sherry?" I paused, realizing that the situation had changed before saying, "Ever since that dinner that the four of us had, Sherry has been pushing me to, you know, define our relationship, to," I made finger quotes, "'move things forward'. I knew that she wanted me to propose, and I wanted to make her happy. But I couldn't do it. It was clear that she expected me to do the whole kneel and propose thing tonight, but instead, I asked for more time." "Ouch," Val responded. "Yeah, that didn't go over too well. And she walked out on me." I raised my glass and took a swig of the fiery amber liquid. "So, here I am." "But you guys seemed so happy," Val pressed. "I was. She was...is... an amazing woman. But I obviously had doubts, I guess, or I would have closed the deal, as we say." Val looked at me, and I noticed how blue her eyes were. She said, with a wry smile, "just another man afraid of commitment, I guess." I shook my head. "No, I'm not afraid of commitment—just afraid of committing to the wrong person. And I wasn't sure that Sherry was the right person, and I wouldn't want to go down that road, and hurt her." There was an awkward silence as we both drank and looked at each other. For some reason, the loud bar seemed to be silent, and I realized what I needed to do. I put my hand on Val's arm and said, "To be completely honest, I couldn't stop thinking of you." Val's eyes opened wide and she said, in a low voice, "You felt that too?" "Like a cattle prod in the gut." She tilted her head up, and I leaned over and gently brushed my lips over hers. The small sigh that escaped her mouth was about the hottest thing I ever heard, and she melted into my arms. I held her tightly, feeling the warmth of her body and the firmness of her breasts against my chest. Her hair smelled floral, and I closed my eyes and buried my nose in her golden tresses. Val looked up again, and I kissed her, for real this time, and felt shivers down my back. When we disengaged, she was breathing hard and said, "Well, Cupid, that's a bullseye." And for the first time, I didn't mind the joke.