The Numbers Man

By Pat Muir

63-year old Pat seeks romance on the internet and numbers each woman he meets since he remembers names poorly. When #57, goes out of town, so he takes up with #59. Meanwhile, his employee’s gorgeous young wife keeps hitting on him. Life becomes complicated when he meets #61, a TV chef, who considers him a womanizer. Is the advice he gets from Sonia, his book promoter, selfless or self-serving?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pat Muir
• Release date: Nov 5, 2010
• ISBN: 9780967606033

Pat Muir

Pat Muir is a former nuclear engineer, motel operator and real estate agent. His first book, "Stories to Entertain You...If You get Bored on Your Wedding Night," was published in 1999. His second book, "The Numbers Man," published in 2010, is a romance in which he fictionalizes his experiences looking for a new (female) partner on the internet. His third book, "What Happened to Flynn," published in 2017, is a mystery novel. in which a black female detective encounters thieves, forgers, money launderers and assassins in solving a missing man case.

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The Numbers Man

By

Pat Muir

Copyright © 2017 by Pat Muir

PMBOOK

Smashwords Edition

The Numbers Man, 2nd edition, is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is either coincidental or, if real, used fictitiously with no relation to their actual conduct. All rights are reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portions thereof in any form whatsoever as provided by U.S. Copyright Law.

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2240 Encinitas Blvd, Suite D

Encinitas, CA 92024

Website: www.whathappenedtoflynn.com

Cover by: VPG Printing

Editing by: Jefferson of Firstediting.com

Also by Pat Muir:

Stories to Entertain You…If You Get Bored on Your Wedding Night (1999)

What Happened to Flynn (2017)

The author would like to acknowledge Evy Anderson, Mary Hartley, Patty Thistlethwaite, Anke Kriske and Susie Ernau for reading the draft manuscript, for offering me constructive criticism, and for encouraging me with their commendations. Finally, I need to thank all those internet ladies who inspired me.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 1

Many stories start serenely with a description of characters, environment, and circumstances; others start with an event. This story falls in the latter category, on a particular date: Valentine’s Day, Thursday, February 14, 2008—a perfect day for the start of a romance. The date is written in the USA as 2/14/08, and two times fourteen is twenty-eight, the usual number of days in February, the second month of the eighth year of the new millennium. What a great number, so even, so well balanced! However, 2008 was a leap year—twenty-nine days in February—so perception of balance is incorrect. Certainly, that day jolted my balance.

Bill Hancock got my attention with: You know I’ve being going with a gal called Ruby for the past two months. He paused. We’ve gotten engaged.

I stopped counting the laundry-machine money and looked up at Bill, the manager of the forty-unit apartment building in Lawndale I own jointly with my ex-wife. Bill smirked at the surprised expression on my face. He had been looking for a long-term girlfriend since his divorce a year before. He conducted his search at bars and local casinos, and the women he met seemed ready to hop into bed with him or anyone else who bought them a drink and a meal. I had listened to his adventures with amusement and distaste; to get engaged to one of these women evoked concern. By contrast, I had been using the internet to find a new partner for over two years and thought my approach logical and systematic. And here, my manager, a former construction worker, overweight, with less education and resources, had found somebody to commit to in half the time.

Really! You haven’t known her very long.

Long enough to think we can make a go of it.

I gathered my thoughts as I absorbed the news. Tell me more about her… I assume you want to live here together.

That’s right. Ruby’s thirty-two, nice looking…used to work as a hairdresser but doesn’t have a job right now. Her last employer’s husband kept hitting on her, so she had to leave. I wondered if it would be okay if she ran the office instead of me. I’ll be able to refurbish vacated units faster, and I could take over the landscaping from Hanson Brothers.

I’m being hornswoggled into this. I raised my hand to slow down decision-making. Bill, I don’t want to be pressured into this. I thought for a moment. If I employ her, I’ll need to interview her. And you should understand I’ll probably have to assign some of your pay to her in order to meet minimum wage requirements.

Bill reluctantly acknowledged my last sentence and asked when I could interview Ruby. Anytime, I replied.

She’s at my apartment right now. I’ll go get her.

A few minutes later, Ruby walked into the office behind Bill, who introduced us. She had a Marilyn Monroe body, her low-cut pink top displaying the tops of firm, round, creamy breasts, her tight brown shorts revealing well-proportioned legs, thighs, hips, and buttocks, and her moderate waist emphasizing her curvaceous figure. Thirty-five, twenty-five, thirty-five on a five-feet-five-inch frame, I reckon. How about that! Every number a five. But for looks, a ten. Why would this babe be attracted to Bill, whom most gals would classify as a three or less? Why do we men initially classify a woman by her body? Sexual potential, of course. It’s always there, no matter our age. The voluptuous body, long blonde hair, and smiling face with its accentuated eyes made me stare.

Bill saw me staring and smiled, saying, She’s a looker, isn’t she?

I said hello to Ruby and put out my hand to shake hers. Instead, Ruby grinned and squeezed me tightly to her bosom, saying, It’s lovely to meet Bill’s boss. He says a lot of nice things about you.

Astonished and embarrassed at this unexpected almost-sexual embrace, I could only utter, My pleasure, and gently disengage myself. Bill’s going to have trouble with this gal.

Ruby waved her hand, displaying an engagement ring on her finger, and said, I’m so lucky to have a man like Bill, squeezing his thigh with her other hand. That ring has a two-carat sparkler with two green stones on the side set in gold. I just hope they’re all simulated; otherwise, Bill’s savings will be wiped out.

Still recovering from my astonishment, I asked a desultory question: Where did you live before you came to Los Angeles?

San Diego, she replied. I was there most of my life and came to this burg to find something livelier. And now I’ve hooked up with Bill.

Does that mean she thinks Bill’s a live wire? Is there a side of him I don’t know? She squeezed Bill’s thigh again and splayed her little finger to poke his crotch. Ruby saw I noticed the movement and winked. Bill is asking for trouble with this woman. I just hope I can find a reason to reject her. I asked a few questions and said I would mail her forms to fill out: an employment application, an I-9 employment eligibility form, a W-4 tax deduction form, and a copy of my controlled substance policy.

No problem, she replied and gave me another squishy tight embrace before she left the office.

Bill smiled at me in amusement. She’s a very affectionate gal. She loves to hug everybody.

I raised my eyebrows and told him there was no guarantee I would hire Ruby, but I would consider it carefully after I had checked her application. Bill grunted his acknowledgment. This development makes me very queasy. Pointless to attempt dissuading Bill out of this. Just have to see how it plays out.

Six in the morning next day found me at home listening over the phone to the booming voice of my interviewer, Jock Stevens, who seemed excessively confident and out of place at this small radio station, WBPT of Brownstown, Pennsylvania. Somehow, I expected a less strident voice, appropriate for the small community that WBTP served. Maybe his confident exposition would help sell my book. I waited as Stevens discussed local happenings: the break-in at Bert’s hardware store, the uproarious meeting of the chamber of commerce, the fete at Hepler Elementary School, the potholes along Brandon Street, the new eatery at Smith Avenue, a further candidate for mayor, and the local weather. Finally: "Our guest today is Pat Muir. He wrote the book, The Single Man’s Guide to a Quick Meal. We’ll be taking questions to Pat in a few. We have copies of his book for the first five people who call in. But first, let me ask Pat how he came to write the book."

I turned on my speakerphone and the connected tape recorder, since I record each interview. After I was divorced, I had to cook for myself. I wanted to make meals that took the minimum time and the minimum utensils. I finally compiled my ideas into a short book.

Did you ever cook for yourself before?

Oh yes. I cooked for myself—and my roommates—when I was in college thirty-five years ago.

Did you enjoy cooking then?

We all felt the same way. How could we bring good chow to the table in the minimum time with the fewest pots and pans? It was one of the necessary chores that interfered with our graduate studies, the others being buying groceries and washing dishes.

Which of these chores did you prefer?

We had good appetites but only a small refrigerator; thus, we bought groceries three or four times per week. If you were the procurer that week, you could buy the food you enjoyed. I liked certain types of food especially, so I preferred to shop. Unfortunately, some roommates developed an intense dislike for some of my preferences.

Such as?

Lorna Doone shortbread cookies. My roommates hated them so much that we agreed to buy our own cookies rather than use the communal budget. Of course, that worked both ways. I still have an abiding aversion to hot dogs and beans.

You don’t like hot dogs and beans, the classic American dish?

No, I don’t like them. I’ve managed to avoid eating them since I left college.

Stephens snorted before continuing. Were you the favorite cook among your roommates?

No. We usually took turns for the week. One roommate had his girlfriend come over for the weekend. She liked either to cook or to demonstrate her cooking skills to her boyfriend. She epitomized the cliché: ‘The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’ We knew a good thing and encouraged her return at the price of listening later to noisy lovemaking. Better meals those evenings for those of us not partying. Count me among those who stayed in for a good meal.

Do you have a favorite recipe? asked Stevens

Recipes are for people who enjoy cooking, I answered and then, after a short pause for effect, added, or those who need directions.

And you don’t need directions?

I don’t like directions. I chortled. I dislike people telling me what to do. That’s not to say I never use a recipe, but I prefer to think of cooking as a free-form art. You take what’s available and make something tasty from it without wasting time.

So, you don’t enjoy cooking?

Only that it’s necessary when I’m hungry. I’d much rather have somebody cook for me.

Does that mean you don’t care about food as long as you get it quickly?

Obviously, I like nice food better than mush. It’s simply a balance between remaining hungry and waiting for something that tastes better.

Do you advocate any particular quick meals in your book, Pat?

As a single man, I strongly believe in meals that can be heated or cooked quickly in a microwave oven. You simply have to pick those that have good nutritional value, and fully assuage your hunger. I found many TV dinners at the supermarket didn’t fill me up. I preferred the higher-calorie foods like Banquet Hungry Man meals for dinner and Jimmy Dean sausage, cheese, and egg croissants for breakfast.

Please, Stevens interrupted, no more proprietary names on the show, Pat. My producer doesn’t like it… So, does your book have any recipes?

There are a few recipes, such as bubble and squeak and toad in the hole from my days growing up in Scotland.

Bubble and squeak?

Fried leftover mashed potatoes with cabbage or spinach. Sounds revolting now I think of it, but it tasted very good to me as a child with an appetite. Boy, didn’t I hate that boiled spinach served at lunch or dinner—so wet, cold, and tasteless! The boiled cabbage was little better. But fried with potatoes and served hot for an evening snack, I remember to this day.

And what’s toad in the hole?

Sausages baked in an egg batter. Neither are my favorite foods now.

Then why did you put them in your book?

Nostalgia. They’re penance food, the kind of food you eat when you don’t want to drive to the store and your girlfriend has said she doesn’t want to see you anymore. They’re usually leftovers because you want to sulk in solitude. When you eat that kind of food—institutional food from my days at a Scottish boarding school—you are reminded things could be worse and there will be better food…and girlfriends…next time.

Girlfriends? Oh yes, you said you were divorced. Stevens paused. Do you have a current girlfriend?

No.

Then, you’re looking for one?

Oh yes, and I find most women on the internet think it’s a plus if a man can cook.

The internet… I think we should let listeners ask questions about this, said Stevens. Let’s take the first call… It’s from a Betty Harkin.

There was a pause of a few seconds before there came a voice that lay somewhere between the freshness of youth and the quavering of the elderly—I call it settled middle age—but not a voice exuding the confident warmth of women I wished to meet. Mr. Manure, have you found anybody on the internet yet?

Geez, nobody has called me manure since grammar school. Should I correct this lady or let it slide? Or should I counter with the story of President Truman’s daughter asking her mother if her father would use fertilizer instead of manure together with Bess Truman’s reply: You don’t know how long it took me to get him to say ‘manure.’

No, I haven’t found a partner yet. I did not mind this line of questioning, since my book suggested several ways for somebody else…usually a girlfriend…to cook or procure a meal. However, if the questioner were excessively serious, the lightheartedness of my book would be lost. To come across as a pompous misogynist would not help promote my book.

And you think the internet is a good place to find a partner? asked the lady.

Oh yes, Mrs. Harkin. Women who advertise on the internet are indicating they’re interested in a romance or some type of relationship. It’s much easier than approaching a stranger at a bar or cocktail lounge or expecting your friends to fix you up.

It’s Ms. Harkin, came the voice with emphasis on the Ms., and have you met many women on the internet?

Not too quick here, Pat. I’ve met fifty-six.

That’s a very large number—very specific. Are you simply keeping score?

Don’t like the tone in her voice. I bet she’ll next ask whether I’m truly searching for a partner or simply seeking to have serial relationships of a casual nature. Not that there’s anything wrong with that provided it’s made clear to the prospective partner. Most women value constancy and loyalty in their mate; I do also. Well, yes. I do keep a record of them by number since I remember numbers better than names.

But why so many? My former husband said I was only the second woman he ever dated.

"Finding a partner is a numbers business. An article in the Wall Street Journal said one should meet thirty screened prospective partners on average to find one suitable as a spouse or long-term partner."

Well, you are way over thirty. Are you just fussy?

No, I don’t think so. It’s a matter of probability. After thirty such meetings, the probability you haven’t met someone suitable is thirty-six percent. After meeting sixty women, the probability of not having met the right one is still significant at thirteen percent.

At fifty-six, I think you’re just fussy or a skirt chaser.

Jock Stevens interrupted before I could reply, an interruption I appreciated since I did not know what to say. The conversation had gone off track, and I was sure Stevens had cut off Ms. Harkin for that reason. Thank you, Betty, for your questions. We’ll send you a copy of Pat’s book… Let’s take another call… It’s from a Jean Smith.

The lady said in a stern voice, I’m a professional nutritionist. Those foods you mentioned are high in fats. You shouldn’t be eating them or, worse, promoting them in your book.

I had expected this kind of attack. Other internet ladies had said the same thing.

I don’t want to argue with you, Ms. Smith. Nutrition is your business. But I enjoy eating these foods. I don’t eat them all the time, and I’m healthy and not overweight.

After a pause: Mr. Muir, would you please tell more about the contents of your book? Why would anybody want to buy it if it is not really about cooking and you admit it contains few recipes? Isn’t your title a little fraudulent?

Ms Smith, my book discusses the problems a single man has in preparing a meal. Notice I do not use the word ‘cooking’ in my title, I replied. A man values his time, perhaps more than a woman, because society—sorry, I should have said commerce—also values it more.

That’s sexist, said the lady.

Time to duck on this issue. What I said may not be politically correct. The point I am making is that if one values one’s time, whether man or woman, and does not value food taste as highly as gourmets do, then preparing a meal quickly is a valuable asset. If it were not, there would be little demand for fast-food restaurants.

But surely, you’re going to lose taste, vitamins, presentation, ambiance, and all the other things that make eating worthwhile?

I liked these questions. She was getting to the heart of the matter. "I agree with you. Fast food is not for everybody. Morgan Spurlock, who made the movie Super Size Me about eating at McDonalds three times a day for a month, gained thirty pounds, a fatty liver, and reduced sexual potency. Any sensible person would have told him that eating five thousand calories each day, without engaging in an offsetting strenuous activity, would have led him to the conditions he experienced. Mind you, he made millions from his movie, so he would certainly have time and money to enjoy gourmet food later."

But you were saying earlier in the program about egg and sausage croissants for breakfasts and large-calorie meals for dinner. Are you not, in essence, doing what Spurlock did?

Ms Smith, you should read my book. I also advocate salads, buying delicatessen foods, eating with friends and relatives, and, for the single man, making friends with women who like to cook.

Jean Smith evidently had no response to this, and Steven terminated the dialogue.

Thank you, Jean. We’ll send you a copy of Pat’s book. There was a pause before he asked me, What food would you recommend to somebody who comes home late from work and doesn’t want to cook?

In those circumstances, especially if it’s been a hot day, I would make a strawberry protein drink. I put frozen strawberries in a blender, some ice and whey powder, usually adding orange juice to dilute it if I’m thirsty. You can add liquor if you need to forget the day you just had.

Do you have many days like that?

Not now, I replied. I did have days like that when I ran a motel. But that’s another story. An opportunity here, Pat. Run with it. I did write about my motel experiences as short stories, some of which were compiled into my first book.

Your first book?

Yes, I replied. "My first book, called Stories to Entertain You...If You Get Bored on Your Wedding Night." I emphasized the pause in the title of the book and was delighted that Stevens laughed.

We had better concentrate on your present book, Pat. We have give-away copies only of that one. Stevens paused. Did you invent that protein drink?

No. I learnt the recipe from Number 12, who believed I wasn’t eating right.

Number 12?

I can’t remember her name now. I paused, adding apologetically, It was more than two years ago.

Did she give you any other recipes?

She gave me the idea for my book because she didn’t care to cook. We ate out a lot, and my bringing food from a takeaway or a delicatessen satisfied her. Occasionally, I would make a meal, and she seemed to appreciate it.

Did she drop you, or was it the other way around?

We really were not compatible, but it took a few months to find that out. The end came when she continued to read poetry to me while food I had cooked cooled on the table. I could hear Stevens chuckling. I thought the poetry she read to me—prose written by a close friend of hers—was gibberish. I decided to pay her back by writing poetry and reading it to her at a later meal.

And how did that work out?

She said my stuff was doggerel and fiercely defended her friend’s writing. I said I preferred poems that rhymed—I even mentioned that Shakespeare’s sonnets rhymed. She said I, being a mere uncultured scientist, didn’t know what I was talking about.

Stevens chuckled. Did any of the other ladies give you recipes for your book?

I can’t think of any, I replied. I’m sure some of the ladies I met on the internet tried to impress me with their cooking, but I don’t remember any memorable meals. Most of the time, I took them out to dinner. Cooking for myself and dealing with Number 12 motivated me to write my book.

Did you ever cook for any other ladies you met on the internet, Pat?

Oh yes. I always kept frozen TV dinners in my freezer and could readily whip them out for myself and a guest.

Did you ever cook a meal for them from scratch rather than just heat prepared food?

No. I tried to avoid just that, though I could make a tossed salad in a pinch for those who talked about losing weight. I deliberately left the impression with many internet ladies that I didn’t know how to make a meal from scratch, thus encouraging them to show me they could do better.

I could hear Stevens chuckle. He paused, and I could sense my speakerphone being deactivated. Thank you, Pat, for being a guest on our show. A few seconds elapsed before he remembered to promote my book and mention the salient details. I turned off the tape recorder and put the phone on the hook. Stephens phoned me an hour later. Thank you for answering the questions from our callers, Pat. It was a good show with plenty of phone calls. It looks like your book stirred up controversy. Good luck with it. I thanked Stevens for the opportunity, said I would appreciate a return interview, and complimented him on his show. He sounded pleased as we said goodbye.

The interview by Jock Stevens had come from my contract with Radio and Television Interview Report (RTIR) to promote my book. For three thousand dollars, RTIR had agreed to get me thirty radiotelephone interviews in a contract similar to that for my first book, a compilation of short stories that, having no central theme, sold poorly. Clearly, to promote effectively, these interviews required focusing on a defined topic, such as a how-to-type book, the biography of a celebrity, or the details of a historical event. My new book on meals for single men was therefore much better suited to this type of marketing.

The Stevens interview had gone well, and I felt pleased with myself since it had lasted for some fifteen minutes, far longer than any previous interviews. I rewound the recorder and played it back. As I listened, I reviewed the questions raised by callers-in and concluded there were more questions about myself than the contents of the book. I would have to do better to motivate people to buy my book. Unfortunately, my book did not concern itself solely with cooking or food preparation. It dealt more with the fortunes of single men who, on leaving home, are poorly adjusted to not having a woman look after them. I would need to say something on that issue to distinguish my book from the plethora about cooking on the market. After reviewing the recording, I faxed employment documents to Ruby at the apartment building office.

Sonia Riley, my contact at RTIR, telephoned me later that day. Good afternoon, Pat. WBTP called me to say thank you for the radio interview, and they might be interested in having you back. I trust you sent them a thank-you note like I asked you to do for each completed interview?

Of course I have, Sonia, I lied, making a mental note to do so as soon as the phone call ended. I assume that if I’m asked back, it doesn’t count against the thirty interviews in the contract.

No, it won’t count against the thirty. But if you are called back, let me know. If you become popular on the radio circuit, then I can get you television appearances. They will cost you, but they are dynamite in promoting your book. That was your sixth interview with this book. How did it go?

Very well. It must have been, since you say they may call me back. Callers’ questions were directed as much to me as my book. One of them even called me ‘Manure.’

Better exploit it, Sonia replied, laughing. Tell them your name isn’t shit. Incidentally, have you had more inquiries on your book website following the WBTP interview?

No, Sonia, I haven’t seen any uptick there, I replied. It’s too early for that.

She continued: I’ve arranged interviews with KDIN of Denton, Iowa, and WBUV of Harrison, Virginia. They will be calling you to set up interview dates. You’d better send me a dozen more copies of your book. I’m sending them to producers who like cookbook authors on their shows.

It’s a joke cookbook, you know, Sonia. I got asked more questions about dating in the WBTP interview than about any meals I wrote about.

Well, let me remind you of how you are being promoted to producers. I sent you a copy of the ad sheet; it says to listen how guys on the internet cook for themselves and their girlfriends. It’s up to you whether to talk about the book as funny or serious.

Sonia had been my RTIR contact for my first book, where, in support of its title, she had promoted me to radio-show producers as the Honeymoon Expert. The label had been a source of amusement to us both since I had absolutely no supportive qualifications. It’s just hype to get their attention, Sonia had told me. When I had apprised Sonia of my divorce, our conversations had become personal, since we were both in the same position, namely unmarried and looking for new partners on the internet. We had concluded that the three thousand miles between us and our age difference precluded dating, but we appreciated sharing our search experiences. I found it useful to have a female perspective on interactions I had with internet women. On this occasion, I told Sonia about Ruby, emphasizing her anatomy and conduct.

Did you like being hugged by this Marilyn Monroe? Sonia asked, giggling.

"I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed. She’s a beauty. Does she hug everybody like that, or was I singled out because she wants a job from me? If I