The Adventures of a Love Investigator: 527 Naked Men & One Woman

209 Pages·2010·0.86 MB·English

by  Silkstone Barbara

The Adventures of a Love Investigator
527 Naked Men & One Woman
Barbara Silkstone
Text and Cover copyright © 2010 by Barbara Silkstone
First eBook edition: July 2010
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in
a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This eBook may not be resold, returned, or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please
purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors
or omissions. Neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
This is a work of true fiction. The identities of the men and women interviewed have been altered or disguised at their requests.
ISBN # 978-0-615-38637-9
The following story is based on my real-life adventures as the Love Investigator. Names have been changed, identities disguised, and
situations re-situated all in the interest of saving my skin. These interviews do not reflect my personal opinions except when I’m caught
mumbling under my breath.
More books by Barbara Silkstone
Books in the Fractured Fairy Tales by Silkstone series: The Secret Diary of
Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters Wendy and the Lost Boys
London Broil
Snow White – coming in 2012
The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters has
been a consistent best seller in comedy. Both Wendy and Alice have been in the
top 10 Amazon comedies.
This book contains bonus excerpts from The Secret Diary of Alice and
Wonderland, Age 42 and Three-Quarters
Wendy and the Lost Boys
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
ALSO BY BARBARA SILKSTONE
CHAPTER ONE
“Marriage beats the dignity out of people.”
~ Chris, 56, married
I sat in the witness box feeling like a kid in the principal’s office. “Just answer
the questions, don’t make any comments,” the divorce court judge said.
“But whether I’ve been married once before has nothing to do with this
case. All I’m asking for is the return of my house and all my other premarital
assets. And I’m requesting a refund of the all money I loaned Steve for his
business. It’s only fair.” I tucked a strand of red-blond hair behind my ear and
leaned forward, riding the judge with my stare.
Steve’s lawyer, Howard Dewey, shot Judge Cheatum a raised eyebrow.
Former law partners, they could read each other like bad novels. Cheatum had
denied my motion for him to step down as judge from my case stating there was
no conflict of interest. If it looks like a conflict and it quacks like a conflict... it’s
a conflict. I was in deep waters and paddling hard.
Lawyer after lawyer had turned my representation away explaining – off
the record – that there was no winning where Dewey was the lawyer and
Cheatum was the judge. Florida was a no-fault divorce state. At the age of forty-
two I was about to learn a big lesson.
Dewey handed me a paper. “Do you recognize this?”
“Yes, it’s the sworn statement of Steve’s bookkeeper attesting to the checks
I gave her when he needed money for his business.”
“Was I present when you took her deposition?” Dewey asked then he
turned and walked away, his air of practiced anger coming across like the lead in
a school play.
“Look at me when I’m answering you,” I said to his well-tailored backside.
The lawyer reached in his jacket pocket and took out a cellophane bag of
lemon drops, ripped it open, approached the bench, and offered the candy to
Cheatum. They rattled the bag and crunched the lemon drops, the sound
magnified in the judge’s microphone. They were telling me my words held less
value than sour candy. This could only get worse.
Steve was my second husband, my second mistake. From the time I was
five I’d had more than my share of marriage proposals. Twice I chose to accept
and twice I regretted it. Now I sat in a witness box playing masochist to their
candy munching misogynists.
Why had I made such lousy decisions? Was it a talent I could unlearn?
Most of my dearest friends were guys. They were easy to talk to and great
listeners. Yet when it came to accepting husbands I picked the users and the
losers. Why didn’t men come with instruction manuals? Was I the one who was
going to have to write one? Understanding the Male Mind – I could see it now.
The idea of a mass head invasion, of being the profiler of one thousand
guys came together with the pieces floating in and out of my consciousness for
months after the Steve-divorce was final. I began to feel the need to dissect and
compare the guts of men to see what makes the rotten ones so awful and the
good ones so hard to come by. I could see myself pulling out body parts and
pinning them to crime scene boards with little labels, the heart of a liar, a good
man’s spleen.
Thanks to Judge Cheatum’s ruling, I lost my home, which I’d owned alone
for ten years prior to my marriage to Sleazy Steve. My ex had managed to pick
up all the chips on the table in a way that made me question our legal system, the
institution of marriage, and the very fabric of reality. Scarred, battle-hardened
and weary, I was rendered temporarily homeless. It was time to visit old friends
and rediscover my chi.
Sal’s my best friend. I fly out to Los Angeles for a stay at his place. We’re in his
kitchen, conducting an autopsy on our lives. I’m leaning against the refrigerator
trying not to knock off his memories and memos. My buddy is sitting hunched
over coffee at the breakfast table.
A decade younger than me, at thirty-two Sal looks like a puppy in need of
grooming. He has dark flashing eyes and white flabby arms. He never lifts
anything heavier than a coffee mug.
“I just don’t get it,” he says. “I’m not a geek or a loser. If I were a woman I
would rate me a high nine on any woman’s one-to-ten scale. I have most of the
popular options: looks, talent, great sense of humor and I can be damn
compassionate when I need to be. I even iron a mean shirt. I used to be a hot
item. What did I lose and when did I lose it?”
One glance around his apartment and I can understand a lady’s reluctance
to get closer to Sal. His taste is circa Dracula Meets the Wolfman. My friend
writes movie screenplays, he keeps plastic skulls and demented ceramic dwarfs
around for inspiration. I’m not in a position to critique his lifestyle as my track
record isn’t anything to brag about.
Feeling nostalgic I push the conversation in another direction. “Remember
what it was like being in love for the first time?” A brilliant memory-photo
flashes before me of a tall, thin, seventeen year old guy with Clark Kent glasses
and a smile that sent warm, snuggly things dancing in my body. His name is
Mark.
“Lauren,” he says. “She was crazy about me. I should have taken advantage
of her innocence and married her after graduation. We’ll never be that dumb or
that young again, too much sludge under the bridge.” Sal refilled our coffee cups
and settled back with a weary groan.
I sip the steaming coffee tentatively. “My first love set a standard for
happiness I can’t ever duplicate. I think I just gave up and applied logic and pity
to all my relationships after that. I wonder if Mark would have made me happy?
All my friends who married their high school sweethearts are still wed and they
act like they’re on their honeymoons. I don’t understand it.”
“Times have changed. People are different. We’re a mobile society. The
wrong people can slip in and out of your life like a cat through a picket fence,”
Sal said.
“Do you think anybody gets it right?”
“Maybe the ones who never move on are lucky. They stay surrounded by
the same people they grew up with. Maybe that’s what makes the difference –
the ones who spend their entire lives in their hometowns with the same friends.
Maybe that sort of married couple grows at the same pace.” Sal lights another
cigarette. His apartment reeks. I can actually see his ashy breath.
A headache rolls in like a thundercloud, and a chill-glob forms in the center
of my chest. Is this all life has to offer any of us? Do we outgrow and shed love
like a snake drops its skin? Move on to the next affair and hope the breakup
doesn’t hurt as much?
An image of Mark comes into my mind again. I wonder if he’s alone
tonight or if he’s holding someone he loves. I know my aching heart is seeking
the familiar. I’m looking for the first and last time I was really happy.
“I’ll bet if I asked a hundred men about love, I’d find the real thing. It has
to be out there. Too many people claim to have found it. I can get men to open to
up to me, it’s always been easy.” My mind kicks into high gear. Once it gets like
that I scare myself with my enthusiasm and lack of planning. “I’ll just let a
thousand men get emotionally naked and take notes. Maybe I’ll write a book and
call it... Naked Men.”
Sal laughs. “There are times when you can be really frightening. Rethink
the name of the book or you’ll find yourself in the porno section of the search
engines.”