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Bianca: Would you like to have children someday?Dex: Not so fast, Ms. George. I believe you’ve skipped my turn. Are you in a committed relationship?Bianca: No. I was, but it ended.Dex: What happened?Bianca: Long story. I’ll give you the abbreviated version. Stockbroker. Engaged. Liar. End of Engagement.Fuck. I needed to know more. This didn’t sound like it would bode well for me.Dex: What did he lie about?Bianca: I’ve already answered two questions. I believe you’re now the one who is skipping turns.Dex: Fine.What was the last question she asked me? Oh, yes. Children. It dawned on me that I’d been seeing Caroline for the better part of a year and she’d never inquired about whether I saw my future including a bunch of rugrats.Dex: Yes. I do want children. But I don’t want them raised by a nanny. I loved Sugie, don’t get me wrong, but I think children should be raised by their parents, if it is feasible. My turn. What did your fiancé lie about?Bianca: Everything. Anything. You name it. He lied.Dex: He was cheating on you, then?Bianca: No. I don’t think so. He just lied. To clients, to our boss, what his bank balance was, it didn’t really matter. In hindsight, I think he got off on it in some ways.Dex: So this factors into your dislike for rich and powerful men?Bianca: Maybe. I’ve never thought about that. But I don’t think my dislike of liars is related to only rich men. My father wasn’t particularly rich and he lied. I just prefer the simple things in life—like the truth.My hole I had dug for myself had just bottomed out, and I had no idea how I was going to get out of it unscathed. The smart thing would have been to stop playing this game right now, but of course I didn’t. I continued for more than an hour answering and asking personal questions. The more I asked, the more addicted I became. I wanted to know everything there was to know about Bianca George. When we were wrapping things up for the evening, her last question brought me to a moment of truth.Bianca: My deadline is at the end of the month. I’d like to finish this interview in person. We’ll continue our 11PM chats in the meantime, but I’d really like to meet face to face at least once. No pictures, of course.I hesitated before responding.Dex: Okay. Yes. We can meet at the end.Shit.Not even wetting my wood helped.
Tonight was my date with Bianca, and I hadn’t been able to whittle a fucking pencil, much less an animal. Clement, my little blond nemesis as I’d come to think of him—the ten-year-old from the YouTube video—had to be a ringer. Because this shit was not easy. Frustrated and calling it quits, I put down the carving tool and decided Bianca wouldn’t be getting a small wooden animal. I, however, was getting that kiss one way or the other.
Later in the afternoon, my phone chimed, announcing a new text had arrived. Bianca’s name illuminated on the screen. I immediately swiped to open.Bianca: Where are we going?Jay: I made reservations at an Ethiopian place.Bianca: Mmm. Which place? I’ll look it up. I want to know how to dress.It didn’t matter how fancy the place was—it could have been a roadside trailer, and my answer would have been the same.Jay: Wear something sexy.Bianca: I can do that. ;-)Jay: Good. I look forward to it. See you in a few hours.Bianca: Okay. Don’t forget my carving—I’m looking forward to our exchange.“To Dumbo, Sam.” I climbed into the backseat.
“Brooklyn? Sure thing, Mr. Truitt. Where are we heading?”
I grumbled. “Anchorage Place. The Brooklyn Flea.”
My secretary had printed out a map, but it wasn’t doing much good once we arrived. There had to be at least a hundred tents set up as I wandered around trying to find booth G45. When I’d asked Josephine to locate a shop that sold small wood carved crafts—such as animals, I was certain she thought she was witnessing the first signs of my nervous breakdown. I was starting to think she was onto something.
The Brooklyn flea market was apparently home to a number of handmade and unique crafters—one of which was a gentleman who also sold his wooden carvings on a website, Jelani’s Kenyan Krafts. Just my luck, Jelani also sold his wares at the flea market, which happened to be open today instead of just Sunday this week, since it was the Dumbo Heritage Festival.
Eyeing a long table at the end of an aisle I’d just turned down, I was relieved to see a tall, black-skinned man wearing a colorful African hat and holding a carved wooden cane. As I came upon him, I saw that his table was filled with small, hand-carved animals. Mentally, I made a note to give Josephine a raise when I returned on Monday.
