"Come on Peter, you can't give up so easily," Davy called after his friend.

The pair had arrived back at the pad with Peter making quick strides toward their bedroom, and Davy trying hard to keep up with his long strides. Once Peter slammed the bedroom door, Davy gave up his pursuit. Micky and Mike looked up from their card game.

"What happened?" Micky asked.

"I tried to take Peter out to meet some girls," Davy began trying to catch his breath, "and things were going okay until…"

"Until what?" Mike inquired.

"Well, we had two girls at our table and the conversation was flowing. I mean, it was mostly me keeping it going because Peter is shy," Davy continued. "One of the girls mentioned being fascinated by magic and Peter took that opportunity to talk about being trained by Mendrek."

"I can already tell where this story may be headed," Micky said putting his hands over his eyes as if the description of the scene would take him there.

"It may be worse than you anticipate," Davy said. "Peter attempted to remove the tablecloth with all the dishes still on top."

"Don't tell me he spilled everything on the girls," Mike cringed.

"Actually, no," Davy continued. "He successfully pulled that off. Peter then put the tablecloth over his date to make her 'disappear.'"

"And did he?" Micky asked.

"Oh he did. She disappeared to the next table next to another guy," Davy answered.

"Oh no," Mike said.

"Yeah, ever since then I have been chasing him back here. My legs couldn't keep up."

"I think it's time for damage control," Mike concluded standing up and making his way to the recently slammed door.

Mike knocked softly. "Hey Shotgun, can I come in?"

Silence.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mike said entering the room. He looked around a spotted a pair legs sticking out from under Peter's bed. "Lose something?"

"Yeah, my dignity," Peter answered muffled.

"Come out from under there and talk to me," Mike urged.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Then stop looking."

"It could be worse, you know?"

"I'm the living embodiment of 'it could be worse'."

"Look man, I know that you've been in a bit of a slump since Madam Rosita, but you can't let that get you down."

"I'm not."

"You're literally down under the bed."

Peter slowly began to scoot out from under the bed to sit on top of it. "Mike, there's nothing more to talk about."

"You know holding things in is not going to help you."

"I'm just going to aggressively ignore that part of my life until it goes away."

"That's definitely not going to work."

"Mike, I just want to be left alone."

With that Peter led Mike to the door and let him out. Before he could completely close the door, Micky shoved his body halfway in the room. "Did I hear someone wanted to be alone? I'll be alone with you."

"Yeah, Micky are you unfamiliar with that concept?" Peter asked. "It means by myself."

"Relax, Pessimistic Peter," Micky said waving off Peter's negativity. "I'm not here to overstay my welcome."

"You are well past that," Peter said under his breath.

"I would like to join you in acknowledging the difficulties of your life," Micky continued.

"You are the worst at this comfort thing."

"This isn't comfort, its business."

"Business?"

"Yes, Big Peter. Are you familiar with my brilliant ideas?"

"You mean the ones we are not supposed to encourage and that rarely ever go anywhere?"

"The very same," Micky said unfazed by Peter's sarcasm. "Boy do I have one for you."

"Ready for 'Operation: For Pete's Sake'?" Micky said the next day when Peter joined him at the kitchen table.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Peter answered. "Although, you haven't explained the logistics of this plan yet."

"Logistics? That's good I could use that!" Micky said scribbling something down in a notebook.

"Use it for what?" Peter asked.

"The brilliant idea! Trust me! Now tell some information about your days in Connecticut."

"What for?"

"Peter, did you agree to the idea or not?"

"Fine, I'm from a pretty ritzy area. My family was on the humbler side of things, but was well-thought-of among others."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh, what else?"

"Well, I was more the type to lie low. My brother was student body president and my sister was homecoming queen, but as for me I mostly kept to myself and just tried to survive without embarrassing myself. I mean more than usual."

"Good stuff," Micky said getting up and grabbing a typewriter and beginning to feverishly type things.

Peter looked on as Micky pulled out paper after paper balling them up and tossing them aside. Finally, Micky held up a finished product. "Perfection," he said as he kissed his fingers and handed Peter the paper.

Peter read aloud, "'Handsome, single, young man well respected in his town. Seeks a fine, young lady from a similar background. Generous, responsible, respectful man of means. Socialize with presidents and queens. Reply: P.O. Box 9847.' What is this?"

"Ever heard of lonely hearts ads?" Micky asked.

"You mean asking for potential dates in the classifieds?"

"Precisely," Micky answered, "if you're having difficulty in person then the girl can learn about you here first."

"This stuff sounds like a bit of a stretch," Peter said. "Presidents and queens?"

"Your brother and sister, practically royalty."

"Man of means? We have difficulty making rent every month."

"So we embellish a bit, who doesn't?"

"Whose P.O. box is this?"

"It's one I got for a fan club, you know if one day we ever catch a break."

"I don't know about this."

"Listen Pete, you want to land a girl, right?"

Peter nodded.

"This is the best option. Look, if you're unsure about this, take a day to think it over."

"I can do that. Thanks for the help, Mick."

Micky patted Peter on the back and walked towards his bedroom. Peter continued to look over the ad and contemplate his next move.

A few days later, Peter was still reading over the advertisement Micky had made for him. This describes me very poorly, he thought,Better try again.

Peter approached Davy who was reading the newspaper on the hammock. Sensing someone was hovering over him, Davy peeked from behind the paper at Peter.

"Hey Peter, what are you doing?"

"Davy, I was wondering if you could help me with something."

"Sure, I owe it to you after the fiasco from a few days ago."

"That wasn't your fault," Peter answered. "Micky had an idea of how I should approach women and well here read this."

Davy scanned the typed paper. "What is this supposed to be?"

"Micky thought the best way for me to get out there was to place an advertisement in the paper," Peter explained. "He said we needed to embellish but I feel as though it is too far off."

"I'll say! Since when do you know the queen? I'd have a better chance of that being British."

"Do you think you could help me come up with a more appropriate description?"

"I am more than willing to give it a shot," Davy offered. "Now let's see, what are your hobbies? Well of course there's music and when you were painting doors. Didn't you go to the movies a few days ago? What did you see?"

"The Jungle Book," Peter smiled.

"Uh huh, a cartoon huh?" Davy said. "What places have you been to that are exciting?"

"Well, I haven't been many places. I went from Connecticut to New York to here. Oh, once I had a layover in Indiana."

"I might have to stretch this too," Davy sighed. He got off the hammock and began pacing back and forth with his hand on his chin. After about fifteen minutes, he stopped suddenly and Peter ran into him since he had been mimicking Davy's movements. Davy walked over to the typewriter and typed one page up quicker than Micky had previously. "What do you think of this?"

Peter read the page aloud, "'Quiet, sincere, gentleman, well rounded and mature. Fond of music and the arts, loves the theater. Educated, sensitive, a traveler of the world. Wants to meet an eligible young girl. Reply: P. O. Box 9847.' Do you really believe that I'm mature?"

"Well, you certainly are…older than me," Davy offered weakly. "Now does this seem more accurate to you?"

"It does sound less far-fetched than the other one," Peter answered. "It sounds too eloquently written to be from me. I'm still not too sure about representing myself this way. I mean writing and advertising, is that really me?"

"I think that's more for you to decide," Davy replied. "Think it over. It's not something you need to do right away. I'm happy to support you in whatever venture you decide. I did promise you that I'd help you with dating and I'm going to hold up my end of the bargain."

"Thanks for your help Davy. I really appreciate it."

"Anything for you, Mate," Davy smiled and then headed back over to the hammock.

Peter again stared at his new ad. This was definitely more truthful, but was it completely? He was still not sure where to draw the line. He could exaggerate things to make them sound more interesting than the actual truth. But something within him was nagging him to think it over further.

Mike stumbled lazily down the spiral staircase. It was 3 AM and he was awakened by the clickty-clack sounds of someone typing furiously on the typewriter. He navigated his way through the maze of crumbled up paper towards the orange pajama clad figure at the table. Mike went to reach out for the figure's shoulder and had to dodge a ball of paper that went straight for his head.

"Hey Shotgun, watch where you're throwing things!" Mike exclaimed.

Peter jumped out of his chair and began breathing heavily. "Mike, don't sneak up on a guy like that!"

"I'm sorry. What are you up to so late at night?"

"Well, I don't know presidents and queens and I'm not well traveled, so I needed to edit."

Mike looked at Peter questioningly, "A little context would be helpful here."

"I don't have any textbooks on how to be a criminal."

"Not con text…never mind. What are you talking about?"

"Micky came up with a brilliant idea…"

"Oh here we go," Mike interrupted.

"He decided that the best way for me to meet a girl was to put out a lonely hearts ad," Peter explained handing Mike Micky's version of the ad.

When Mike finished scanning the ad, Peter continued, "That ad didn't represent me well, so I asked Davy for help making a new one."

Mike studied the next advertisement passed to him by Peter.

"That one didn't seem quite right either. I don't want to lie," Peter wrapped up. "So I was down here trying to get the information just right, but I don't even know what's what anymore."

Mike began to pick up some of the discarded papers and look them over. "Looks to me as if you're combining Micky and Davy's ideas still."

"I'm not liking what I'm typing. Throw it all away," Peter sighed with discouragement.

"I think we should throw it all away," Mike agreed. "But I don't think you should give up just yet."

"It's hopeless though."

"No it isn't. You just have to go against what others are saying and listen to your instincts."

"I don't know what I think about myself anymore," Peter protested. "My mind is so clouded by Micky and Davy's ads that I can't think for myself."

"Think Pete," Mike said, "why do you need help finding a girl in the first place?"

"I'm timid and bashful," Peter described, "and I feel very alone and need companionship."

"My favorite conversations are the ones where you know exactly what I'm going to say, so I don't have to say anything. Do I even need to be here? Because I could go back to sleep."

"You don't think that sounds desperate?"

"Shotgun, what I think doesn't matter. This is your life. You choose the best option."

With that Mike climbed back up to his room, leaving Peter to think about his choices. He decided to type one more page before heading back to bed, while it was still fresh in his mind.

Peter stood in line at the post office and reread the typed paper in his hand before sealing up the envelope to the newspaper office. The paper read:

"Lonely, understanding man, affectionate and true. Looking for girl to share his dreams and make them true. Humble, loving, sensitive, considerate and shy. Only sincere ladies need reply. Reply: P. O. Box 9847."

This was the last page Peter wrote before bed the night before. It was the first advertisement he felt encompassed all aspects of himself truthfully. Sure he was still nervous about the results, but it was a risk he was willing to take. He took a deep breath and sealed the envelope before approaching the post office register.

Here goes nothing, Peter thought before handing the letter over. No turning back now.