Page 12 of Man Seeking Woman

"I understand that, but dinner seems really personal. I'm going to ask you upfront, this isn't an ad for sex is it? Because I'm not a call girl, I don't do things like that."

"No, no, no," I said, unable to hide the laughter in my voice. "Dinner is just so we can meet and I can tell you in person what I'm looking for."

"Why can't you tell me over the phone?"

Letting out a soft breath, I laid my head back against my chair. "I understand that this seems awkward, but in order for this to go any further, we need to meet in person."

"Alright," she said, her tone uncertain.

"Alright, you'll meet me for dinner?"

"Yeah, we can meet."

"Perfect, I'll see you tonight then."

Pulling the phone from my ear, I heard her call out. "Wait!"

"Yeah?"

"How will I know who you are? I don't know your name or what you look like."

"My name's August, just tell the hostess you're meeting me, she'll bring you to the table." Hanging up the phone, I had a glimmer of excitement run through my body.

It had been weeks since anyone who sounded serious actually called about the ad. Most of the women I heard from where exactly what Ella questioned me about, they were prostitues looking to make a quick buck.

That wasn't what this was. This was serious, this was business, this was my future. I didn't want a quick roll in the sack, I wasn't looking for a single night of fun to get off.

This had to do with my life as I knew it.

Through the intercom, I heard my secretary ask, "Mr. Burke, are you available right now?"

"What is it, Diane?"

"Your mother is on line two."

Sighing loudly, I reluctantly agreed. "Yeah, I'll take it," I said, picking up the phone and hitting the red flashing button. "Hey, Mom, what's going on?"

"August?" she asked, frantically, as if she didn't realize it was me.

"Yeah, Ma, it's me. What do you need?"

"August, is that you?"

"Ma, it's me, you called me at the office, remember?"

"Oh, good, it is you. I thought maybe your secretary sent me to the wrong person." Letting out a relieved breath, she said, "You sound different, why do you sound different?"

"I sound the same as I always do. But I can't talk long, I'm in the middle of something. What do you need?" I was trying so hard to not get annoyed with her, but that was difficult to do.

My mother was not your typical mother. She wasn't someone who coddled you when you got hurt or snuggled you when you got sick. My mother was a whole different breed.

When I was nine years old I fell off my skateboard, cut my knee open pretty bad, and needed stitches. My mother's tender touch was a fifty dollar bill and a cold facial eye mask.

She kept insisting that it was perfectly suitable to use the eyes mask because it took the swelling down from under her eyes, so it was going to work for my knee too. It didn't do shit.

One of the maids had to drive me to the hospital and got my knee taken care of. My mother was lucky that we were Burke's, anyone else would have been charged with some form of child neglect.

"Don't talk to me in that tone, you know how I feel about it."