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Story Notes:

So a conversation with intellectual titmouse birthed this story and another conversation brought it back. Lulu and Dennison are back. I'm reposting this one and the follow up because...well...I have a new idea for them that will be up today or tomorrow.

Once again...

It is not inspirational.

It will not change your life.

Your panties will not get wet from reading THIS story...

But maybe you might just laugh

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


Lulu Marx bid adieu to blind dating, after the last unfortunate incident, with the really nice, moderately attractive IT guy from her mom's office, who just happened to be confused, well more like tormented, about his true sexual identity. After a night of discussing the best way for him to come out of the closet to his Fundamental Baptist parents, she forbid her mother, bestie, or any random co-worker possessed by cupid to set her up on a date. There were only so many blows to self esteem that she could withstand.


Like any jaded and gun shy single woman, she chose to take her chances with the world of online dating.


There was the Black People Meet fiasco. The first candidate to respond to her profile left his height, weight, length, and girth. She deleted her page in less than an hour.


She tried eHarmony, and though she considered herself to be a scholar, after years of higher education, she grew tired of being measured by every dimension of her personality.


Then there was, she admired the variety of people she saw on the television commercials in their real member testimonials. After all one in five relationships began online, and most of them sprung to life on Match. More dates - more relationships - more marriages started there than any other online site.


Lulu typed in the web address in the vacant white bar at the top of her screen and hit enter. She entered her five digit zip code, set her age range, and verified she had her interest set to men. Pages and pages of pictures filled the screen. Several caught her eye. The smooth caramel skinned brothers in aviator shades that screamed degenerate and overdrawn bank account due to exorbitant child support fees. Her interests peaked even higher when a flurry of Latino men popped up with catchy phrases and poignant lines from romantic poetry included in their personal summaries. In order to gain further access and respond, Lulu had to join. She purchased the minimal amount of membership time. She dove into the shark infested water, feet first, determined to find a viable candidate for a date.




Dennison Lord was thirty - six years old and still spent half of every work day, tucked in the green metal trash bins behind Roosevelt High School.


His fingers smelled of the pungent ink in the dry erase markers he had used earlier that day to write the vocabulary words from the badminton unit on the white board in the boys locker room. He was an unemployed nobody, who had held a variety of jobs in lackluster call centers and sales offices. The funds he had invested in FICA, quit on him earlier in the year, and he became Mr. Lord, the resident Physical Education and Study Hall substitute at his alma mater.


Life was grand.


He stumbled into his apartment, tossed the Stouffers macaroni and cheese in the microwave, and turned on his laptop. He scrolled through the courtesy balance alerts about his bank account until he reached a surprising and rare note in his inbox.


Someone had responded to his profile.


He clicked the link, read her message, and for the first time that day, a genuine smile curved his lips.


It was a simple hello followed by a hope to speak with you soon.


Dennison rolled the mouse over the link to the profile of A Class Act.


He ignored the scent of burning cheese as he sat in awe of the picture.


She was beautiful; full cheeks on blemish free, dark hued skin, bright eyes that shined and sparked a feeling of warmth with just one look.


"Why in the hell would she be interested in me?"


Curiosity got the best of him as he scanned the information she provided.


Graduate degree...


Thirty - three...


Never married...


No children...


"Fucking gorgeous," He muttered as he caught glimpse of another picture that featured her in a turquoise dress, her shoulder length black hair, perfectly styled in loose layers.


He replied to the message with the first words that came to mind.


Dinner...Friday night...




It was the Buffett quote that drew Lulu in.


Let blockheads read what blockheads wrote.

She had stopped reading there. Smiling freely at his profile name, I <3 Buffett. She didn't click another picture. She didn't read the empty words contained in any remaining profiles.


She sent a message and attempted to wait patiently for his response. There was not a lot of information to go on, just the quote, and a picture of him in a Calvin Klein suit standing between two people that had to be his parents. The older man held a thick head of dark brown, graying hair, his features easily mirrored the Buffett lover's. The woman's face displayed the smile that rested on the candidate's lips, so based on those basic clues, Lulu deduced they had to be his parents or at least closely related.


Lulu was on the verge of a restless night's sleep when she heard the muted chime of her Mac.


The screen illuminated and she opened the only message in her inbox.


"Dinner..." Her eyes stretched as she read the words, "Friday night."


It was Wednesday.


She returned three little letters, "Yes."




Lulu Marx was her name.




What tight lipped, straight laced woman, ran around the city with a name like Lulu. She had to have a sense of humor. Beauty, brains, and perfect comedic timing, maybe he could give his mother those grandbabies she kept crying about.


They had talked until a little past midnight.


She had been very succinct during their discussion; never wavering from her agenda. He felt like it was more of a job interview instead of an introduction to the woman he planned to woo on Friday night. She had actually asked him his weighted GPA during his senior year. He had laughed until the silence became deafening and quickly recalled the 4.87 number that had made his parents so proud.


He recounted his days at Syracuse; the short stint at Power Forward, the year abroad, and he successfully avoided any questions she posed that surrounded the graduation he was not qualified to attend, and the diploma he eventually claimed.


The tide turned and he had a chance to pick her brain so to speak. Instead of asking about educational or professional accolades he wanted to know if she preferred the comedic stylings of Adam Sandler over Will Ferrell. He talked about music and she listened, chiming in only when he expounded upon his hidden love of both the classical and jazz genres.


She had to be jerking his dick.


Her name was Lulu; there was no way she was a card carrying member of the Tea Party.


She was a beautiful, desirable, minority woman; she had to know that America was on the way to hell in a hand basket.


Dennison poured coffee into his mug and sought out the head custodian for the hook up at the new Brazilian steak house. It wasn't pay week, rent was due, and he had five dollars in his savings account. He needed a first date miracle, which meant, he would probably spend the weekend buffing the floors with Raul.


An hour later he had a coveted Friday night reservation at Rios. He sent a text to his new lady friend, and ignored the taunts of the defensive line as the shoved him head first into the previous day's salad bar still piled high in the trash can.




Her stilettos pinched her toes when she stepped from her car and handed the keys to the valet.


Lulu had opted for the heels after noting that Dennison's height was six foot five. She paled it comparison at a mere five foot four. She shook out her freshly shampoo and styled locks, smoothed down the flare of her shirt dress, and pressed her glossy lips together. She saw him through the window. He was by the bar, wide smile on his face, eyes lit with amusement, body covered in a faded Marley tee, worn jeans, and a pair of chucks.


She looked down at her ensemble and back at him.




Dennison saw Lulu when her hand reached for the handle of the door. He rushed over, swinging the glass open, and welcomed her inside. Out of his excitement, he scooped her into his arms, and crushed her into a bear hug.


She smelled good.


She felt good.

She was glaring at him, in the way his mother did when he showed up for church with crust in his eyes.


Maybe she was the only straight laced, ball buster, in the tri - city area with the name Lulu.




Did anyone have any sanitizer?


Lulu's hands tore through her purse looking for the miniature bottle containing the alcohol based fruity liquid with blue nodules of germ fighting agents.


He had touched her without permission and he smelled like thousand island salad dressing.


Maybe his profile name referred to his love of buffets, not Warren Buffett. Judging by the belly that had lapped over the waist of his pants, it was certainly a more than fair assumption.




"My buddy Raul," Dennison was nervous and revealing way more than his date needed to know, "His brother Marco manages this place."


She didn't say a word, just studied the crisp white linen on the table and the card that was red on one side and green on the other. He immediately jumped in to provide an explanation. "It's a Brazilian steakhouse, you know the kind where they keep bringing you meat," He held up the card that still held her gaze, "Until you've had enough."


Lulu smiled tightly and delivered a reply through clenched teeth, "I'm a vegetarian."




The curse remained silent but judging by the gleam in her eyes, she had heard every letter of his internal enunciation.




The closeted homosexual IT guy was looking really good right now, especially when a spit ball flew past her head, and stuck to the wall behind her.


Was she on a date with Judd Apatow and his band of unfunny comedian friends?


She pushed her salad around on her plate, "Are you always an idiot or are you suffering from some type of medical condition?"


This was easily Lulu's worst date ever; spitballs, meat on sticks, and an overgrown child who couldn't shut the fuck up.




She had just cursed, even if it had gone unheard by other ears. Any use of vulgar language in her opinion was a sign of someone unable to express themselves in words other than expletives. He was pulling her done to his level.


"Are you always a self righteous bitch?"


Lulu had been too lost in her internal musings to clearly understand what he said.


"Could you repeat your question Mr. Lord?"


Gone was the jovial nature that he had exhibited for most of the evening, "I asked if you are always such a self righteous, uppity, snobby, egotistical, stank attitude bitch?"


Somewhere a bell dinged and it signaled the start of round one.


Lulu crossed her legs and pressed her back against the chair, "I can show you better than I can tell you."




She threw a plate at his head and quickly followed with the steak knife.


It ripped his shirt and nicked his skin.


She drew fucking blood.


The real manager of Rios threw them out, shortly after the display of Lulu's true and fiery temperament.


The valet handed over her keys when they stepped on the sidewalk and pointed her in the direction of the garage where they housed the restaurant patrons' cars.


Dennison watched as Lulu headed into the dark towards her vehicle. He shouldn't have called her bitch. He should have known someone with a stable job, steady income, and an ability to form a grammatically correct sentence wouldn't be interested in a loser like him.


He swallowed his pride, "Hey Ms. Marx...Lulu," She pivoted on her heels, "Hold on, the least I can do, is walk you to your car."




Silence settled around them during the two block stroll.


Guilt was eating her alive, she had judged him unfairly. Times were hard; many of her friends were unemployed or underemployed. She hadn't given him a chance, not once, she had assumed, and in turn made a total and complete ass out of herself.


She stopped mid stride, "Dennison, I'm sorry I called you an idiot."


He had a dimple in his left cheek; she resisted the urge to sink a fingertip into the crevice.


He held up his arm and displayed his battle scar.


"I also apologize for throwing the plate and knife, causing you such detrimental bodily injury."


Dennison Lord smiled and Lulu Marx could no longer fight the corresponding grin tugging at her cheeks.


"Apology accepted."


He delivered her safely to her car, checked the area as she unlocked the door, and began to sink into the plush leather seats.


There was something unfinished between them, exactly what she didn't know, but she turned the key and waited for a clue.




Now or never, those were the words Dennison repeated as he watched Lulu buckle herself into the seat, "What are you doing tomorrow night?"


He didn't miss the roll of her eyes or the click of her teeth in response to his question. Finally she gave him a sassy and attitude laced sentence to match her previous display, "Having dinner with you," Her eyes beamed brighter than her headlights, "Pick you up at seven."


Lulu's tires etched black lines on the pale concrete floors of the garage and Dennison didn't mind that he was now four blocks away from his bus stop.



Chapter End Notes:

Reposting 'Take Two' next...

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