Amy is an average woman in every sense of the word. Average height, average build, average facial features, average boob size, average ass size, average personality. Two specific features defy the rest: Her smile and her legs. Both are stellar and almost out of place when compared to the rest of her. Amy is a shrinking violet, the kind who stays out of the way at parties yet yearns to talk to anybody giving her more than a quick glance. Amy is a small town girl who was once “Miss Corn Fair” in some backwater county of Middle America. Amy was married once but is now divorced, maybe because her husband didn’t show her enough attention, or possibly because every now and then he smacked her around and told her she was no good for anybody, even herself. On the day she last saw him he swore that nobody would ever love her and said the kind of hateful things that make a person die a little inside. Amy moved to the big city to get away from him but in many ways never moved on. She still shies away from a person’s touch and most times won’t hold your gaze for long.

Amy is stunningly beautiful when you look past all of those things. She is the only one to strongly challenge my “no dating co-workers” rule when I worked at Chiat/Day. And now Amy was standing in front of me outside a Starbucks in West L.A.

“Reed! It is you!” she exclaimed as she threw her arms around me in a loose embrace. The hug ended almost as soon as it began as she pulled back quickly, sensing the contact and privately scolding herself for letting it play out too long.

She looked me over, grinning that gorgeous grin of hers. It was all one needed to see to believe the issues hidden behind that exterior of hers had melted away.

“That’s some beard,” she commented, drawing closer but not too close and sniffing. “It smells.”

“It’s probably me and not the beard. I need to go home and shower. What are you doing here? This isn’t anywhere near the office.”

"We have a breakfast meeting near here and you know how those things are – you get so busy talking and going over your AV materials there’s no time to eat – so we decided to grab a coffee and something to munch on ahead of time.”

I raised an eyebrow. “We? Who is here with y-”

Before I could finish the sentence my answer appeared in font of us in the flesh: Melinda Davies.

“Wow, talk about your raised from the dead!” said Melinda as she turned our corner and approached. “Though I can’t say that beard is very becoming; it’s downright nasty and covers too much.” She leaned in and looked for a bare spot of cheek on my face to kiss.

For the longest time Amy had what was little more than a schoolgirl crush on me, and of this I was well aware. But given her track record with men I never acted on it or tried to exploit the situation. Some streams aren’t meant to be fished in. But there was always a “what if” lingering in the back of my head. What if I could break down that wall. What if I could change her.

Melinda however, in all of her queen bee fashion, knew full well about Amy’s little secret crush, the latter having confided in Mel one afternoon around the copying machine between rapid and quickly hushed girlish giggles, and exploited the point whenever she could just to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing Amy squirm over the issue. It was if Mel was trying to tell Amy this one’s mine, and if I can’t have him, you sure as hell can’t either. I realize how stupidly cocky that makes me sound, but I never asked for Mel to treat Amy like that. On more than one occasion I specifically asked Melinda to stop.

“The high bitch in charge act should really stop,” I recalled saying to Mel one day in passing almost a year ago.

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently.

“You know full well. I am talking about Amy. It’s not bad enough she’s a wallflower – you have to turn the screws just a little harder to make sure she stays that way, huh?”

“She doesn’t even know what’s going on. I mean, the girl is sweet but so much goes over her head.” Melinda tried her standard diversionary tactic at this point: Sitting on the edge of a nearby counter or desk and tightly crossing her legs to show off whatever short skirt she might be wearing and her toned, ex-cheerleader legs.

I’d seen the move enough to not let it faze me. Usually I’d give it right back. “How is it with you having been a cheerleader that Amy has a better set of legs than you? I’m thinking it’s the stairmaster, because she doesn’t have runner’s legs and yet still they are toned and shapely beyond what you’ve got downstairs.”

She shot me a scowl and I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Whatever you’ve been doing, drop it. She’s a nice girl and doesn’t need her head fucked with. Save that for somebody on equal footing with yourself. This is an unfair fight.”

As Melinda gently lifted her frame and leaned in to kiss my cheek while we stood on the corner outside Starbucks, I could see her watching Amy, trying to get a rise from her. When Amy saw Melinda lean in to make contact she averted her eyes. Mel then wrapped her arm around me and opened the distance between Amy and the two of us.

“This is just like old times, isn’t it?” Melinda declared.

If by ‘old times’ you mean making Amy feel insignificant, then yes I thought.

“Uh, I guess,” Amy replied. She was beginning to shrink; she realized she was in the presence of an alpha female who commanded more attention than her and quickly retreated behind her wall. I had to act quickly.

“I’ve wondered how you have been doing, Amy,” I began. “You’re not the kind to pick up the phone and call me out of the blue,” I said, “unlike this one.” I nodded in the direction of Melinda, her arm still wrapped around my shoulders and our bodies gently touching at the hip. “This one will email you and tell you shit you didn’t even ask about,” I said, continuing the thought, “but in the past few months I’ve often wondered what you have been up to and what new things are happening in your life.”

Amy perked up and smiled. “Really? That’s so strange, because I’ve wondered the same things about you!” It was if the dark clouds over her had parted for the faintest of moments to reveal a ray of optimism.

We stood silently sharing smiles until Melinda broke in. “That’s not true, I don’t continually bother you. I haven’t talked to you in months. You don’t even know that I have a boyfriend now.”

I stepped out from under Mel’s arm and turned to face her. “Really? That’s great. I’m sure you two have a great time together.” Then I had a thought, an idea that would really hit Melinda in the breadbasket. I turned to address Amy.

“Hey Amy, what if we got together and caught up on what you’ve been doing, what I’ve been doing, work, play – all that. Say dinner, we’ll call it tomorrow night.” I turned back towards Mel. “I’d invite you too, but I know how you don’t make last minute plans and I’m sure you already made arrangements with your beau. Perhaps coffee one afternoon would work.”

I shot Melinda a quick checkmate, bitch look and turned my attention back to Amy before Mel could respond. “So what do you think?” I again asked. “You, me, dinner tomorrow night? No assumptions, no expectations. Just two people sharing a meal and catching up. I’ll take care of finding a place.” Amy started to blush while she tried to contain a giggle, the sort a fifteen year old would get when asked out on her first date.

As I awaited an answer I thought about the potential this girl had. Now that I had no ties to the ad company I was free to test them. There was something undeniable about her. All the components for something great were already there. This modern-day Eliza Doolittle could be a real head-turner with the right encouragement and proper motivation. Then she’d have no problem attracting attention, although I wasn’t quite sure that’s what she wanted or needed. But refining was in order, no doubt.

“Okay,” she finally replied after a good amount of silence. “It’s a deal.”

I promised to make all the arrangements and phone her later in the day with the details. The two walked away giggling, already late for their breakfast meeting. Mel shared in Amy’s delight though I was unsure whether or not it was genuine.

As I got into my car and fired up the engine I felt good for the first time that morning. It was a guilty type of happy, the kind that comes knowing your happiness will be at the expense of someone else who might not share in it. This was going to be my social experiment, my opportunity to mold someone into the right kind of woman, my little Frankenstein project.

My fair Amy.