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Date 1: Will the Real Gina Please Stand Up?
(True stories from the dating trenches.)

Her name is Gina. Her stats, as listed on the online dating site called Plenty of Fish, are as follows: 25-years-old, 5'4", Caucasian, brunette, slender. I've been exchanging emails with her for the past two weeks, and tonight marks our first face-to-face get together. I've arranged to pick her up at her apartment in Central LA and take her to a nice restaurant in Santa Monica, a four star Italian hotspot on Santa Monica's 3rd Street Promenade. With the reservations set, and just a few minutes to go before I call Gina to come downstairs to meet me at my car, I'm feeling good about our date. It's going to be an excellent night.
I slow to a stop beside Gina's apartment and park my Escape. I fish out my cell from my pants pocket (new jeans I had purchased just for tonight) and check the time. 6:23. It's a little too early to call my date downstairs, so I exit my car to enjoy the spectacular Southern California evening weather.
It doesn't take long before I start to think about all ways this date could play out. I first envision the positive outcomes: enraptured in conversation, laughing throughout much of our dinner, getting a drink or two at some nearby bar, closing the night with a little bit of romance. My heart races at this last thought. I don't expect to get far on a first date, but a kiss or two or three...
Next come the negative possibilities, slapping me in the face like a friend waking me from a daydream: boring chit-chat, terrible food at a crowded and overpriced restaurant, a rejected drink proposal that I've made to try to salvage the night. No meeting of the lips on this one. I'd be lucky to even have her link her arm with mine to escort her back to my car.
6:31. Time to place that call.
"Gina? Hello? You there?"
Someone has picked up on her end, but the reception is terrible. Why do we use these damn cell phones if they never work half of the time?
"Vince?"
"Yes. Hi. I'm downstairs now. Come when you are ready."
"Okay. Brilliant. Be down in a sec."
The line goes dead. She has a British accent, something I wasn't expecting even though we've sent enough messages to fill a small journal. Never once had she mentioned she was from England.
I would soon find out she had more than one secret up her sleeve.
I wait for another ten minutes (it's never just a second), then spot a woman checking her cell near a second entrance to the complex that I had not previously seen.
"Gina?"
She turns. Surprise number two hits me.
"Hi, Vince! There you are."
We exchange hugs.
I'm wondering if I should call off the date right now. I seriously consider bluntly calling her out on her lie, turning around, and jumping in my car before the string of negative possibilities has time to go into full effect.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out except four words: "My car's this way."

~~~

As I drive west down a traffic free I-10 (one of the few pleasant outcomes so far), we talk about all the things we hadn't written about online. I mention that her neighborhood is serene and unlike most that I've seen in LA. She tells me that she likes it, but might consider moving to another part of the city to save money. It's something of a wonder how I'm able to carry out a conversation and drive, while my mind swirls around the one elephant in room: This is not Gina!
The girl next to me has all the same basic stats that I read about online, but her face is very different from the one I had seen in the three pictures she had posted. The same is true for her hair and skin tone.
I want to blurt out the truth to this impostor, but two factors keep my mouth sealed. The first is the possibility that I could be wrong. Pictures can be easily altered--magazines do it all the time--and maybe what I saw was some sort of airbrushed glamour work on Gina's head. I would look like a jerk if I said she looked much prettier in her pictures.
The second reason is I still want to enjoy the evening and the possibility that the date could end up going well despite this initial hitch. I didn't want to be shallow and call off the night on looks alone. If she fesses up to her lie, then I could likely get over the image I had built in my mind during the last several weeks of communicating with her and accept the new Gina.
Maybe we could have a little romance after all.
"Have you tried this restaurant before?" Gina asks me as I park my car in a structure near 3rd Street Promenade.
"No. I found it online. It had about a dozen good reviews, so I figured it was better than Chucky Cheese tonight."
I get a smile, but no laugh. Not good. I cannot help but feel like she should be the one telling me jokes to ease the tension. I immediately decide to hold off on the comedy.
As we enter the restaurant and take our seats, I begin to ponder how I can best broach the subject of her online profile without being rude about it. Should I wait to ask her the truth, or do it right away so we can enjoy our dinner without the question nagging at me?
I decide to choose the middle road--to do it after our appetizer.
"Everything looks so delicious, doesn't it?" Gina says to me, her wide eyes absorbing the menu selections.
"Yes, it does."
It's the truth. The food passing me smells great. And the atmosphere of the restaurant feels even better--cozy, warm, quiet. It reminds me why I spend the time and energy going on dates in the first place. I love the feeling of going out with a woman when it's done right. It's one of life's true pleasures.
"Have you decided on a wine, Sir?" our waiter asks upon returning to our table.
"Umm... Sure... Two glasses of pino grigio, please," I tell him.
I smile at Gina. She smiles back.
I return my attention to the menu as the waiter nods and heads off.
Just tell me the truth without my asking, I think.
That's all you need to do, Gina.

~~

The fried calamari is splendid, the wine (now half consumed) is remarkable, and our dinner conversation is going rather well in terms of first dates. With our entrees due in a matter of minutes, everything is going as planned.
Everything except for my one contingency.
It's a big deal to me because if there are secrets right from day one (especially big secrets), then there are likely to be communication issues later in the relationship. This has been my experience with past girlfriends. Honesty is key. Without it, neither couple knows exactly where they stand with each other, and that always leads to disaster.
"So Plenty of Fish is something else" I say, finally dipping my toes in the pond I've been circling. I still have no idea how I'm going to phrase what I'm going to say next, but I figure the words will come together as I start the subject. "What do you think about the site?"
Gina, still chewing, covers her mouth and nods her head. She swallows.
"It's okay. It's sort of weird, I guess. Meeting people online."
Tell me about it, I think, watching her gaze shift a little.
It's time!
"So...that was a really cute picture of you with that baby. The one on your profile. Who was that kid you were holding?"
I've managed to surprise myself with this approach. It's perfect. If she simply tells me the name of the baby, then that's another lie stacked on top of the whopper she's currently sitting on. If she does that, I swear I will get up right then and...
"Well, that wasn't really me in that picture," Gina says, blushing. "That was actually my cousin. She had used some of my pictures in her profile and I wanted to get back at her for doing it."
"So all three of those photos?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"All her. I know I shouldn't have done it, but she was such a bastard for doing it to me. I wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine, you know?"
I don't know. It doesn't make sense to me one bit how posting pictures of her cousin on her profile is supposed to be some sort of revenge tactic for what was done to her. It sounds like more bullshit. I always apply the simple answer, and here it's very clear: her cousin was more attractive. Using it would increase the emails to her portfolio and increase the chances of her going on dates. It worked with me, and I'm certain it worked on several other guys.
"So how do you like Plenty of Fish?" she quickly asks.
No appology, I note. That would have been nice since she's trying to use another lie to cover her first one. While I feel the need to end the date right now, a part of me holds back. I'm no saint, but abruptly ending the evening right now just seems wrong. Perhaps just as wrong as posting a picture of Brad Pitt on my profile to draw the ladies.
I carry on as best I can, finishing the dinner, then desert, then driving her back to her apartment. As I park the car, I know the night is a dud and simply settle for giving her a friendly hug and saying goodbye. The moon is out, casting a pale glow on the street in front of me. I stay long enough to make sure she's safely in the complex, then pull my car back into drive.
I roll down my driver's side window to feel the crisp evening air cool my face.
It feels nice.
I love Southern California during the fall.

~~~

(c) 2012 by Vincent Lowry