Summery: Is romance dead? Does Prince Charming exist? Christine highly doubts it...

Erik, the "Date Phantom"

All Men are Bastards

Christine Davis strolled into the office as if it were just another Thursday. She didn't pay any attention to the stares she received, she didn't stop to say "good morning" to Karen, the receptionist, she didn't even bother to stop and explain to her good friend Brian, what she was doing there. She simply walked over to her desk, threw her coat over the rim of her chair, and proceeded to turn on her computer, prepared for another hard day's work at New York's premier lifestyle magazine.

"Well, well, well…look what the catfish dragged in," Brian groaned, as he approached Christine's cubicle. "Correct me if I'm wrong…but I could have sworn you were in Florida, and would be remaining there until Monday?"

Christine's computer finally finished warming up and only then, did she turn her attention to her co-worker and friend. "Glad to see you too, Brian," she greeted, before handing him a jar filled with sand dollars. "Don't say I never got you anything."

Brian took the jar, although his eyes scrutinized the gift. "This is my souvenir? Gosh…you shouldn't have, and I mean that."

Christine only grinned. "It was either that, or a jar filled with alligator teeth," she teased. "Besides, I'll have you know I picked those sand dollars up myself! The vendor who sold me the jar told me they would bring good luck to whoever I gave them to."

Brian put the jar down on Christine's desk and eyed the pretty brunette with skepticism. "Nice try, but it won't work."

Christine wasn't paying any attention; she had already begun to type a few sentences on her computer. "What's not going to work?"

"Your attempts to change the subject!" he interrupted, one of his hands moving over hers and stop her from typing. "Now answer my question, Chris…what are you doing back so early from your vacation?"

Christine sighed and looked up at the man who had been a good friend and mentor to her for the last seven years. Brian was the one who got her the journalism internship when she was in graduate school, who helped her land her job at New York Chique, and who had basically become a second father to her. And she knew that he meant well with his concern.

"Truth is…I got bored," Christine sighed with a shrug of her shoulders. "Trust me, it was beautiful, and the weather was absolutely lovely…but…I missed home."

Brian's eyes narrowed at these words. "I believe you when you tell me that you missed home…but it's FLORDIA, Chris! And in case you haven't noticed, it's the middle of November, in New York City, meaning that winter will be invading at any second! I mean, weren't you staying at some seaside resort, that had snorkeling and surfing?"

Christine turned her attention back to her computer. "I neither surf nor snorkel, so there was no point in being there. Besides, I like winter; it's unnatural to be someplace where in mid November you can still walk around in shorts."

Brian rolled his eyes. "You know what I think?" he asked, without even bothering to see if she had listened. "I think you simply came back because you got bored…of being there, by yourself."

Christine froze at the man's words, before turning and casting her friend a filthy look. "I did not get bored because I was by myself," she retorted, glaring all the more as he grinned back at her. It was one of those smiles that older people gave younger people that said, I know better than you do! Plus, she was not prepared to get into another argument over her love-life…or lack thereof. "Florida…or any tropical place for that matter is just not for me," she muttered, before resuming her typing once more on the keyboard.

"Fine," Brian murmured, knowing that he had struck a nerve. "Well, the next time the magazine orders you to take a vacation, and it happens to be someplace warm, pass it on to me. Susan is begging that I take her to Jamaica one of these days."

Christine grinned at the mention of Brian's wife. "How is she?"

Brian couldn't help but grin, and quickly dug out a small, black photograph from his wallet. "Here's the most recent picture," he said with deep pride.

Christine took the photo from his hands and gasped as she looked at the ultrasound. "Oh Brian, how wonderful! Do you know the gender?"

Brian shook his head. "Susan wants to be surprised, although I have a strong feeling it's going to be a boy," he grinned. "She's only three months along, but she wants to go someplace warm before she 'turns into a heifer'," he explained. "Her words, not mine."

Christine giggled and handed the picture back to him. "Have you shown it to Meg yet? She always goes ga-ga over baby photos."

Brian's smile fell at the mention of their boss, and Christine took immediate notice. The amusement and light-heartedness that had been in her eyes and in her voice, disappeared completely, at the grim look Brian was giving her. "What happened?"

Brian sighed and looked down at the floor. "Meg's not in the office today…"

Christine rose to her feet at this piece of news. Meg Giry was the editor-in-chief to New York Chique, but she also happened to be Christine's best friend from college. The two of them had been through a lot together, and Christine knew her friend's habits. Meg hated missing work; even when she wasn't feeling well, Meg made an appearance for at least part of the day, until Christine could finally coax her to go home. Only one thing would keep Meg from coming in to work, and Christine felt the dread build in the pit of her stomach. "Is she at home?" she asked, already knowing answer. Christine already had her coat on before Brian could even finish nodding his head. Without another look, Christine grabbed her purse and immediately exited the office, hailing a cab as soon as she got outside, and telling the driver to step on it.

Christine sighed as she hit the buzzer on the intercom for the fourth time. If it was taking Meg this long to answer, it had to be really bad. She was about to hit the buzzer for a fifth time, when a groggy voice filled the small speaker box in front of her.

"Who is it?"

Christine felt her heart break as she heard the obvious sounds of despair in her friend's voice. Meg had obviously been crying, and it sounded as though her nose was blocked, and her throat was soar. Good thing I got the essentials.

"Meg? It's me."

There was a pause, and then a small gasp filled the speaker box. "C-c-chris? W-what are you doing back—"

"We can get to that later," Christine interrupted. "Can I come up?"

Christine remembered how last time this had happened, she had to coax Meg into finally buzzing her up; her friend was so upset that she didn't want anyone to see her. However, much to Christine's relief, no further questions were asked, or protests given. A loud, irritating buzz, filled the small breezeway that Christine stood inside, and she was immediately given access into the fancy, upscale, apartment building.

Christine didn't waste her time with the elevator; for a fancy Central Park West residence, the darn thing had the bad habit of stalling. She took the stairs and ran up the steps, once again thankful that Meg only lived on the fourth floor, instead of the tenth. Upon arriving, Christine immediately noticed the apartment door open, and her friend standing in the hallway, a red fleece blanket wrapped tightly around her thin shoulders.

"Hey," Christine murmured, happy to see her friend, but wishing the circumstances were different.

"Oh Chris…" Meg wailed, holding her arms out, to which Christine immediately went into, hugging the girl tightly to her.

"Sshh…it's ok, it's ok," Christine softly whispered, her hold never loosening as Meg buried her face against Christine's shoulder and sobbed. "Come on, let's get inside and you can tell me everything."

Meg mutely nodded her head, took a deep breath, and led Christine back inside her apartment. Once in, Christine knew exactly what to do. She had a small plastic sack with her, and she immediately placed one of the items from the sack in Meg's freezer, before going over to Meg's stove and putting the teakettle on.

"I got you some cold medicine, and those lemon throat drops that I know you like," she murmured as she took two mugs out of one of Meg's cabinets, and dropped in two peppermint tea bags. "I also got you some Rocky Road, and dinner is on me," she announced, showing Meg two different take-away menus. "Chinese or Turkish?"

Meg had already gone over to the large couch that filled a good portion of her living room, and had plopped down, wrapping the blanket up even tighter around her small, frail body. "I'm not hungry," she muttered, her gaze turning towards the large glass windows that looked out over Central Park.

Christine shook her head, knowing this routine by heart. Meg was a very beautiful woman; she had long, curly, reddish-gold hair that reminded Christine of new, shiny pennies. Her smile was infectious, her teeth the perfect shade of white that would make her the poster-child for any dental group. Her skin was flawless, her eyes the color of emeralds, and she carried herself with such grace that she reminded Christine more of a ballerina, than the editor-in-chief to a major magazine company.

Meg was also one of the sweetest people that Christine knew. She was kind, generous, outgoing, and treated everyone fairly. Even though she was Christine's boss, she never once treated Christine or any of the other writers at New York Chique, as people lesser than equals. And it was this sweet nature that Christine truly believed made Meg an easy target for assholes.

The kettle let out its cry, and Christine quickly poured them both a piping hot cup of peppermint tea, before joining her friend on the couch. It was at this moment that Christine got a good look at her friend. Just as I feared, she thought to herself. Meg's face was a bright shade of red, and the skin around her eyes and under nose looked swollen and puffy from her crying and sniffling. Her hair was hanging limply off her shoulders, and it looked as if she had lost a few pounds. She's skinny enough as it is, she doesn't need to stop eating…

"Drink this," Christine softly urged, handing the mug over to Meg.

Meg glanced at the mug, and shook her head. "I have a drink," she muttered, turning her gaze back towards the window.

Christine rolled her eyes, and put the mug down on the couch's end table, before grabbing the open wine bottle that Meg had been referring to, and taking it back into the kitchen.

"Hey!" Meg protested when she realized what Christine was doing. "I was drinking that!"

"Not anymore," Christine dismissed, before returning to the couch. "Alcohol is the last thing you need at this moment, especially with your cold."

Meg made a face. "I don't have a cold."

"You always get a cold when you're upset," Christine argued, before once again urging her friend to take the mug. "You need to drink something hot, and then we are going to get you something to eat."

Meg didn't have the strength to argue, and she knew her friend was right. "Before you ask, it happened yesterday," she sadly whispered, before taking the mug from Christine's hands.

Christine simply nodded her head. "Tony?"

Meg took a small sip from her mug and felt her body tremble with another wave of sadness at the mention of her new ex-boyfriend. "Yes."

Christine felt her jaw clench just slightly. Tony was a male underwear model; that alone should have been a warning sign. Meg had met him after a photo shoot he had done for the magazine, and the two of them hit it off right away. He was tall and handsome, and seemed to resemble a statue of a Greek god. Christine wasn't exactly sure when they had started dating, but she knew it had been for a while, a few months at the very least. Christine saw through Tony the second she met him at a dinner party that Meg was throwing. He flirted with every woman there, including herself. He learned all too quickly how close Christine was to Meg, and stopped his antics around her, or whenever she was watching him, but Christine had learned from a past argument, one that had nearly ruined her friendship with Meg, that she was not meant to "interfere" with her friend's love life. So Christine bit her lip, although it pained her deeply, and prayed every night that Tony would realize what a great woman he had, and not do anything to screw it up.

Apparently, Tony never came to that realization.

"Asshole," Meg muttered, taking another sip of her tea. "Bastard didn't even have the decency to break up with me in person."

Christine felt pride swell in her chest as she listened to her friend curse Tony's name. Perhaps the healing would go faster this time? "Not the answering machine?"

Meg nodded her head, and Christine rolled her eyes. "You're right, he is an asshole," she grumbled.

Meg smiled weakly at her friend, but it was quickly replaced by a sad frown. "You don't have to do that, you know."

Christine paused her sipping, and lowered her mug, her brow furrowed with confusion. "Do what?"

"Pretend that you never once thought Tony was a jerk," she sighed. "I know you Chris, I know what you're thinking when I look into your eyes. I know that you thought Tony was a waste of my time two seconds after you met him…" she placed her mug on the end table and gathered the red blanket around her shoulders. "I just wish I had listened to you…"

Christine put her own mug down and reached out to take Meg's hands in hers. "I've been wrong about people before," she said with a caring smile. "And…while I won't deny, Tony was not one of my favorites, I did want him to make you happy, and every day, I hoped and prayed that he would."

Meg groaned and turned her head towards the window once more. "So did I…but apparently 'banging' the editor-in-chief to one of New York's top selling magazines wasn't enough; I wasn't pretty enough, or thin enough, or wealthy enough—"

"You know that's not true," Christine interrupted. "You're beautiful, you're successful, and don't you dare start thinking that you're fat," Christine warned. "I could snap you like a toothpick."

Meg found herself smiling at Christine's words. "Once again, another example of why your column is so successful."

Christine was glad her friend was smiling, and she could see the headline for her next column: All Men are Bastards and Why Women are Better Off Without Them. "Well, what do you expect from 'the Happy Single'?"

Meg giggled at Christine's words, wishing that she had her friend's strength. Christine wrote a column on being a single woman living in New York, and offering advice to other women who were single, empowering them to embrace their singleness, instead of fearing it. It had quickly become one of the favorites of the magazine, and coined Christine the penname, "the Happy Single".

Christine smiled at her friend's laughter, and rose from the couch. "Let's order Turkish; I don't know about you, but I'm craving a chicken kebab with extra hummus."

Meg smiled, so glad that her friend had come back early from her vacation and was there to comfort her. "Sounds good," she murmured, but her smile slowly began to fade as the sad memories once again returned. "I just…I wish I knew—"

"Don't, Meg," Christine interrupted as she dialed the phone number on the take-away menu. "This is not your fault; Tony is the asshole who left you, who broke up with your answering machine. You did nothing wrong, so don't start thinking about what you could have done better. It's his loss, not yours."

Meg nodded her head, trying to allow Christine's words to wash over her. She was just so tired of getting her heart broken; did Prince Charming exist at all?

"It will be here in fifteen minutes," Christine explained, as she settled herself back down on the couch. She noticed that her friend was deep in thought, and Christine reached out to take the young woman's hand in her own once more, prepared to say whatever was needed to convince Meg that Tony did not deserve her tears.

However, what Meg did say took Christine completely by surprise.

"Have you heard of this guy called 'the Date Phantom'?"

Christine's eyes widened at Meg's words. "Um…a little bit, why do you ask?"

Inwardly, Christine was groaning. She had a good idea at what Meg was going to say. Christine loved Meg dearly, but she knew that one problem her friend had, was the fear of being single for any great period of time. Meg was one of those women that felt she needed to have a boyfriend in her life in order to feel she had a purpose. Ok, that's slightly harsh, Christine inwardly reprimanded. Christine knew that Meg was a strong woman, she just needed the confidence. She truly believed that the thing that would be most beneficial for Meg was to be single for a while; there had just been too many bad boyfriends, with too many bad break-ups. Meg needed time to heal, and to heal without a man in her life.

"Well, I've only heard a few things," Meg murmured. "That he helps people find the right person, men mostly, but…I thought that perhaps, if I knew who he was, I could ask him to help—"

"First of all," Christine interrupted. "We don't even know if this guy is in fact, a guy. Second, no one we know has actually met the so-called 'Date Phantom', it's all been stories that we've heard by others who knew someone, who knew someone else, that received help. So how do we know that this man or woman does, in fact, exist?"

Meg's brow furrowed. "You think he…or she…is made up?"

Christine shrugged her shoulders. "I'm just saying that if there is such a person out there, I would think he, or she, would be advertising like crazy in the Times. Imagine all the money they would make! But as far as I'm aware, there are no ads, so how are people finding this person?" she leaned back on the couch and turned her own face towards the window. "You ask me, it's just another urban legend, like alligators in the sewer."

Meg nodded her head, although a part of her wanted to believe in the possibility of such a person existing. "Shame," she sighed. "It would have been nice to have someone set a person up on a proper date with a proper man."

"Trust me, Meg. Your prince will come," Christine smiled. "On a white charger, too. And it will happen, because you want it to."

Meg grinned all the more at Christine's words. "Thanks…and I know what you think, that being single isn't so bad, and you're right, it's not, it's just…I don't want to end up bitter and alone, totally giving up on romance and fairy tales—"

Meg stopped herself as she realized what she was doing. She slowly lifted her eyes to Christine's and felt her cheeks flood with color as she saw the surprised look in her friend's pretty blue eyes.

Christine, however, immediately tried to cover up her own pain with a joke. "Hey, I can't blame you; after all, ending up like me is a fate worse than death!"

Meg wasn't laughing. "Chris, I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't worry about it," Christine interrupted, grateful that she heard the buzzer ringing on the apartment's intercom. "Ah! Food's here! I'll be right back," she grinned, turning and heading down to the front door, her head held high, and her heart trying desperately to keep Meg's painful, yet truthful words, from penetrating too deeply.

The intercom inside his penthouse buzzed while he was lying back in his favorite leather chair, his eyes closed as he listened to the music of Beethoven sweep through the sound system of his home.

With a somewhat weary sigh, he rose from the chair and pushed the pause button on his stereo, before answering the intercom. "Yes?"

"Hi, Mr. Henri, it's Derek!"

Erik felt a small smile pull at his lips at the sound of the man on the intercom. Derek Fenton had been one of his more recent clients; he was short and balding, and was deeply in love with Patricia Carpenter, his boss' secretary. Erik had done his duty, he helped Derek learn how to relax when in Patricia's presence, he helped him grow confidence in himself, and by listening to Patricia's conversation one evening over dinner, Derek had learned that both he and Patricia shared a love for Shakespeare, and with Erik's help, Derek was able to surprise Patricia with a private performance of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" in Central Park.

"It's good to hear you, Derek," Erik replied, his voice a deep, rich baritone. "How is Patricia?"

Derek could not suppress the happiness in his voice. "I proposed to her last night," he explained. Erik smiled; he could hear the other man's grin.

"And?" he asked, although he knew the answer. Derek was most sincere when expressing his affection for Patricia. Erik always tested and screened his clients before agreeing to help them, and Derek was one of the best men he had ever met. Derek just needed a confidence boost; he already had the creativity to sweep Patricia off her feet.

"She said yes!" Derek joyfully cried, before bursting out into a series of happy shouts, much like Tom Cruise on the Oprah Winfrey Show. "Can you believe it?" Derek asked, after finally calming down. "Me! She said yes to me!"

Erik smiled and found himself chuckling at Derek's excitement. He was truly happy for the man. "I can believe it, Derek. You're a good man, and Patricia is very lucky."

"I couldn't have done it without you, Mr. Henri. I owe you big time!"

Erik's smile softened at the man's words, but he shook his head, even though Derek couldn't see him. "You owe me nothing, Derek. Hearing your happiness…that's my reward."

"Mr. Henri, how can I ever repay you? Oh!" Erik could hear the sound of papers being rustled. "I would love to have you come to the wedding! It won't be for another six months, but—"

"Send me an invitation," Erik simply replied. Derek's offer was not the first wedding invite he had received. Almost every past client had sent him a wedding invitation, and Erik's reply was always the same: Regretfully Decline. It wasn't that he didn't wish to go, but he had obvious reasons to why he couldn't. At least with the wedding invitation, a gift registry was given, and Erik always went out of his way to get something special for his clients.

"I will do that, I promise," Derek grinned. "Thank you, Mr. Henri, thank you so much!"

"You're more than welcome, Derek," Erik simply replied. "Now go spend your evening with Patricia; I'm sure it's much more welcoming than the downstairs speaker box."

Derek chuckled, thanked Erik again for the millionth time, before finally saying goodbye and leaving. Erik stood in silence for a moment, before reaching out once more, and hitting the play button on his stereo, allowing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata to wash over him again.

Another satisfied client; another happy union.

Erik was glad that he had been able to help a good man like Derek Fenton; the world needed more men like Derek Fenton, men who sincerely loved and respected women, as opposed to simply lusting after them. He returned to his chair and eased himself back down, closing his eyes as the music built all around him.

Life had cursed him with a romantic heart, and a horrifying face. At least he had found a way to use his gifts, as opposed to simply wallowing in self-misery. Besides, he had done plenty of that in his younger days. The world needed more men like Derek Fenton, and if his purpose was to help such men become the happy, romantic, and confident men that Derek Fenton had become, then so be it.

With a sigh, Erik reached up and removed his mask, allowing the room's cool air to caress his ravaged flesh. He had accepted his fate long ago; love was not meant for a creature like him, but through the stories of his clients, through the wedding invitations he received, Erik could, at the very least, imagine what that sort of happiness felt like.