Dating Disaster: Was He In The Mob?

White Collar Criminal

A date made at Starbucks may have been with a real Goodfella.

I wasn't having much luck with the guys I preferred, the rough-handed blue-collar dudes who knew how to work their fingers. So, being a high-maintenance girly type with pedicured toes and the ability to stalk out a hot piece of chocolate, I decided maybe I should try to attract a preppy, fading hipster. So, I accepted a date at Starbucks with a Mr. Almost Showstopper... but he really should've been Mr. Dealbreaker.

He walked over to me, smiled and asked if that was a passion tea I was drinking. I knew I looked good with my jet-black hair just blown out and my body confidently hidden behind a coat, but I had only been there five minutes; that was quick. How did he know the midday non-alcoholic something-something I was sipping? I should've zinged him back with, "Come here often?" But I thought, "Give him a chance. This is what you came for, right? A man who possibly knows how to rock your body."

"Will" sat down next to me and introduced himself as just coming back east after spending "the past few years living out west in seven different states as part of the witness protection program." Instead of doing a mad dash out of there, I simultaneously froze and laughed because I didn't know what else to do. The Goodfella said he was a comedian and all of it was true except the last part, being hidden by the law. Though he tried to amuse me, I still felt uneasy. And he was my age -- I prefer 'em younger. I was trying to admit to myself that I was already missing the boy-toy mechanics and gardners with the grease embedded in their nail beds. Dating Disaster: He Froze My Account

Will said he ran for public office while away from New York. When he heard I used to work in politics, he became vague about the details. Then he said years ago he worked on Wall Street as a trader and was now "retired." He didn't like the long hours and partying after work with clients who were looking for good times. Along with being a grotesque curiosity, he was now somehow boring me, too. But when Will asked me out for an Italian dinner, I agreed to meet him on a Saturday night. I had nothing else to do. It would be at a local crowded suburban spot, and maybe the Eggplant Parmigiana could make the danger factor worth it. Dating Disaster: My Date With A (Former) Suicide Girl

I left Starbucks feeling somehow strangely victorious, having snagged a white-collar guy. I could "learn to like" his looks, his personality. But was I settling? Was I telling myself I had not kissed enough toads, frogs, rats? How would I know if there were a Prince Charming standing in front of me, if I'd never seen one? I was willing to go on a date with a man who I only thought of as an OK prospect, who didn't make me want to beat the sheets with him. But I kept telling myself to give him a chance.

In a commuter parking lot loaded with Mercedes and Range Rovers, I got into my scratched-up, aging Toyota. With no one around, I pulled out my iPhone and looked up my potential new man. I found him on a dating site: he's into spiritualism, long walks and dinners out, the male version of a Miss America interview (not exactly a believable match for this cynical city woman living in the burbs). A battle was raging in my head over whether or not this was a guy I wanted.

Then came the moment that knocked me over the head, totally out of left field courtesy of Google. It looks like I was not going to get to any bases with this guy because a profile online with the same name, same occupation and, probably, with the same manicured hands turned out to be a white-collar criminal with Russian mob ties. I didn't even wait to read if he was convicted and what exactly the charges were. Dating Disaster: Did You Steal My iPod?

Luckily, when I called to cancel the date, it went to his voicemail. 

You can see more from Bonnie at Salon.

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