Designs On Daphne by Lilly Christine Page A

satisfying, and not at all messy; she’d indulged in far more sexual adventure with Pump jack than she’d ever dreamed of with anyone. Though he was a stranger, they’d shared some of the most intimate, passionate moments of her life.
       Too bad “Pumpjack 70” isn’t a date for Rodric’s party!
      She sighed. Pumpjack was adventurous, but such a gentleman, too-they seemed remarkably compatible! But he seemed disinclined to meet, and that was probably just as well.
      He might be married.
      A man that creative would have to be.
      Daphne pushed the door open, scanning the noisy, open room without much enthusiasm. The floor was concrete and stained. In the corner, a tray clattered, making the din worse. She wished she was meeting the man whose profile she’d chosen in a nicer place, but this was what he’d suggested. . . Rodric would never expect me to meet him in a place like this!
      She shoved the thought from her head. She’d started this mission exactly five days ago. After setting up a profile on Rodric’s computer, she’d found three dates. The last two, squeezed in between tableware shopping with Rodric,  had been duds; she still might need a prospect for the party, and she was counting on Ned.
      Ned seemed intelligent. He taught political science. He was in his early forties, and he had a cat. To her left, a chubby hand rose above a booth. As she moved down the row,  a balding head emerged, attached to a scruffy beard.   Where the heck is Ned?
       Below the beard, a belly protruded from a oft-washed blue oxford cloth shirt. “Danielle!”
      He rose; the belly got stuck on the table; some of it puffed above, but most of it hung below. The jacket he wore was tweed, a very inexpensive, ill-fitting tweed, with fake elbow patches. The stitching on them was loose, so the patches gaped away from the sleeve.There were spots on the tie, too. And the shirt was wrinkly. Her name wasn’t Danielle, but she didn’t bother to correct him. Ew.This one’s the worst of the lot!
      “Ned?” she asked faintly, stepping backward as he clasped her hand in both of his. With great enthusiasm, he shook it vigorously.
       His eyes closed and he hovered closer, coming towards her. Pursed lips protruded from the scruffy beard. No! No kiss-ick!  Thankfully, his belly caught on the table. His eyes opened wide; they were red-rimmed, like those of a tremulous hound. Flopping back into the booth, belly now freed, he motioned towards a cluster of coffee carafes. “I’m just grading papers. The coffee’s over there,” he mumbled.
       Flopping the flap of his jacket aside, he reached into the front pocket of saggy khaki trousers and took out some change. As he counted the coins he’d spilled on the table, she had time to observe his torn, grimy fingernails. “Here, seventy-five cents. You wanna go grab a coffee, and then we can talk?”
      She couldn’t take her eyes from the fingernails. “Do you change your oil every ten thousand miles, or do you stretch it to fifteen?” she asked faintly, unable to avoid his face forever.
      Lips spread over tobacco-stained teeth. “Work a mechanic’s job on the weekends. I’m a TA. Just six more semesters until I finish my master’s. The wife was never supportive, of course, and we lost the house in the divorce. She hits me hard for child support, so. .  ”. At the look on Daphne’s face, he asked, “Whattsa matter, you don’t want coffee?”
      “Oh, of course! I’ll just go get some.” Motioning towards the carafes, she back-pedaled quickly, searching for an out. Just then, a bunch of students came in a rear door and lined up at the snack bar cafeteria-style.
      Eyes honing in on the back door, Daphne slipped in front of the spotty coffee counter, scattered with discarded stirrers and empty sugar packets. Then she ducked and skirted along the passageway behind the booths, racing out the rear door  and into the sunshine.
       She took deep breaths