She is disillusioned with love, romance and men who are Mr Almost-Right. She loves words, true words that shine. All she gets from men are clichés straight from Mills and Boon, cheap words meant to loosen her morals or her purse strings.
She is disillusioned with love, until a younger man says to her: "My favourite opening line is Suck my -"
Her heels clanged on the marble floor as she re-entered the lobby.
No sight of Mr. MaybeRight. Good riddance.
"Call me a cab," she said to the passing waiter.
The boy, he couldn't have been more than twenty-five, eyed her with a grin. "You are a real cab," he said, his face deadpan.
"Cute," she found herself smiling back. Here was a man who understood the value of words. "Now if you could perhaps order me -" she checked herself, "order one for me?"
He pressed a button in the wall. "And now you will give me your phone number," he said. It was a statement, not a request.
She shrugged, not yet sure whether she was amused or irritated by his rudeness. It was better than Mr. MaybeRight's cordiality, at any rate. Good manners were dishonest by their very nature. She smiled at the waiter. "Do you always work this fast?"
"My favorite opening line is 'Suck my cock'."
She wanted to ask him why, in that case, he hadn't used it on her, but the taxi had arrived just then, so she tossed her business card at him and hurried out, careful not to look back.
The following morning, she received an apologetic phone call. From Mr. MaybeRight, who was now Mr. MaybeRight-Not. When she heard his voice, she realized she'd been waiting for another one, an arrogant voice that would say 'suck my cock'.