Valentine's Day

Valentine's Day

         It was a cold, dark rainy day in Metro City, just as the weatherman had forecast it the evening before. The bus pulled up to the curb, right as Mr. Vitale walked up to the bus stop from the street behind it. He had on his raincoat, a grey formless entity that was almost a necessity year around. It was accessorized by a nice big black umbrella. The pudgy Mr. Vitale boarded the bus, ignoring the protesting people standing there soaked from the spray of the bus hitting the standing water in the street. He had been boarding the bus almost ten years straight, five days a week, eleven months a year. He had always been that way; frugality and commonsense ruled his life. He had gone to college on a scholarship. His choice of majors had been accounting. There was no other major that made more sense to him. The world revolved around discretionary income, which was determined by the amount left over after all expenses had been taken care of...including taxes. He spent one hundred and fifty dollars on a yearly bus pass, he only shopped at stores that were wholesale or deeply discounted, and his home was paid for by the end of his fifth year in the neighborhood.
         His pasty white face had a moustache neatly trimmed, but the water was streaming down into his eyebrows, his neatly combed coal black hair was plastered to his forehead. The only reason he was going in to work today, Saturday, February 14, 2009, was to finish his accounting for last quarter's reports. He was usually there after hours, but he didn't complain. He worked overtime so that he could afford a nice vacation for a month in some place sunny like Cozamel. He filed to his seat on the bus, just as everyone else did. He didn't appear to be anyone special, just another faceless person in the crowds on the city buses and subways riding into the dark, sunless city.
         His idea of being a millionnaire by the time he was thirty was his first feat in his long list of goals. He silently checked them off at the end of each day, week, month, year, decade. He slowly began to realize, however, that his frugal life left him empty inside. He felt alone sometimes in the world. He had made a few feeble attempts at dating the local single female dating pool, but he honestly didn't appear that attractive. His short, pudgy legs and his stocky waist didn't really make him that attractive to the uptown ladies looking for the tall, dark, and handsome. He had a big nose, like all the Italian Vitales in Metro City. He wore fashionable eyewear, designer even made of titanium. He just didn't impress the female population. So, he finally listened to his mother, who was pressuring him at the age of forty-five, to give her some grandchildren. He had to find a Mrs. Vitale. He finally decided that after he finished balancing the reports today, he would go to the Speed Date Event that he had read about in the neighbor's morning paper.(He borrowed it at four a.m. while the neighbor slept, reading it, then carefully folded it back up and put it in the bag by 5 a.m.. The neighbor never knew.)
The Speed Date was to be held at the downtown Marriott at 6p.m.
         The day at the office flew by, and he was done by 11:30. He logged out of the payroll system at 12:00p.m. He went next door to the local sandwich shop. He bought his lunch every day from the same shop, ordering the same thing off the menu. The Italian Delight submarine was a value at only four dollars and ninety-five cents. Add to that the value meal, and you were talking six dollars and nine cents with tax. That included drinks with refills and potato chips. He munched on his sanwich, seated at the plate glass window store front table so he could watch other miserable souls drudging down the soggy street in the constant drizzle. The rain had let up some, but the skyscrapers above the fifth floor were still shrouded in a gray murky mist. He had spent a little extra time preparing for the date tonight, even trimming his nose hairs- which he only did on very special occasions. He had noticed a little bump or growth on the left side of his nose this morning. He wondered in the back of his mind if he didn't have cancer. His Uncle Louis had died of melanoma, but that was after he retired in the sun drenched state. He finally finished his fifth refill of Cola. The owner used to harass him, but he finally saw how a good customer like Mr. Vitale was good for business. Mr. Vitale looked down at his watch. It read, "2:30p.m." It was about time to head down to the public library. He had read about a new book that had just been published by one of his favorite accounting author's. He had written the book on how to Live Life Like a Millionnaire with only a handful of Dimes. Good common sense books were hard to find these days. Everyone liked to waste time reading books on fantasy. Life wasn't a fantasy. Life wasn't a game. It took education and strategy to make it in life. Noone was going to pay the mortgage if he didn't.
         The library, like every other day he had visited it, still looked imposing and impassive. It's columned facade faced to the main street, but it had a park with benches in front. It was easier to walk behind the building from his street. It took fewer steps, and the parking garage had an elevator. He walked down the entrance at the parking garage, through the glass doors to the elevator, and finally into the library. The dusty smell greeted him with familiarity. During the winter months, homeless bums would sit on the stairs going into the library entrance, trying to stay warm from the heat blowing from the blowers above the glass entrance. He greeted his favorite librarian, a grey haired woman in her sixties who still wore her hair in a bun. She had helped him on countless occasions, usually researching some new IPO that he had heard about from his stock broker. She smiled a toothy grin, her front teeth slightly pinkish from the lipstick she wore. She had heard of the new book out by his favorite author. He was thrilled, to find such a new book out in hardback without any reserves on it. Usually new books got snatched up the minute they hit the shelves. Of course, not everyone saw the world through practicality, so he had lucked out. Valentine's Day was a lucky day for him indeed.
         The Speed Date Event was to start at 6p.m., so Mr. Vitale in his grey rain coat, went to the bathroom on the third floor at the downtown Metro City Library to prepare. It was already 5:15p.m. He walked into the bathroom, prepared. He had his hair gel, his comb, and a bottle of Old Spice. His mother said his father had worn Old Spice, and it had worked on her. He didn't remember his father, since he had died in an automobile wreck when he was four. That was another reason Mr. Vitale refused to get his driver's license. There was no need to drive in the city.
         He carefully surveyed his face in the mirror. He didn't look half bad, especially with his coal black hair carefully combed in place with the hair gel. It looked like he was a short version of the lead singer on Sha-Na-Na. He finally felt he was ready to find a Mrs. Vitale. He had a contract in his pocket in case he met the right girl tonight. After all, he didn't want her to slip away.
         He arrived at the Marriott entry at 5:30p.m. He noticed a few early arrivals mingling in the bar on the second floor. They had a balcony overlooking the check-in desk. He didn't drink, so he decided he would wait, checking out the new female arrivals. He didn't have to wait long. He knew that they would be dressed up to impress. One lady looked familiar; he remembered her from the secretary pool at the Metro Bank's real property division. She was snapping her gum, and was probably only twenty-five. Probably not his type, since she wore extravagant brightly colored shoes. He had learned long ago that a woman could be judged by her shoes. If they looked expensive, then she had expensive tastes. She was probably not a practical person. Another lady arrived, more to his liking. She had on black tennis shoes, which were in his estimation, practical for navigating the sidewalks in the city on a wet, rainy day. She appeared to be early thirties, with blonde permed hair. Her makeup was understated, which he also liked. She was attractive. He was interested. He noticed, that so was a fellow competitor. A short balding man in his late forties was also sitting across the entry watching the women as they entered. It might be a showdown. He looked like he was a grocer. He had a slight beer gut. Mr. Vitale smiled to himself. He was financially viable.