Money To Burn
edited: Sunday, July 02, 2006
By Gary P Starta
Rated "R" by the Author.
Posted: Sunday, July 02, 2006
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A disgruntled woman uses her dates to fertilize her garden.
Mona, the 40 something bachelorette, found the scariest part of computer dating to be the price tag. The perky Generation X-er with the red highlights was about to sell her a silver membership in the Match Made in Heaven dating club. The cost: $5,500.
“And just how can you guarantee me you'll be sending me quality gentlemen?” Mona moaned to the sales associate. “I will only settle for the very best. You know I didn't save myself for four decades to settle for chopped meat.”
Like a shark seeing blood in the water, Gina mustered every ounce of her youth to close the sale. “Oh, believe me our gentlemen clients feel the same way. We spend countless hours performing background checks and analyzing our personality questionnaire to ensure successful partnering.”
Mona did not try to hide her suspicious expressions from Gina. Her eyes scanned the wall for something to ease her mind. There weren't any plaques confirming the service was a part of the Better Business Bureau, nor did Mona find any testimonials included with her welcoming kit. Despite her better judgment she grabbed the associates yellow fine point pen, prepared to sign her soul away.
“Wait!” Gina exclaimed as though her commission was about to be taken away from her. “We just need to ask a few questions first. Can you tell me, Ms. Davis, have you ever been convicted of a crime?”
Mona's cheeks reddened and her brown eyes appeared to darken a shade. She glared at the youthful sales associate for a full minute before replying. “Of course not, dear. But I guess I'm guilty as sin if you count lust as a crime.”
Now it was Gina's turn to blush. Forcing an awkward smile, she motioned for Mona to initial the contract.
Mona hoped the dating service would send her a man soon. Her heart was beginning to grow as cold as the gusty November winds. To relieve her anxiety, Mona began to prepare her backyard for Spring. Mixing compost and mulching leaves helped to take the edge off her frayed nerves.
Davis thrust her shovel into the frozen ground of her backyard with gusto. Next door, the Carson's cast a wary glance in her direction through their bedroom window. At his wife's urging, Ed Carson mustered up enough courage one day to inquire what Mona was up to.
“I'm preparing my yard for composting, Ed,” Mona replied. “I'll take the ashes from my fireplace and put them under my topsoil. Come May, I'll have the prettiest looking daffodils in Middlesex County.”
Feeling embarrassed for bothering Mona, Ed apologized for his intrusion.
“That's alright Ed. There's never any harm in trying to ascertain what somebody's intent is.”
The strange response sent Mr. Carson scurrying back into his house to unleash his shame on his prying wife.
The next Friday evening, Mona found herself seated across a restaurant table from her date. Jim was the first introduction she had received from the service. He certainly didn't look like a match made in heaven; but Mona told herself 'it's what on the inside that counts.”
After a few drinks, Mona discovered she didn't particularly care for the inside of Jim either. However, the three apple martinis she downed were working in her date's favor. Mona placed her hand on Jim's arm and suggested they go back to her place. “What the hell,” Mona reasoned to her conscious, “it's been five months since I've had sex.”
Within the next hour, the pair had stripped off each other's clothes and settled into bed. The sex was not particularly gratifying for Mona. Wrapping the sheet around her like a mummy, Davis suggested Jim take a look at her prospective garden.
“But it's the middle of the night,” Jim groaned. Like most men, he just wanted to roll over and sleep after love making.
“I'll make some gourmet coffee. It'll be fun,” Mona persisted.
Once she had him outside, Mona seized the moment. Bashing his head in with a shovel, Davis killed Jim with three blows. The next morning, Jim's body was cut into pieces with the help of a chainsaw. The crazed bachelorette reasoned she would get her money's worth from the dating service one way or another. “At least he'll make good compost,” Mona mumbled while sipping her premium blend. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. Jim's body burned for nearly a day in Mona's fireplace.
Mona had to wait nearly three weeks for her next introduction. His name was Brandon. They scheduled a meeting at a local coffee shop. A great smile seemed to be his only charm. Two minutes of conversation proved Brandon was self-centered and arrogant. Mona excused herself to the ladies room so she could devise a game plan. “I did this and I did that,” Davis cursed under her breath while washing her hands. “Why can't he come up for air a moment and at least offer an insincere compliment?”
Returning to her table, Mona interrupted Brandon in mid sentence to invite him back to her house. “At least the prospect of sex seems to shut him up,” she thought.
On the drive back to her house, Mona's mind raced to find a way to escape a physical hook up. By the time, they had removed their jackets, she had a solution.
“So what's your poison?” she purred. Brandon professed he really didn't drink.
But Mona persisted. “You don't have to put up a front with me. I like my boys on the wild side.”
The annoying stock broker laughed nervously at the prospect. He couldn't accept a drink fast enough. The promise of sex was radiating all over Mona. Unfortunately for Brandon, understanding investments and understanding women were two different things.
Mona had mixed his vodka Collins with pesticide. The arsenic concoction prepared Brendan for the fireplace.
Gina's voice boomed over Mona's speaker phone. “So, how did your two introductions turn out?”
Mona tried to mask her annoyance. Deep down, she knew the sales woman had no real interest in the love life a woman twice her age.
“They were great, but I still need more,” Mona answered stiffly.
“I'll get you another date then,” Gina replied in her best professional tone.
Mona's mind pictured the matchmaking consultants randomly drawing names from a hat. Surely, scientific analysis could not be blamed for their incompetence.
Later that day, the Cranburytown Journal reported two local men were missing.
Gina glanced at the headline story in horror. After the initial shock wore off, her conscious began to nag her. “Should I send Mona a new referral?”
Flipping to the business section, Gina became even more horrified to find her stocks had fallen again. She worked feverishly to seal and mail Mona's next introduction.
“A contract's a contract,” the sales woman told herself.