A Shopping Date

I went on a shopping date with one of my more lovestruck clients. He’s a short white man in his mid 30s with brown hair and a face usually covered in light stubble, with lips so thin they appear to recede into his mouth. Matt and I met months ago when he washed up at the club after a late night bender. He was throughly sloshed by the time I got to him, but he was smitten and stole me away that night for the next hour and a half. I gave him my number to coordinate the next time we might meet, which he took as a signal we were “talking.” Matt likes to text. He would text to see when I was waking up; what I was thinking on any given day; what my opinion was on various political topics he wanted explained. Matt lives a secluded life in a little studio apartment in Long Beach. Originally he had gotten the place as a temporary overnight spot when he was stuck working his late night job, but recently it became his permanent residence after he and his now ex girlfriend of a decade parted ways. Matt had been trying for several weeks to lure me out of the club. First with food: he offered me sushi from Nobu, ironically the spot nearly all of my “I wanna take you out on a real date” clients try to introduce me to. Then he offered to pay me to visit his home and “get to know each other with clothes on.” Finally he offered me a shopping spree, to help me prepare for one of my upcoming trips. Reluctantly, I agreed. We hadn’t seen each other in daylight, and I’d let the cat out of the bag that the hair he had met me in was a club only affair. We met at a large strip mall after a lot of back and forth over where to park and whether or not we should eat lunch before or after. I wore a conservative outfit, some relaxed fit jeans and a shirt that covered my cleavage. Matt arrived in an old t-shirt and cargo shorts holding a metal thermos.

Him: Wow! Here she is.

Me: Yes. Here I am.

It’s much easier for me to maintain a sweet facade in the club, where these kinds of interactions are normal and encouraged. It’s very different to go out into the world of conventional people, families, yuppies on a lunch break, and Chinese tourists, while on a sugar date, primarily because clients don’t tend to have any sense of discretion.

Him: Where to first?

Me: I need some jeans from Levi’s.

Him: A girl on a mission! Or should I say woman?

Me: Ha. Yes.

We turned toward the Levi’s store and started walking. Matt reached into the front of his shorts to scratch his balls. He didn’t realize I was watching. I looked down at the thermos.

Me: What’s in there?

Him: Energy drink. Want some?

Me: No thanks.

Him: Actually, before we go by Levi’s, let’s make a stop at Banana Republic. I have a ton of money left on my gift cards that I need to use before they expire. Maybe you can find some stuff you like?

Me: Uh, sure.

We popped into Banana Republic. I hadn’t really considered shopping at BR, but I started browsing through the racks while Matt followed behind me.

Him: See anything you like, “Alanaaaa?” I feel like I shouldn’t even be calling you that. You gotta tell me your real name!

The man had no volume control. I gave him a withering look. He backed down.

Him: I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t wanna. I just think, now that we’re hanging out and you can see that I’m not some creepy dude, you can tell me.

Me: Maybe.

Him: Is it okay if I go look at the men’s side?

Me: Yeah, of course.

We split ways. I found a dress shirt and puffer vest I wanted. I tried on several pairs of jeans, but they were all too large for me. I circled back to find Matt. He was picking through a pile of sale t-shirts, holding two in his arms along with a blue and white plaid button down.

Him: That was quick! Did you find anything?

Me: Yep.

I showed him my two items.

Him: That’s it? You sure you don’t want anything else?

Me: Positive.

Him: What do you think about these?

He unfolded the t-shirts. They were tacky and unremarkable.

Me: They’re fine. Do you like them?

Him: Not really, I just wanted to find two because it was a two-for-one sale. Maybe I shouldn’t get them.

Me: Don’t buy something you’re not in love with.

Him: How did you get so wise? You’re right.

Me: Ready?

We went to the checkout. Matt pulled out a piece of paper he had written down the numbers for his various gift cards and rewards codes. I placed my items on the counter and the cashier plugged in enough points that the purchase was free. Lucky Matt.

Him: That worked out perfectly! Where to next?

I went through my list. We stopped by the Levi’s store and I got some jeans. We popped into an Adidas outlet where I got a sports bra. I let him watch me try it on. I got leggings from an ASICS. I looked around for a pair of boots, but nothing struck my fancy. We shopped for a few hours until I was exhausted from picking things and entertaining Matt. While we had been walking, I’d noticed he smelled faintly like he had been drinking.

Me: Did you grab a beer before you came to see me?

Him: How did you know?

Me: I could smell it on you.

Him: Is it that bad?

He tried to sniff himself.

Me: No, I just have a sensitive sense of smell.

Him: You caught me, girlie. I hadn’t known how this would go— how much damage. Actually it’s been much better than I expected! You’re not a typical girl who likes to shop and shop. You know what you want and you get it. It’s impressive, as usual. Anyway, I stopped by a liquor store along the way and got some vodka. Put it in with my energy drink.

Me: You’ve been drinking this whole time?

Him: Just a little bit. Just enough for a buzz. I’m not an alcoholic. Don’t let this change your feelings for me.

Me: Don’t worry, my feelings are the same.

Him: Well good!

I was still repulsed by Matt with his clinginess and love of basic white man clothing choices. I wondered, what if I had accepted some of his “energy drink” earlier? Would he have stopped me before I went for it, or let me drink and hope I wouldn’t notice the liquor?

I let him buy me lunch after that. I wanted to go, since I’d gotten my haul, but I knew his heart was set on sharing a meal. We sat at a table in the food court and shared shawarma. I ate like that meme of Kristen Dunst devouring a salad with Jake Gyllenhaal sitting beside her looking on with disgusted disbelief. Matt wanted to share a drink together. I told him I was getting over a cold and didn’t plan on drinking alcohol, but I would order a “mocktail.” He ordered beer, I asked the bartender to be creative with something nonalcoholic. It was awkward. I could tell this was the moment he had been waiting for, where he might have the opportunity to catch me with my defenses down, to meet the “real” me. But here we were, me not drinking, still going by my fake name, sitting side-by-side in near silence. I appreciated the Matt wasn’t trying to pull me in close or initiate any physical contact. I felt we looked mismatched together, not because of age or race, just stylistically. He’s like an old bro, and I’m a weird art girl. I guess Tinder has initiated weirder matches. We ended the date after that. He asked if he could kiss me. I agreed, even as I eyed his sunken lips with suspicion. I pecked him twice and pulled away after he tried to extend the second kiss for too long.

Him: I got do that forever. Mmmm mmmm.

Me: Thanks for everything.

Him: My pleasure. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime?

Me: Maybe. Goodnight, Matt.

I packed my bags in the trunk then got into my car, kicking myself. My hadn’t I gone harder? Why am I so bad at being demanding? I tried to think of what else I might have wanted, but I couldn’t think of anything. I had only wanted what was on my list. I let out a giant exhale, relieved at least to be alone again.