Page 12 of The Alibi Club

“That’s the spirit. Where’s your laptop?”

Jamie pointed in the general direction of the kitchen counter where her laptop sat and realized she didn’t have the faintest idea where to start. Jamie hadn’t dated in earnest in a decade. Dating now seemed like a quaint idea from the mid-2000s that included sidling up to one another at a bar, exchanging phone numbers, meeting at a restaurant and having awkward conversations about first concerts over spinach artichoke dip. It was nerve-racking then. Surely, things had improved.

Rip interrupted her thought process. “You have to get on the apps.”

“I’ve been warned by my friend Kristy that the apps are a warped romantic hellscape.”

Rip nodded assuredly and said, “Oh for sure, but it’s where everybody is. I’d like to say you could still meet people in bars, but I don’t think that’s a thing anymore.”

“So, you’re telling me if I go to a bar, I won’t get hit on?”

“Anything’s possible, I suppose, but unlikely. Things have changed.”

“What happened to flirting, playful banter, buying people drinks?”

Rip contemplated that before answering. “Depends on what you say. I think ‘You’re cute’ is still okay, but something like ‘Your booty game is bananas’ is probably outside the scope of today’s social contract.”

“Not sure that was ever part of the social contract, but I take your point.”

“And be prepared to buy your own drinks. Guys will not buy a drink for a woman he’s interested in for fear of being insulted, yelled at, or thrown out,” Rip said and shrugged his shoulders as if a thing like this could not be helped.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. My buddy Andy bought an Aperol Spritz for a girl across the bar and the waiter came back with it and said, ‘Your unsolicited drink has made the lady uncomfortable and now she has to leave.’ Still charged him for the drink.”

“Jesus. So, the apps.”

Rip grimly nodded. “’Fraid so.”

Jamie reached for her computer, still skeptical but panicking at her dwindling real-life options. She logged on and searched for “best dating apps for women.”

Jamie began reading the terms of some of the sites and this time, more resolute, she signed up for her first dating app. “All right. I hacked into the warped brains of serial killers and master criminals. Single guys can’t be that hard.”

Rip acknowledged this with a tight smile. “How can I help?”

“Well.” Jamie blew her hair out of her face and looked up from her computer screen. “You think you can help me write my profile?”

“Of course, I’ve got thirty minutes.” Rip cracked his knuckles and loosened his shoulders. “Let’s get cracking.”

Jamie squinted at the screen as she scanned the Helpful Hints section on what to include and exclude from dating profiles. Don’t get too specific. State your interests clearly. Post an attractive photo, preferably not a naked photo unless you wish to be banned from the entire site. Fairly straightforward stuff. This particular dating app promised “Real Connections with Real People” as Jamie read the slogan out loud.

Rip interrupted her reading. “Yeah, let’s veto that one. It’s a free site. Dregs of society. Sign up for one that charges a nominal fee as the basic cost of entry. It deters the ones just trying to get laid. Try Twin Flame.”

“Copy that.” Jamie went to the Twin Flame dating site that advertised the exact same single person clickbait, but this one charged fifty bucks and made you fill out a personality questionnaire.

After fifteen pages of Myers-Briggs questions that spit out the exact components of one’s personality, a questionnaire Jamie had ascertained was woefully inadequate, a questionnaire that any practicing psychopath could easily foil, she squinted at her results, which pegged her as “attachment-avoidant,” and was momentarily paralyzed with apprehension.

Having assessed herself yesterday morning and again in the harsher wee hours of last night, Jamie was fueled by unqualified hope, mild desperation, and a fresh sugar buzz. She took a deep breath, ran her fingers through her unwashed hair, turned to her brother, and asked, “I’m guessing I can’t say, ‘Slightly chubby, attachment-avoidant mind reader unable to make herself vulnerable due to deep-seated trust issues, seeking fun and laughs. Personality highlights include being schooled in psychopathic methodologies, impulse control problems and an unhealthy addiction to true crime shows. I do, however, like sunsets.” Jamie sighed, looked over at her brother, desperate. “Please help me polish this mess into a diamond.”

“You’re not chubby,” Rip retorted. He paused and raised one eyebrow. “And yes, we can work with the rest.”

With a little focus, Rip was able to transform Jamie’s ghastly personal flaws into attractive, dateable attributes. Her habit of drinking a glass of nightly chardonnay on her own patio with her dog and the neighbor’s dog had become “outdoorsy and social.” Her career pivot from forensic psychology to headshrinker for hedonists had turned into “understands all walks of life.” Her attachment-avoidant issues and her true crime obsession became “has an independent streak with varied interests in law and criminal justice.” Rip added at the end, “likes a good sunset.” Even Jamie had to admit, with a little imagination and flair, Rip could turn nearly any weird proclivity into a romantic delight.

Once reviewed and proofed, Jamie gave Rip the okay to publish. With a flourish, a click, and a whooshing sound, Jamie was single and online. Rip took the last swig of his stale coffee and said, “Let’s see what bubbles up.”

Within five minutes of scrolling through a dozen profiles, she stopped on one. A man named Theo. Age appropriate, seemed smart, educated, fit, handsome, and gainfully employed. Photos were slightly obscured, but no visible goiters or Nazi paraphernalia. She swiped right and kept scrolling.

Within sixty seconds, she heard a ping. She looked at her phone, where the app alerted her that she had a “match” with Theo. Tentative yet curious, Jamie reached out via the chat function on the app and found her fingers frozen over the keyboard, flummoxed as to what to write. She decided on “Hey there, I’m Jamie.” She said a simple prayer that he was not a serial killer and hit send.