The Game

MADDIE

The plane lands at LaGuardia Airport as I wake up. I didn’t get much sleep last night because I was up all night with excitement. I start to rub my eyes and get the sleep out.

I had the craziest dream that my mother was trying to warn me about something. She kept showing me a figure with no face and kept saying, “You know him, stay away from him.”

I never met my mother; she died giving birth to me. From what my father said, she died of an aneurysm in the brain. But when I see her in my dreams, I see her like it was yesterday.

I pull out the only picture I have of her. It’s from her wedding day, in that beautiful dress. It hung below the shoulders with a little cleavage showing and a four-foot tail.

My father tells me I got her eyes and smile. He tears up every time he talks about her. He never dated when I was growing up—he didn’t want me to think he was replacing my mother with someone else.

I kiss my finger and touch her face on the picture. “Who are you warning me about?” I murmur to the picture.

I look up as a flight attendant looks down at me. “We’re in New York,” she says.

“Thank you,” I reply as I put the picture back, then I start to stretch my arms. “I’ve never been in first class before. There was so much leg room, and the seat went all the way back.” She smiles back at me.

I start to fold the blanket and put it on the empty seat next to me with the pillow.

“Oh, honey, those are yours to take with you. They are complimentary on this airline,” she says.

“Cool.” I stuff them in my backpack.

The plane stops at the terminal. A few minutes later, the door opens and the flight attendant leads me out first. She walks me out the tunnel and guides me past check-in to another gentleman in a golf cart.

“This is for you,” she tells me. I take a seat, and he starts to drive me through the airport, hitting his horn for others to move out of his way. Watching him swerve left then right tells me he’s done this before.

Next thing I notice, he starts to drive through a tunnel that takes me outside where there’s a limo parked.

“I haven’t gotten my luggage yet,” I tell the man in the golf cart.

“Don’t worry. I’ll have your luggage waiting for you at the hotel. This is your ride,” he says as he tips his hat. “Welcome to New York.”

The limo driver is waiting outside the door. He puts his hand out to help me off the golf cart. He opens the door to the limo and I step in. Inside the limo are three other people.

“We’re just waiting on two more. They should be here shortly,” the driver says as he closes the door. I look up and do a small wave with a shy smile.

“Hi, what’s your name?” asks the girl sitting up front of the limo.

“Madison, but my friends call me Maddie.”

“That’s cute,” she says. “My name is Britney.”

“Hi, I’m Diane.”

“I’m Alex,” the only man in the limo says with a wave.

We all sit there not talking, just staring at each other. I start to examine Alex, who’s talking to Diane. I wonder if Alex is my partner? He looks athletic, and like a good kisser.

Then I smack my head. Stop jumping to conclusions. There’s going to be more men—I hope.

Then the door opens, and two more men walk in. Oh, thank god, I say in my head.

The limo driver sticks his head in the door. “We’re all set. We’ll be heading to the hotel,” he says as he closes the door. Everybody does a small cheer.

Thirty seconds later, we feel the limo pull away.

“Hi, I’m Derrick.”

“I’m Joseph,” the other man says as they sat down together close to the door. Everybody says who they are all over again.

Once everybody had introduced themselves, it was quiet. We just sat there looking at each other.

All of a sudden one of the girls—I think her name is Diane—starts a live chat on Instagram in the limo. Everybody else just watches.

“Hey everybody, what’s up? Guess where I am? I’m in New York City riding in a limo to the hotel. I haven’t met my partner yet, but when I do, I’ll let you know just as soon as I find out.

“Bye, love ya,” Diane says as she puts her phone back in her backpack.

When she’s done, everybody starts talking, asking questions about people’s jobs and hobbies. I think they’re trying to size each other up or figure out if their partner is riding with them.

One thing I did notice is that everybody’s in decent shape.

The limo stops, then we hear the driver get out.

Diane pulls her phone out and hits record. She wanted to be the first one off the limo. She makes her way to the door as the driver opens it, and she steps out.

The guys let the other women off first. We all step out and are greeted by the doorman as he tips his hat. “Welcome,” he says to each of us as we walk in.

I see a sign off to the left that says “For Love or Money” with an arrow pointing at a conference room door. Everybody starts to follow me as I push open the door.

To my surprise, there are six more people in the conference room. There is a table to the right of the door with “Hello my name is” stickers. I find my name tag, and surprisingly they spelled it correctly.

I peel the back off and stick it on my left boob. Everybody makes their way in as someone closes the door behind us.

There are cheese and crackers, cut-up fruit, and several bottles of Dom Perignon sitting in ice. There is another girl opening bottles and pouring into champagne glasses, then lining them all in a row.

I grab a couple cubes of cheese as she hands me a glass.

In the center of the room are twelve chairs all in a circle. The guy who closed the door is now in the middle. He holds up his champagne glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please have a seat. My name is Craig and over there by the champagne is my lovely assistant, Cassie.”

I look over, and she raises a glass and winks at me. So she’s the one who suggested my partner.

“I want to welcome you all to New York.”

Everybody starts clapping as they make their way to the circle of chairs. Cassie joins Craig in the middle. As Craig gets out his notes, I start to look at everybody that’s sitting down.

The first guy I see is sitting across from me.

“Damn, he’s cute,” I say quietly. He looks like he works out, he’s got a tan with sun-bleached hair. That only means one thing—he lives on the beach.

All of a sudden, he looks at me and smiles with a small wave. I smile and wave back as my face turns three different shades of red. I look down. “God, I hope he’s not from the West Coast.”

Then the image of my mother warning me about something comes back to me. The face of the person is still blurred.

I close my eyes and see he has tattoos on both his arms. Not enough to distinguish what kind of tattoos.

I open my eyes and look at the cute guy again. No tattoos.

I smile again and do another wave.