Free The Adventures of a Love Investigator, 527 Naked Men & One Woman by Barbara Silkstone

of research and not as date material.
    “Like how do guys meet women anymore, besides clubs?”
    I suggest the various dating services to him. He asks the cost. I give him my guesstimate. He chokes on his draft stepping off the barstool to cough.
    “Mac recommended I use internet dating.” He stares at his empty beer glass possibly searching for the meaning of life. Once a woman responds to my ad, I like to talk to her a few times on the phone before I even think of asking her for a drink.” He waits for my feedback.
    “Do you ever ask them to dinner? Or lunch?”
    “A guy could lose a lot of money that way. No. I wait. I’m not gonna drop twenty or thirty dollars on dinner and find out there’s no chemistry.”
    I’ll bet he uses coupons.
    Desperate to get a handle on where to meet women, ‘owl-man’ pushes on. “When you interview have you found one thing in common with all the men?”
    I hesitate. “Do you really want to know?”
    His eyes stare in terror, “Uh ... sure ...”
    “Most people, not just the guys, are looking for love but they don’t have a clue what love is.”
    He orders another brew as he thinks on what I’ve just told him. He seems relieved I didn’t use the other “L” word... loser. Then he says, “I guess I always thought of love as having someone who shared your interests.”
    “And what are your interests?”
    “Well ... I just told you. You know hanging out – listening to music.”
    As I dismount the barstool my boots crunch on the peanut shell floor. I wave Ronnie off and crunch out the door into the sunlight.
    Could it be that simple? Love equals shared interests? That would mean ... the more interests you have, the greater your chances of finding love? I scrape my boot bottoms on the asphalt, freeing the broken shells that cling to my soul.

CHAPTER TWENTY
    “All dressed in white...”
    ~ Barbara Silkstone, mother of the bride
    Hundreds of pearls have fallen onto and into the white carpet in my house. My eyes will need corrective vision surgery to recover from the hours of hand stitching. After weekly fittings and nerve-fraying adjustments, the wedding gown is finished. It’s lovely and all that I thought it could be. I would pat myself on the back but the pinch in my neck is too painful.
    There have been food tastings for the reception and guest lists to mull over, bridesmaids’ tantrums and groom melt-downs, and wedding photographers who insist on large deposits then fail to return my calls. Why would anyone put their mother through this? It must be revenge for giving birth.
    I’m into my fifth year of interviewing and can’t see any way out except to finish the adventure.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
    “The death of my mother was the greatest loss I have ever suffered.”
    ~ John, 38, married
    Case 421 / John
    I first saw John when he played a character in a film that was so powerful it was nominated for multiple Academy Awards. His portrayal was fierce, violent, and loathsome.
    Recorder in hand, I brace to meet this seemingly terrible man at his home in Hollywood Hills. I park my car on a driveway and gather my notebook and tape recorder then trot up a steep incline to his house. Two thoughts trip through my brain: how am I getting away with this gig and how have I not been killed or savaged at this point? You’ve been bloody lucky, I tell myself. Strange men are opening up like flowers and women are throwing their men at me hoping I’ll share what I gather – I won’t.
    I knock on a heavy old Spanish Mission style door. Anticipating his film persona, I’m surprised when the door swings open revealing a dad with a baby in his arms and a five year old girl, who clings to the pocket of his pants.
    We shake hands. I’m embarrassed because my palm’s a bit sweaty. This interviewing stuff can be stressful. John offers me a cold drink as I follow him to the backyard. We sit at a table on a deck overlooking a forested valley.
    He settles the baby on a blanket at our feet.