Virginia strode into the luncheonette on Third Avenue at Sixteenth Street, and saw her girl friend at their usual booth.
"Hi, Patrice."
"Hi. You look down this morning."
Patrice was a short girl, no more than five-two. She had a slender figure, the kind that men said nothing intelligible about, confining themselves instead to sucking sounds and slurps. She had perfectly straight, brown hair and a dark complexion, and an absolutely lovely face. She used little make-up, and managed to look about sixteen most of the time. She and Virginia had been friends for two years, since meeting at a neighborhood carnival the day after Virginia moved into her apartment.
Virginia slipped into the booth and lit herself acigarette. It was a warm morning, and she was wearing shorts and a matching blue blouse. Her hair was tied back. She was, as usual, braless, andshe leaned forward for the ashtray, her arm outstretched, her unfettered fits were clearly visible through the material. The waiter stared pointedly at her jugs till Virginia looked up at-him. Then he broke off the gaze."The usual, missy?" he asked, smiling."For both of us," Patrice said quickly.
He hesitated, but both girls gave him hard looks and he ducked back to the counter area and started calling out the order in Greek.
"Come on, Ginny," Patrice said warmly."Get it off your chest. You're carrying enough of a load there already, you know."
Virginia smiled wanly."I don't want to bring you down, Patrice."
"No, I want to hear about it," she insisted.
Virginia told her, quickly and briefly, what had happened the night before. Explicitly, too. They had few, if any, secrets between them. When she was done, Virginia said, "I'm sick of this bar-scene bit, Patrice. All I seem to find are losers. Half the guys look like creeps. The ones that are good-looking are either stuck on themselves or just want a quick fuck."
"Come on now, Ginny, there're always some good ones there. You know that, deep inside." She giggled delightfully.
"I know deep inside."Virginia's smile was a shadowy reflection of her friend's.
"Sure there are. Usually they're mated. Want to hear about Ralph again?"
Patrice shook her head. Virginia had met Ralph six months before. She'd thought she really found a winner. They'd gotten along fabulously and were perfectly matched in bed. And then she'd found out he was mated, had three kids and a dynamite little wife in Oyster Bay who, unfortunately for Ralph, wouldn't go down on him.
"Well, what do you want to do about it, Ginny?" The two of them suspended the conversation long enough for the food to be placed in front of them. When the waiter had passed out of earshot, Virginia sighed deeply.
"I just want to be able to find men worth something more than their clothes, men with brains and practice in using them, men with hard pricks who know how to make a woman feel good. I know they're out there, Patrice. I just don't know where the fuck to find them."
She stopped and looked down at her plate, at the scrambled eggs and the home fries and the sausages. The sausages always made her think ofshort, fat cocks, hard and well-lubricated and ready to fuck her.
"Maybe you're just going about it the wrong way, Patrice said around a mouthful of eggs.
"What do you mean?"
"Why don't you do what I do?" Virginia smiled.
"Already tried that, remember?"
"Sure, I remember. How could I forget?" Patrice was an art and music freak. She went to all the galleries and coffeehouses and museums and concerts. And she managed to come home with company every time. Virginia had tried it. She, too, had managed to come home with company every time. The problem was that all of the guys she met that way were very "sober" and "aware" and "serious" and "down to earth" and were always looking for a crutch or someone to tell all their life's hopes and problems. That is, when they weren't too stoned to stand up. And with them, flicking was only an incidental sidelight, something that was taken for granted. Virginia constantly felt uncomfortable with the men she met that way. She also had a knack of attracting the nuts in those crowds. The last one had gotten her to his loft a ramshackle, converted warehouse and then announced that all he wanted to do was have her pisson him.
Which was why he'd been the absolute, solemnly vowed last she'd met that way.
The two munched their breakfasts in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Patrice spoke.
"Hey, why don't you try one of those computer-dating outfits?"Virginia made a face.
"Well, why not?"
"Think about it, Patrice. If the guys who registered with them were anything but losers, they wouldn't have to go with the computer-dating outfits, would they, huh?"Patrice made a face, then giggled.
"They might say the same thing about the girls who register with them. Are you a loser, Ginny?"
Virginia thought about that for a minute.
"You know, you're right." She thought some more, then nodded.
"You've got a point there. Now all I have to do is pick the right one. Any ideas?"Patrice looked thoughtful for a moment.
"Ummmm, one of the guys at work was telling me about a new one. Says he heard it was pretty good. Wouldn't tell me anything else about it, though."
"Do you know the name of it?"
Patrice dug through her oversized, crowdedpurse, then miraculously came up with a business car. She handed it to her girl friend.
Virginia examined the card. It was embossed with elegantly simple blue lettering.
"Match-Mate amp; Fun-Mate," she read.
"Two names?"Patrice nodded enthusiastically.
"He told me that one of them was for people who were looking for permanent-type relationships. The other is for, uh, what was it he said? Ummmmm… oh, yeah, he said the other one was for people who were just looking to find compatible people to have a good time with."
"Hmmm. You know, I think I'm going to look into this," Virginia said. She slipped the card into her purse and the two turned their talk to other things as they finished their Saturday-morning breakfast.