Help Wanted - by Deborah

Prompts were whiskey, print, something thrown away

Help Wanted

"Robert is complete and utter asshole," Grant muttered as he sat on the park bench in the late April sunshine. He stared at the idyllic scene before him - Sheep's Meadow; a slice of heaven in the heart of Manhattan. Even the name of the place brought an angry response from him, "The entire ad agency should be down here grazing." For sheep they were; having quietly stood by and witnessed Robert The Prick stealing Grant's number one account. Robert held seniority in the agency, so no one challenged his lies.

Grant was just starting to regret quitting his job during the heated argument that took place only twenty minutes ago. Probably wasn't the best move with the current state of the economy, he thought disgustedly. At least he'd bought a newspaper this morning and could immediately begin flipping through the Help Wanted section, he reasoned, trying to find a positive note in the day.

He reached into his briefcase, removed the newspaper and opened it to the classifieds. Overshooting the jobs section, he found himself scanning the personal ads. Though Grant certainly wasn't the type to ever answer one, he enjoyed reading them as they almost always produced a laugh or two; something he sorely needed at the moment. He looked around guiltily, making sure no one could see the jobless man scanning the personals instead of looking for a job.

Five minutes of perusing desperate cries of lonliness and he felt pretty good about himself. He was jobless, but at least he had some self-respect, he thought. He was about to close the paper when an ad caught his interest.

"Are you an attractive, successful unattached man who finds himself recently unemployed? If so, I've got a great opportunity for you! I'm embarrassed to say that I need a part-time boyfriend. I'm not looking for romance, just someone who is attractive, articulate, and can accompany me on various family functions and outings. My family and friends constantly hound me about my lack of a personal life and I'd like to rent a boyfriend for a few months to give myself a break from their nagging. Predicted outings and events include dinners at the family home on Montauk, sailing on my father's yacht, and an occasional cocktail party at the country club.

About me: I am an attractive, educated, career-minded, 30-yr-old blue-eyed brunette who wishes to remain single. I am a lively conversationalist and I promise you will enjoy my company, if not my family's. I love reading and music...Nelson Demille is my favorite author. Metallica's "Whisky In The Jar" is my favorite song (so much so that I named my dog Whiskey). I am one of those rabid Yankees fans therefore Redsox fans need not apply. I'm not kidding about that one. I will pay all expenses and $20/hour for actual time spent in front of my family and well-meaning friends. Please drop me a line if you think this is something you're qualified for. Signed, Mattie"

Grant was still smiling as he finished reading the ad. That sounded exactly like an ad he would place. His own family and friends were always badgering him about not having a steady girlfriend. He wondered idly if the writer of the ad would consider reciprocating the arrangement rather than paying a salary. She certainly sounded level-headed and business-oriented. He wondered what kind of name Mattie was. The smile faltered as he tried to picture what she might look like. In all probability, she was a bespectled 60-year-old named Matilda with dozens of cats.

He folded the newspaper and dumped it into the trashcan next to the bench. He was back to being depressed and decided to spend the day feeling sorry for himself. Tomorrow would be soon enough to look for a job, he thought. He grabbed his briefcase, stood up, and headed down the paved path thinking of how nice it must be to go sailing off Montauk.

His thoughts were interrupted by woman frantically screaming, "Whiskey! Whiskey, nooooo! Whiskeyyyyyy!"

He turned in time to see a very large black dog galloping at full-speed straight toward the bench he'd just vacated. Attached to the dog by a leash was an attractive brunette on rollerblades fighting to keep her balance. Just as it looked like the dog would run them both into the metal bench, it changed direction and veered left, aiming straight for Grant. He tried desperately to get out of the way, but they were coming at an angle to him. If he moved right, the dog would crash into him. If he moved left, the small woman would hit him and most likely sustain serious damage. He contemplated jumping over the leash as they neared but suddenly there was no time. The leash struck his knees and his legs were pulled out from under him. Dog, woman, and Grant all ended up in a pile on the path.

The dog recoverd first and licked enthusiastically at Grant's chin. The woman frantically brushed at Grant's suit as they got to their feet. "Oh, I'm so sorry! Are you OK? Wow! I can't believe that happened." Now, to the dog, "Whiskey, you moron, what the hell is the matter with you?"

Grant studied her face and guessed her age to be about thirty. She had the most beautiful blue eyes he'd ever seen.

"Mattie?", he asked her.

She appeared stunned for a moment and then replied, "Do I know you?"