The Agency

By M. L. Caggiano

The life of Eddie Bartlett, a lonely, timid Wall Street research analyst, changes dramatically after he hires the Reynard Agency to help him meet beautiful women using their unique dating system.
What he didn’t know, what no one knew, was that he would meet the girl of his dreams and that death and destruction would follow as he desperately tried to keep her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Aug 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483415994

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CAGGIANO

Copyright © 2014 M.L. Caggiano.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1600-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1599-4 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date:11/21/2014

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgement

Introduction

ACT ONE

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

Twenty Five

ACT TWO

One

Two

Three

Four

ACT THREE

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

Twenty Five

Twenty Six

Twenty Seven

Twenty Eight

Twenty Nine

Thirty

Thirty One

Thirty Two

Thirty Three

Thirty Four

Thirty Five

Thirty Six

Thirty Seven

Thirty Eight

Thirty Nine

Forty

Forty One

Forty Two

Forty Three

Forty Four

Forty Five

Forty Six

Forty Seven

Forty Eight

Forty Nine

Fifty

EPILOGUE

One

Two

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all who read it.

I wrote it for you and I wrote it for me.

Acknowledgement

Editor - Megan Records (www.meganrecords.com)

Front Cover Art – Art Landerman (www.artlanderman.com)

Back Cover Art – Illiah Manger (www.twotwentytwodesign.com)

Introduction

Thursday, November 21, 2013. 5 pm.

At five hundred eighty nine square feet, the one bedroom apartment located in New York City was bigger than average. It had a galley kitchen, small living room and a huge bedroom. It was painted in soft pastel colors with generic art and pictures covering the walls. Although simple, its furnishings were purchased for comfort and intimacy. Everything was sufficient for one purpose, and nothing more.

Inside the cramped bathroom, just off the bedroom, steam from the shower rose up and floated aimlessly to the mirror above the porcelain sink where it condensed into a light fog. The soft music playing in the background was drowned out by the sound of rushing hot water. It didn’t matter anyway, the motionless woman in the stall, standing with arms at her sides and head bent down, silently cried under the relentless deluge. She was completely lost in thought and couldn’t hear a thing.

I’ll get you, Mr. Harrington, she finally declared before turning off the water. "I know where you’ll be tonight and I know when."

She pushed the door open and stepped out in front of the mirror. Dripping wet, she slowly rubbed the glass to reveal her distorted reflection previously obscured by the fog. Gazing at the unattractive face, and the features that made it that way, she picked up a towel and watched herself methodically pat her face and body to soak up the last of the purifying water that came from the pipes and her eyes. She wrapped the towel around her hair and slipped into a black silk robe before heading to the closet.

Now, let me see, she whispered under her breath, fingers strumming across the cocktail dress section of her extensive wardrobe. Stopping at a backless coral chiffon, one with silver crystal embroidery and a lace tie up, she pushed the adjacent garments aside and gently pulled it out.

"Yes. This one."

The woman laid the dress on her king-sized bed and placed a pair of five-inch silver stiletto heels next to it, along with a pair of shimmering silver thigh high nylons and satin string bikini panties. They were pink with an orange hue.

She walked over to an elaborate vanity and picked up the cell phone laying next to a glass of cabernet sauvignon. She stared at the photograph one more time. His face was rugged with graying black hair and serious deep-set eyes that stared back at her. She imagined what he would see through them later.

"I know you. I read your file, she told him, I won’t fail like the others."

She put the phone back and sipped the wine. With a quick twist of the head she unwound the towel to shake free the tangled mess inside.

Over the next three hours, she expertly styled her hair, applied her makeup, donned her attire and sprayed perfume exactly where it belonged. The entire ritual was specifically designed for just one person and only one purpose. It all came together when she stood before the full length mirror to judge her work.

"You don’t stand a chance," she soberly proclaimed with excited brown eyes and no smile.

The woman put on her coat, grabbed a clutch and surveyed the apartment to ensure everything was in perfect order. And then she went out to hunt Mr. Harrington down.

ACT ONE

One

Eddie.

Thursday. March 21, 2013. 2:30pm.

So where we goin’ huntin’ tonight? You decide yet? Dave Castro asked Eddie Bartlett, his subordinate of three years, after childishly sneaking up on him while he sat at his desk. Eddie was completely absorbed in an S-1 Form required for the initial public offering of Saturn Systems Inc. of Mountain View, California, and didn’t see or hear him coming.

"Geez, Dave, I still don’t know, he replied, irritated at the unexpected interruption. Eddie hadn’t given the question a second thought since it came up at lunch earlier that day. How about ‘The Munich’ in Brooklyn? Just opened, I hear they have 2000 draught beers and just as many women. You can try tapping them all."

Don’t tempt me, dude. he warned, "But, to be the Castro-nova, I gotta go where I’m familiar…I hunt best where I’s knows the terrain. You know that."

So why’d ya ask? Eddie replied, not looking up as he concentrated on deciphering the vast array of numbers contained in the financial disclosure.

"Because. I make the list of bars we hit, and you pick from it, remember?" Dave’s logic was flawlessly democratic and equally unchangeable.

Ok, fine. Eddie acquiesced, not wanting to argue anymore. He didn’t think it mattered which bar the women were going to reject him at anyway. "Let’s go to the ‘Three Mile Marker,’ again." He emphasized the ‘again’ part to get credit for his sacrifice. He was used to giving in to Dave—everyone else did.

To Eddie, Dave was a classic ‘chick magnet,’ pure and simple. Had women all the time, all sorts of them. He was jealous of Dave’s astonishingly consistent luck with the ladies, despite having the same average looks as his own. Eddie went along to learn his tricks, maybe pick up a cast off, or help break up a deuce. But, it rarely worked out. Dave’s unabashed approach to introducing himself to the opposite sex and an uncanny ability for flirtatious small talk couldn’t be imitated. He was as bold and fearless as Eddie was timid and measured. The results couldn’t be disputed: Dave was an attraction and Eddie a repellant. Eddie was thirty three years old, single, and well paid. The highly trained quantitative analyst in him repeatedly calculated he was a winning combination for any girl, except for the fact the women weren’t buying it.

His only foray into online dating a year earlier ended in exasperation and defeat when his email in-box proved lonelier than he was. So, for the past three years, ever since Dave hired him to work at Rutherford, Baxter, and Wilcox Equity Partners, or RBW as it was known, they would prowl New York’s bars together, not in search of Miss Right, but Miss Right-Now.

Lately, however, Eddie was reaching the point of giving up altogether, resigning himself to a life void of female companionship and the chance for true love or any other kind. He was frustrated and angry, tired of watching his friend and boss score while he habitually struck out. And so it was and so it went.

Two

‘Three Mile Marker’ was located in Greenwich Village on the lower east side of Manhattan. It was famous for its throngs of young patrons packing it in every night of the week. It also never closed. Day or night, a thirsty customer could get any drink of his choosing. And it had four happy hours a day, at six am, noon, six pm, and midnight, when everything was half price.

Eddie and Dave met outside the bar exactly at nine pm. Dave insisted on strict punctuality. It was another Thursday night and the unofficial start to the weekend. The men made their way past the bouncers and into the main seating area, which contained an enormous wooden bar filled with four full-length parallel shelves brimming with every commercially available form of liquor. The massive collection of alcohol, with its endless array of shapes and colors, mirrored glass, and bright lights, produced a visually intoxicating effect. To the alcoholic, it was bottled pornography, to everyone else, it was just plain exciting.

The middle of the main room had tall rectangular wooden tables and lamps, with regular square tables and chairs forming its perimeter. Dark, heavily padded booths lined the three non-bar sides of the big room. The layout was a physical invitation to mingle with the crowd in the middle, sit with a small group of friends on the side, or occupy a private booth for intimate conversation with someone special. The challenge was to start in the middle and work your way out as you pursued the object of your desire. Everyone knew the game and played it with hedonistic abandon.

As usual, Dave powered ahead of Eddie and instantly spotted three feet of unoccupied real estate at one end of the standing tables located across the bustling room. Dave didn’t actually see the exposed wooden table as much as he saw two heads far enough apart to know what it meant. He knew what he was looking for and raced to claim it.

Follow me! Dave shouted over his shoulder, quickening his step before someone else grabbed the valuable space. Eddie struggled to keep up as he wove through the bodies of laughing women, attentive men, and harried waitresses.

Ok! Eddie yelled back above the din of rap music blaring from the ubiquitous set of loudspeakers mounted every five feet. The pulse from the bass, coupled with ear-piercing treble, assaulted his body mercilessly as he strained to walk a straight line behind Dave’s expert ducking and weaving. They had to get set up fast to begin the evening’s quest and conquer.

Eddie found him with his back to the table, arms stretched out a foot from each side, physically declaring the space his personal territory. The body language was clear: No one else need inquire or attempt to invade it.

Perfecto! Dave declared as he hailed a waitress for the next step in the process: beer. Only then could the search for women begin in earnest.

We can see the entire room from here. We got lucky tonight! Dave gushed like a kid on Christmas day. What’ll you have? First round is on me!

Eddie pondered the question for a few seconds; the waitress hadn’t arrived yet. He was still soaking in the two hundred or so people standing, sitting, talking, and laughing. He felt overwhelmed, like he had crashed a party he wasn’t invited to. He didn’t know anyone, didn’t know what to say, or what to do. Eddie’s familiarity with the bar couldn’t prevent the anxiety from building. It was at these moments he most appreciated Dave’s relaxed fearlessness.

How about a Beck’s? Eddie asked. I tried a clone recipe at home, can’t wait to compare them.

Good choice, or at least it was before they started making it in America. Hopefully yours is more like the real deal, until then, me thinks I’ll have the Bitburger Pils.

Dave caught the attention of a lovely young waitress wearing a cropped white blouse that barely covered two delightfully plump breasts and a tight black leather mini-skirt. The ensemble screamed ‘fuck me’ in the nicest way.

Hi darlin’. Dave said, looking her over like he just got out of prison. Two beers, Beck’s for him, Bitburger for me. Ok?

The waitress ignored his leering eyes and nodded understanding. She left without saying a word only to be accosted by another patron a few steps away.

So, what do you think? Eddie asked, scanning the room for unaccompanied females.

"Well, how about that long haired brunette over at the bar? The one waiting for a drink…she looks lonely enough to me….ergo…. just my type!" Dave had the eyes of an eagle circling the sky for a mouse. Not waiting for a response, he bolted straight for her with singular determination, abandoning his friend in the process.

Eddie watched him in wonder as he walked right up to the strange woman and started talking to her. He could see him lean in to speak, getting closer and closer to ostensibly overcome the sonic interference coming from the Bose Corporation. She was very attractive, five-six, slim, and in her early twenties. She turned her head to accommodate Dave’s every attempt to talk, laughing as she did so.

God Almighty. Eddie swore under his breath in disbelief. "She’s listening to him."

Her body swayed and twisted as they exchanged information. She nodded quickly and curled her hair with her finger while Dave showered her with his libido-driven attention.

What the fuck is he saying to her? Eddie hissed under his breath, amazed and annoyed. "Does it always have to be that easy for him? Christ." He couldn’t bear to look any longer, and couldn’t look away, either.

A few minutes later, with a mixed drink in her hand, Dave led his sexy little trophy back to meet Eddie and share their space at the end of the standing table. Eddie could tell Dave was already looking for a nearby table to sit at, or better yet, a private booth.

Eddie, this is Margaret…Margaret, this is Eddie, a guy I work with at RBW.

Hi, how are you? Eddie replied, extending his hand and shaking it gently, bewildered at how it all happened so fast.

Dave’s radar soon locked onto a group of three people rising simultaneously from their table.

Hey, let’s grab that before they leave. Dave commanded as he instantly moved to intercept the trio before anyone else saw them. Eddie could tell he was really on, almost hyperactive. He accompanied Margaret to their new location as Dave rearranged the chairs.

What about our drinks? Eddie asked, realizing he needed one badly now.

Have faith, the waitress will find us, or we’ll find her. Don’t be such a worry wart, Dave replied. Margaret laughed, making Eddie feel diminished and self-conscious.

Ok, I’ll keep an eye out. Eddie volunteered.

You do just that, and I’ll do the same. Dave responded, staring deeply in Margaret’s dark brown eyes as he said it.

So, what do you do, Margaret? Eddie asked, trying to improve his status as a potted plant.

"Oh, I am a barista at the Starbucks on 83rd Street while I go to Columbia for my bachelors."

I’ll bet you make a great doppio macchiatto, soy, extra foam, ristretto Grande! Dave said, continuing his shower of excessive attention.

Oh I do! And I’d better, they train you forever. Did you know you can’t own a franchise until you have worked for the company for a whole year?

Really? Is that your plan, to own one and solve world thirst one cappuccino at a time? Dave asked.

Eddie rolled his eyes and turned his head away in mild amusement, just in time to see their waitress fight through the crowd with a huge tray of drinks hoisted overhead. The tray was chaotically stocked with assorted bottles of beer, drafts, cocktails, and wine. Eddie shot his hand up like a third grader trying to get his teacher’s attention.

$18.50. The waitress said flatly, twirling and lowering the tray down to their table. She looked at Eddie for payment.

"No…..I got it…..my treat. Dave interjected while gazing at Margaret to prove his generous nature. He stood, reached into his back pocket for his wallet, took out a twenty and a five, and handed them to the waitress. Thanks." He said with definiteness.

The waitress understood Dave meant keep the change. She didn’t smile, or express any gratitude for the tip. She just turned and walked away, raised the tray in one fluid motion and headed back into the crowd.

Okay, now, a toast! Dave demanded, raising his Bitburger high above the table, expecting the others to follow.

What are we toasting? Margaret asked.

Well, I’m off to China for the next six months to set up RBW’s new branch office in Hong Kong, and this is a salute to our last great night together in good ole’ NY….NY!

The reminder that Dave was leaving still stung Eddie. As much as he resented his immature approach to life, Dave was still his best friend and mentor. If it wasn’t for him, he would never have landed a job at the firm so soon after graduating, when the majority of his class sweated the industry’s collapse. And now their weekly pursuit of the opposite sex was about to abruptly end. Eddie would be on his own.

That’s right, China here I come! Dave exclaimed to his friends, old and new.

Oh, how exciting! We’ll just have to make your last night memorable enough to last six months! Margaret purred, completely ignoring Eddie.

Eddie peered into his beer as the conversation between Dave and his date faded into the lively background conversations going on all around him. He felt isolated in the company of friends.

Hey, Eddie, how about that one? Over there. Dave nodded at a standing table ten feet away and pointed his beer in a girl’s direction. A beautiful blonde young lady stood alone, sipping on a straw. She wore fashionable dark-rimmed rectangular glasses and a short dress colored somewhere between hot pink and bright red. It was an alluring design that followed the soft contours of her body. Eddie’s interest in her grew along with the fear of approaching her, paralyzing him into inaction.

"Go for it, dude. She ain’t no prospectus, there’s nothing to read. To get her numbers, you have to talk to her. Now go!" Dave demanded.

Margaret gave Eddie a puzzled look. What’s the big deal? She’s by herself, right? She didn’t come here to stay that way. Better hurry before someone else beats you to her.

"Pay attention, she knows what she’s talking about. Take the risk, boy. It’s what Miss Hot Pink dress wants, it’s what you want. Now fucking go!"

Okay, okay! Eddie protested. I’m going, I’m going. I’m just trying to think of what I’ll say.

"Jesus, tell her you like the dress and wondered what else she’s got that’s pink." Dave shot back with a crooked smile.

Margaret lightly slapped Dave on the chest. You’re terrible. Don’t tell him that. She turned to Eddie and said, Tell her you were admiring her from across the room and want to know her name. The rest will follow. Better hurry.

No risk, no reward. You’re not at work, my boy. Can’t conduct cost/benefit analysis when it comes to women. No wonder you still have trouble, now get moving! Dave and Margaret stared at Eddie until he was too uncomfortable to remain seated. He got up and slowly walked over to the compelling young blonde.

Eddie strolled up just as she raised her drink to her lips. Ahhh…hi, my name’s Eddie, I couldn’t help admiring you from……

The fuck you want? demanded the six foot, two hundred ten pound male that arrived just as Eddie opened his mouth.

He turned to see a menacing face and a finger being pushed into his chest. The girl slowly lowered her drink to watch.

Ahhhh, na…na…nothin’. Eddie stammered.

Then fucking do… na…na…nothin’ someplace else. The male growled while wrapping his arm around her.

Yeah…sure….sorry, don’t want any trouble, Eddie squeaked.

Fuck off. He ordered.

Eddie didn’t respond and didn’t look at the girl again, instead he pivoted and headed back to the safety of Dave and Margaret.

When he returned, Dave had to laugh, Geez, I said to say ‘hello’, not start a brawl!

I’m sorry Eddie, bad timing. Margaret offered.

Tell me about it. That guy came out of nowhere. I knew I shouldn’t have gone over there. I knew it.

"Forget it, dude. Win some, lose some. It cost you nothing. Factor that. How do you think that schmuck got her in the first place? He walked up to her and started talking. You have to fight for these chicks. It’s the way the world works."

I don’t like fights or confrontations. Never have. Eddie admitted without making eye contact with anyone.

Yeah, I know. But the world’s built on interaction. If I hid in my work like you do, I would never have met Margaret here. Dave tightened his arm around her and leaned in to give her a quick kiss. She put her hand on his chest and kissed him back. See?

Eddie had enough. Ya know, I gotta get up early tomorrow, why don’t I leave you and Margaret alone to celebrate the start of your adventure in China and I’ll see you later, if and when you get in to pack your stuff.

I understand….my plane takes off late tomorrow night, so let’s do lunch before I head out.

Ok, sounds good, nice meeting you, Eddie said to Margaret.

Nice meeting you, too, she replied.

Eddie rose from his seat, shook hands all around and sauntered out of the bar. It was barely ten thirty. He hailed a passing taxi and headed home. Another fruitless fucking evening, he lamented. This has got to end, something has got to change.

Three

Eddie slowly climbed the front stairs to his tiny apartment on 101st Street, where he had lived since coming to New York. He punched the code into the security pad to let himself in the front door, walked up two sets of stairs, turned right and found himself standing in front of his own door. Apartment 3B. He was home. Home alone, again.

Eddie pushed the key into the lock, turned the metal tumblers with quiet defeat, and gently opened and shut the door. He took off his jacket and walked over to a small storage freezer he converted into a makeshift kegerator. He knew his homebrewed concoction was too young to drink yet; it hadn’t lagered long enough for a pilsner, but didn’t care. He selected an Irish style beer glass off the shelf and poured himself an Imperial pint of high content alcohol.

After holding the glass up to the light to study its clarity and color, he swallowed a quarter of it and parked himself in front of his large plasma TV, stretching his legs onto the rectangular wooden coffee table. Flipping through a myriad of relentlessly useless channels, Eddie questioned if any anyone actually aired entertainment anymore as commercial after commercial came on. As he was about to turn the set off and go to bed, he selected ESPN2 in a final attempt to find something interesting to watch. Another commercial appeared instead of a sports highlight. It was an ad for eHarmony.

Goddammit! Eddie shouted at the fifty inch box glowing in front of him.

Agitated, he sat and glared at the elderly gentleman talking about meeting a mate for those tired of the bar scene. His frustration grew. He was still upset about the girl in the pink dress and her jerk date. And now he had to endure a dating commercial as reminder. He was angry at the world, especially the sappy pitchman. A procession of happy faces, loving couples, and interesting places flashed across the screen to prove a microprocessor was better at getting a guy a date than the classic method of food, music and alcohol. The world had turned to computers and the information age to ironically replace the human role in social interaction to satisfy the human need for social interaction. Boy wants girl, so use the internet. I’s and O’s for X’s and O’s. Data for dates.

Out of options, Eddie considered giving internet dating another try.

Perhaps it’s time to admit defeat and adjust. What’s that saying about the definition of insanity? Maybe it’ll be different this time. Eddie said to no one in the room.

He reached over to his briefcase on the floor, pulled out his laptop and booted it up.

Eddie Googled dating services for the next half hour, checking them out, one after another. He found eHarmony, Match.com, single Christians, single Jews, single this and single that.

He had forgotten how many sites there were to choose from. Even one for single moms. The ubiquitous smiling, beautiful, happy faces on every site made him skeptical all over again.

Marketing bullshit, he said with disgust.

Continuing his cynical search, he came across an obscure and totally unique advertisement, one with no faces and very little copy. It simply stated, "‘The Reynard Agency’….’Where Your Pleasure is our Business.’ ‘Call 1-888-666-5555 anytime for an interview that will change your love life forever.’"

How odd, he thought.

Out of sheer curiosity, Eddie dialed the phone number, even though it was eleven thirty pm.

Hello? A young woman’s voice answered on the first ring. The Reynard Agency, may I help you?

Ahhhh, hi….I was…I mean…I found your ad on the internet and thought I would call.

Great. First time? She asked.

Yes.

Ok. Were you referred to us before seeing the website?

No, just found you searching the web.

Very good. We can start the interview process now if you like. Unless you have some questions. What’s your name?

Ah…yeah, sure….Eddie, Eddie’s my name, I don’t know where to begin.

Well, like our ad says, we interview you, and then, if you’re found to be eligible, we’ll explain the nature of our service to you. We are very discreet and it starts at first contact.

I don’t think I understand. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake.

Oh, I doubt that. Everyone has the same reaction. The Reynard Agency prides itself on anonymity and complete discretion. If we begin that way, you will have faith in what we can do for you.

Well, what can you do for me?

We arrange for you to meet women, if that is what you are interested in, according to your specifications, at regular intervals, to establish satisfying, yet temporary relationships. How we do that is proprietary information and only for our clients to know after we find them eligible. That is what the interview process is for.

You mean I have to convince you to make me a client?

Yes.

Silence.

Eddie?

I’m here.

Let’s start over and take this one step at a time. Did you call because you desire to meet beautiful women?

Yeah, the bar scene is not working for me.

I understand. It really doesn’t work for most people.

You don’t know my friend Dave.

Perhaps not, but we know a lot of people, and they all say the same thing.

"Ok, what’s your name?" Eddie asked, putting his feet up on the coffee table, crossing his legs.

My name is Charlotte. I am an employee of the Reynard Agency, here in New York, and I screen potential clients to ensure suitability with the Agency’s mission.

You certainly sound professional enough.

Why thank you, and frankly so do you…so, tell me about yourself.

Well, I work at a securities firm on Wall Street, I’m 33 years old, white, 5 foot 8 inches, about 180 pounds. I live alone in New York, make a good six figure salary and want to date women. I just have the worst luck.

Luck has nothing to do with it. It’s confidence. Let me ask you, if you were certain that the next woman you asked out would say yes, guaranteed, would you do it?

Sure. I believe that’s where the phrase ‘New York minute’ comes in.

Good. Now, what if I told you that one woman in ten was guaranteed to say yes. Would you be willing to endure nine no answers to get to the first yes?

"That’s what I’ve been doing, but I never get to Miss First. If I did, I wouldn’t be calling you good people at twelve o’clock on a Thursday night." Eddie could feel his temper rising. He didn’t like confessing his inadequacies to a stranger over the phone, although he found her line of questions intriguing.

And now you are thinking of not asking them out anymore, or maybe you have already stopped?

"Correct. I am trying to replace my approach with your computer. Right? Isn’t that what you do?

No, I’m afraid not. We don’t do anything of the sort.

Silence.

Eddie chugged down the last of his beer and put his feet on the floor. Charlotte, you seem nice, but I think I should hang up, I feel like you’re playing games with me. Thanks anyway.

Eddie wait, give me a few minutes. We can help you. I’m sure of it. Just follow me here and you will understand. Will you do that for me?

Ok, he said, letting out an impatient sigh.

Thank you. What we do is build your confidence in being successful with women so that you will ask them out regularly, which will create an active, satisfying love life all year long.

You build my confidence?

Yes, a confident man will be more successful with women than an unconfident one.

Agreed, Dave is super-confident and gets more dates than Jeter.

And what builds confidence?

Getting laid once in a while would certainly help. Sorry, don’t mean to be crude.

That’s okay. I’ve heard it before. So, if you were lucky that way once in a while, would you try harder?

Absolutely. But it ain’t working, hence this phone call.

That is what the Reynard Agency is all about, Eddie. We increase your chances of meeting willing, beautiful women, to build confidence so you will act to meet even more.

"Ok. How?"

"Now that, I can’t say exactly. Not until you are found eligible. Please understand that our business is specifically designed to help you meet and date women. And, I must say, we do it very well. We can’t guarantee one hundred percent success, because a lot depends on you, but if you are earnest in you efforts, we have a remarkable record of achievement. You will not be sorry."

Charlotte paused before continuing. Why don’t you come in for an interview at our office suite in Manhattan, and we can explore this in more depth. I am certain we can help you. I can set you up with Miss Michelle, a specialist. She’s one of our very best.

And just how much does this service cost?

Everything will be explained to you at the interview, but I can say the first month is totally free.

You know what, Charlotte? Fine. Tell me when and where.

Four

Eddie arrived at 1015 52nd Street at ten o’clock in the morning the next day. He brought with him the required proof of employment and salary, though he remained skeptical he would actually share it.

He noticed the woman sitting at the reception desk was exceptionally attractive but did nothing about it.

Hi, I’m Eddie Bartlett, I’m here to see Michelle.

Yes, may I see some identification?