The Undertaker’s Friend

I was a little apprehensive about trying a new dating app, but the guys I was finding on Hinge just weren’t cutting it anymore. Their profiles would either be completely empty, some long tirade about “women on this app,” or would say stuff like, “Interests: Nice headlights and a big undercarriage.” Um, this is a dating app, sir. Go to Carfax!

I managed to go on a few dates. The craziest guy had a profile picture of Ronald McDonald, what I assumed was some kind of joke, but when I arrived for our date in the park and saw a tall man with a red afro, pancake makeup, and boat-sized shoes, I realized he was serious. Somehow I missed the term coulrophile, a person sexually attracted to clowns, in his bio. Fortunately, I had picked a secluded part of the park where no one could set eyes on a man in a clown costume, a sight they would surely remember. I still have his red nose in my dresser drawer. I keep a collection of souvenirs from all my conquests - a toothbrush from the dental hygienist who always kept a spare on him, an Apple watch I managed to wrangle off a techie constantly talking into his wrist, the nail clippings of a podiatrist who insisted on showing me the proper way to cut my toenails, and other little forget-me-nots.

But after my twentieth first date, I decided it was time to try something new. So I downloaded Cookie Me. I had tried Just Coffee, Bagel Meets Coffee, and Just Lunch. I was ready for dessert. I made sure to create a new email address to associate with my profile and remove geotagging from my pictures. I also created a Google Voice number to use instead of my real number. You can never be too careful.

At first I wasn’t happy with the guys I was matching with. I needed as much information as I could get upfront, but most of the guys seemed cagey. I would ask questions like, “Does your family live nearby? How many friends do you have? When was your last relationship?” And they would act like I was interrogating them or something.

When I saw Brian’s profile, I just had a good feeling about him. He was new to the area, a workaholic, and “looking for friendship and maybe more?” The question mark was suspect, but other than that, nothing corny, no crazy sexual predilections. I wasn’t seeing any warning signs or reasons for alarm. So I immediately snatched his cookie (Cookie Me’s version of swipe right) and introduced myself.

We set the date for the middle of the week. Ever since the COVID shutdown, weekends weren’t nearly as bustling anymore, especially in the dead of winter, but even the possibility of a crowd made me anxious. I also insisted on picking the restaurant. I wanted to make sure there was ample parking and I was familiar with the area. He offered to pick me up. Of course, I declined. I definitely wanted to make sure he didn’t have my address on him. You can never be too careful.

Brian was standing in front of the restaurant when I arrived. Some guys would’ve aged 10 years overnight, but he looked exactly like his profile picture - tall, dimpled cheeks, bright smile. We hugged and he held the door for me. He complimented my shoes as he pulled out the chair. He was a perfect gentleman.

The waitress handed us our menus and rattled off the specials for the evening.

“What looks good to you?” he said.

“The steak looks good,” I said.

He looked at the menu with consternation.

“Or maybe the chicken?”

His face didn’t change.

“Can I start you off with a drink?” the waitress asked.

“I’ll have a Manhattan,” I said, scanning the menu for a cheaper item.

“Water,” Brian said.

Oh, for Christ’s sake!

“You know we could just split the check. I don’t mind. Get what you want.”

He shook his head, “No, that’s ok.”

“So what do you do?” I asked.

“I’m an urban planner. I help cities figure out where to put things so they don’t accidentally create traffic nightmares.”

“I always assumed city layouts just kind of happened.”

“Oh, they absolutely do sometimes,” he grinned. He had a perfect smile. Too bad he was a cheapskate.

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’m a medical illustrator. I draw anatomy for textbooks, surgical training materials, that kind of thing.”

“You draw the insides of people?”

“Yeah, organs, veins, skulls. Fun stuff!”

“Ugh, that’s amazing yet deeply unsettling. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” I said enthusiastically. “There’s something almost architectural about the human body. Everything connects. Everything has a purpose. Kind of like your city grids.” I winked.

“Interesting. So what do you like to do for fun?” he inquired.

“I read a lot. Hike occasionally. And I have a pretty embarrassing podcast habit.”

“What kind of podcasts?”

I hesitated. “Promise you won’t judge me.”

“No judgement,” he said.

“I listen to a lot of true crime podcasts. Very basic of me, I know.”

Moments later, the waitress brought back our drinks. I glared at the glass of water as Brian took a sip. He was telling me about his friends back home in Philly.

“Justin is an undertaker.”

“What?” I said, kind of caught by surprise at the horror film-like term. “You mean like a mortician?”

“Yeah, he works with dead bodies. It’s really interesting though.”

I acted a little put off. I didn’t want him to think I was a weirdo but I was intrigued.

“What’s interesting about it?” I asked.

He shrugged, “Just weird facts and things. Speaking of the true crime stuff, did you know they can trace poison? My friend got this body. Dude was poisoned and they were able to trace it back to the person that poisoned him.”

I got an uneasy feeling.

“Crap! I just remembered I forgot to feed the meter. I’ll be back.”

“Can’t you do it on your phone?”

“I don’t have the app. I’ll be back.”

I grabbed my coat and purse and bolted out of my chair right as he was searching his phone. I walked briskly towards the car, digging in my purse for the keys. Then, I stopped. I hesitated for a moment. Was I overreacting? Was I just spooked? He was a nearly perfect specimen. As I continued rummaging inside my purse, I felt the smoothness of the glass vial on my fingertips. I pulled the bottle out and looked at it. It was strychnine, the perfect poison. I turned back to the restaurant door but decided to trust my intuition and continued walking to the car. I’ll screen better next time. You can never be too careful.