<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Noor took meticulous notes on her laptop while her client Fadi described his ideal candidate. He was a first-generation Jordanian American with a 1950s mindset. He wanted his future wife to be educated but didn\u2019t want her to work outside the house. Typical, thought Noor. He also wanted her to be between 20-25 years old, and he was unwilling to budge. Twenty-five was the absolute maximum he would accept. He preferred a blonde but was willing to compromise for a brunette.<\/p>\n
Noor typed away in her office on the third floor of a high-rise building in Amman while her client talked and smoked what looked like a Cuban cigar. He leaned back on a black leather recliner chair and occasionally looked outside her office window as if lost in thought. Noor continued to take detailed notes on his future wife’s (or el arous <\/em>as he called her) height, weight, family status, complexion, and what she had dubbed a \u201cvirginity level.\u201d It was a scale she had created after five years in the business. It was her trademark. Some of her friends had even encouraged her to patent it.<\/p>\n Of course, every one of the candidates should be virgins. There was no question about that, but what really mattered was the level of virginity. There were those whom Noor categorized as “Pure Virgins,” who had lived with their parents all their life, had gone to an all-girls school, and had had almost zero interaction with the opposite sex, with the exception of their fathers and brothers. They had never held a man\u2019s hand or were ever found alone behind closed doors with someone from the opposite sex. Then there were those who had experimented with men. A kiss here, a kiss there, and maybe a slight touching of body parts. Noor referred to them as \u201cQuasi Virgins.\u201d Finally, there were those who had kissed, touched, and more, who experimented with various sexual acts but refrained from the final act of submission. Anything but the intercourse. On Noor’s scale, those were called \u201cTechnical Virgins.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor never dealt with those who were in fact non-virgins. Those were the rare minority, the pariahs on whom Noor didn\u2019t want to take a chance. Dealing with them might have cost her the whole business, so she always rejected their cases. Just the other day, she read on CNN.com about an Iraqi man in Chicago who ran over his daughter because she had become too westernized. The last thing Noor wanted was for her clients to run over their wives because she had made the wrong choice.<\/p>\n She never shared her notes with her clients or asked them their preference regarding the virginity level. She knew better. Years of experience in the business had taught her to determine the level of virginity that her clients were seeking without asking them directly or even requiring them to fill out an application form. She quickly figured out that her client Fadi was looking for a Pure Virgin. A blonde, Pure Virgin. That was obviously hard to find since blondes were rare in Amman and were mostly either Quasi Virgins or Technical Virgins. However, Noor was willing to take on the challenge. She even considered charging him a \u201crush fee\u201d since his requirements were tough and he was pressed for time.<\/p>\n Fadi had a list of unusual requests. In addition to his \u201cPure Virgin\u201d he wanted the bride to speak two languages besides Arabic. English, of course, since she would live in America, and French. \u201cIt just sounds so feminine, and I\u2019d love for my wife to speak it,\u201d the client told Noor, who just nodded, smiled, and kept typing.<\/p>\n \u201cI also want her to have a degree in something related to science, maybe pharmaceutical sciences. It\u2019s just so perfect for a woman,\u201d he said while puffing his cigar. \u201cAs I told you, I really don\u2019t want her to work outside the house, but I want her to be educated so that she can pass her education on to my children.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI understand,\u201d said Noor in a perfect American accent, which she had picked up during her graduate years at George Washington University. There was no need to embarrass her American-born client by testing his broken Arabic.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you need anything else from me?\u201d asked Fadi, preparing to leave.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, that\u2019s it for now. What\u2019s your deadline?\u201d asked Noor.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m leaving in three weeks, but I travel to Jordan often, so hopefully, we can work something out.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, let\u2019s try to find someone in three weeks,\u201d Noor stood up and shook Fadi\u2019s hand. She handed him her business card that said: Noor Tadros, CEO, Marriage Liaisons Inc. \u201cWe\u2019ll start working on your case immediately, and you should hear back from us by the end of the day tomorrow,\u201d she said smiling.<\/p>\n \u201cReally, that fast?\u201d he said, cocking his head.<\/p>\n \u201cYes. We\u2019re efficient. We\u2019ll present you with five options. This should give you enough time to meet them and decide who\u2019s the most suitable.\u201d<\/p>\n He ran his fingers through his black hair. \u201cGreat. Thank you very much, Noor. How do I pay?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust stop by the receptionist’s office on your way out and make your down payment,\u201d she said, pointing to the room next to her office. \u201cWe take credit or cash. No checks, please. You pay the rest when you sign the marriage certificate. Have a good day, Mr. Fadi.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou too, Noor,\u201d he said, extending his hand again. \u201cBurberry, correct?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExcuse me?\u201d she asked, shaking her head.<\/p>\n \u201cYour perfume?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, that’s right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI’ve always liked it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThen I’ll make sure to find you a wife who wears Burberry,\u201d she said, smiling as she let go of his hand.<\/p>\n Noor went back to her desk and opened a new Excel sheet. She saved it as \u201cFadi Ibrahim \u2014 Pure Virgin\u201d and typed down his preferences. She looked at her database and spent two hours trying to find the best ten matches for him. She had a total of 540 names saved in her system, but she focused her attention on the Pure Virgins category, where there were 196. The manual search was tedious, and Noor was looking forward to the fall when the software company she had hired was supposed to finish the digital search program she had hired them to create. She was making enough money and had enough clients that it was a good time to use a more advanced system instead of the old-fashioned Excel sheet.<\/p>\n After she finished, she emailed the document to her assistant Lobna and then walked to her office.<\/p>\n \u201cI just sent you ten options. Take a look and give me five.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy only five?\u201d asked Lobna.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s picky.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don’t blame him. He\u2019s gorgeous,\u201d said Lobna.<\/p>\n \u201cSeriously?\u201d Noor said, raising her eyebrows.<\/p>\n He was tall with salt and pepper hair, light green eyes, and an olive complexion. She wondered if he had been married before and if he was trying the traditional route after failing the first time. She had a lot of those clients. Always looking for a second chance. A redemption. To correct their previous failed marital decisions by finding a homeland bride. Many of them picked the first one to legalize their status, get their Green Card, and maybe, just maybe, give this marriage to an American a chance. The majority failed and came running to her to find the one, the traditional one, the good one, the one the West had not tarnished.<\/p>\n \u201cDid you even look at him? He looks like Jon Hamm.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou know, Jon Hamm, the American actor from Mad Men<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor raised her eyebrows. \u201cOh, please! Can you get to work now?\u201d<\/p>\n Beautiful eyes, seductive. Too bad he is so backward, traditional, controlling. Misery is what awaits his future wife.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay. Shall I ask Afaf to make some calls as a backup?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s see if he likes our choices first, then move to Afaf. He\u2019s leaving in three weeks, so I want you to make this your top priority. Understood?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s really fast,\u201d she said, a look of concern on her face. \u201cWill we be able to find him a wife in three weeks?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, it\u2019s doable. My cousin found his wife in a week before he headed back to Chicago. This Fadi guy comes here often, so we can ask for more time, but I want to impress him by finding him a wife soon. Anyway, I have to head home early today to pack for tomorrow\u2019s trip.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, right. Good luck. Who are you meeting with there?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSome rich Arab American who was too lazy to come here and offered to pay all my expenses to meet him in Washington.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s pretty generous.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor shrugged. \u201cI guess. I really miss DC. I haven\u2019t been there since grad school.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Noor\u2019s direct flight from Amman to DC was uneventful. On the plane, she mostly read and watched movies. She had expected some scrutiny at Dulles Airport, but the border patrol agent let her go with no questions asked. She wondered if the cross that she had around her neck had eased her entry to what she perceived as a Christian land.<\/p>\n The DC meeting was more than what Noor could have asked for. Not only did her client sign the contract, but he also offered to be her business partner if she ever decided to open a branch in the US.<\/p>\n \u201cAll we need is some extra funding, and we\u2019ll make it happen,\u201d said Rami, a middle-aged divorced man with a grey goatee and black hair. His first marriage to an American lady had collapsed after 15 years, and now he was going the traditional route. \u201cHeck, we can open more than one branch. We can choose the best three locations where Arabs live. Let me see: Detroit, Anaheim, and maybe someplace in New Jersey. What do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGreat idea, but not sure I can get enough cash flow to start this.\u201d<\/p>\n He ran his fingers through his goatee. \u201cI can put in some funds, but you really only need one more investor. Just keep looking for someone.\u201d<\/p>\n After the meeting, Noor took the Red Line to meet her good friend Amir downtown. As she settled in her seat on the train, she noticed the familiar maroon carpet, although a bit more run down, with more stains and a more pungent moldy smell than five years ago.<\/p>\n There was something else.<\/p>\n What\u2019s with the yelling kids on the metro? When did having children become so trendy in the US? Kids, kids everywhere.<\/p>\n Noor started thinking of the marathon, the procreation marathon that women had to be part of to fit in. She was taught that that particular race usually ended when women reached menopause. In some cases, the end of that marathon can signal the end of life, especially as the word menopause in Arabic, Sin Al Ya\u2019s, <\/em>translated into \u201cthe age of despair.\u201d While on the train, she realized that the age of despair is not totally Eastern but universal. She looked at a woman across from her on the train. She was seated next to a child eating Cheerios from a blue plastic container. The woman was reading him a book as he listened intently. The book had the title Ten Little Fingers. <\/em>The woman had black circles under her eyes, as if she hadn\u2019t slept in years.<\/p>\n Women, all women, Eastern or Western, were running their own marathons. They all wanted to reach their life goal, to get to the age of despair armed with a kid or two to prove they had made the journey with dignity. At 33, Noor realized that she had maybe seven years or so before she would reach the age of despair. Was she ready to face it with no children by her side, no husband to go home to? Was she that empowered that the idea of perpetual loneliness didn’t bother her?<\/p>\n She sighed. She looked again at the woman on the train with the Cheerio-eating child and thought that someday she might want to read to her own child. When? How? She didn’t know. All she knew was that time was running fast.<\/p>\n When Noor reached her metro stop, she bumped into a stroller on her way out, but hurried away.<\/p>\n Her friend Amir had picked the meeting place: Kostas Books in Dupont Circle.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, are you still running this marriage agency thing?\u201d he asked as soon as they got seated on the patio sniffing the air of that unusually crisp summer day.<\/p>\n \u201cYes, of course. I’d have told you if I changed jobs. Can we order food before you start harassing me?\u201d said Noor, flipping the menu.<\/p>\n \u201cCome on, don\u2019t be sensitive. I really find what you do fascinating. Are you still doing that scale thing? The virginity scale thing?\u201d He smiled, showing the dimples on his cheek.<\/p>\n She rolled her eyes. \u201cIt\u2019s the secret of our success.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo let\u2019s see. You\u2019re, hmm … technical? You haven’t moved up the scale yet, have you? Or you would have told me, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShut up. People can hear us, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo you think anyone here cares? It\u2019s only in the Middle East where people care about this shit,\u201d he said, his skinny left leg bouncing up and down.<\/p>\n \u201cI wish you could stop being so bitter about where you come from. People make choices, you know?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n He snickered. \u201cChoices? Do you think it was your choice to remain quote-unquote technical?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s really none of your damn business.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWasn’t this why Mark left you? Because you insisted on wanting to bleed on your wedding night like all the good girls in Amman?\u201d<\/p>\n She raised her eyebrows. \u201cReally, you think that\u2019s what happened? Mark didn\u2019t leave me because I didn\u2019t sleep with him. I dumped him because he was a loser. He dropped out of college to be a full-time musician?\u201d said Noor shaking her head. \u201cWhat’s up your ass today, anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n A 20-something waiter approached their table. They both asked for the house red.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong, habibi? What happened to you since I last saw you?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n Amir went silent and focused his attention on the street. It was the end of the workday in DC, and people were heading home. The younger ones stopped by bars and restaurants to wind down, while the rest commuted back to the suburbs to pick up their kids from summer camps, make dinner, and fall asleep watching reality TV.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s my dad. He has cancer.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor thought of Amir\u2019s father, the owner of various food factories in Jordan. Larger than life, patriarch to seven children. Would cancer really get him?<\/p>\n \u201cOh no. I\u2019m so sorry,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s testicular cancer, so there\u2019s hope.<\/p>\n \u201cI hear King Hussein Cancer Center is doing amazing work. Cancer research has progressed.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know. Doctors think he\u2019ll make a full recovery. But that\u2019s not all of it,\u201d he said, sipping the wine the waiter had just brought. \u201cHe keeps telling me about dying and stuff and wants to see me married before he dies.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor sighed. \u201cHe doesn’t know, does he?\u201d<\/p>\n Amir leaned back in his chair. \u201cOf course not!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s tough,\u201d she said, twirling her wine, staring at the glass. \u201cWhat are you gonna do?\u201d<\/p>\n He let out a big sigh. \u201cMy work permit was canceled after I was laid off, and I don\u2019t have a choice but to go back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTo Amman?\u201d she said, raising her eyebrows.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere else? You know this means I have to get married.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGeez! Maybe you should tell your dad?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you crazy? What do you want me to tell him? That I screw men? Now, that would kill him.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor thought about Amir’s previous boyfriend, Alfonso, the love of his life. Tall, dark, and gorgeous. They met at the gym and became inseparable. She thought about how happy Amir had been when he was around him, which made her envious. She wanted a love like that. Alfonso eventually went back to Sao Paolo after his visa had expired.<\/p>\n \u201cSo what now?\u201d<\/p>\n He shrugged. “Nothing. I don\u2019t have a choice.”<\/p>\n She held his hand. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s okay. Now you need to find me a wife. How much do you charge?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor you, I\u2019ll do it pro bono,\u201d said Noor, smiling.<\/p>\n \u201cMake sure to get me a Pure Virgin.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course. I know better.\u201d she chuckled.<\/p>\n \u201cI have a better idea. Why don\u2019t you and I get married? This way, we will pursue our love lives while making society happy. What do you think? Win-win?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFunny! Now Let\u2019s order some crab cakes.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Noor\u2019s flight back to Amman felt longer than usual. She passed the time by catching up on 33 recommendations that needed classification. Most of the recommendations were unsolicited. People called her office nonstop to drop in the names of their sisters, daughters, cousins, and nieces who were about to miss the infamous marriage train and needed urgent help before they hit 30, that dreadful age when women\u2019s body parts start falling apart, and their eggs begin to shrink and rot.<\/p>\n Noor\u2019s main task was to look at the recommendations usually entered by her receptionist, Afaf, who took the calls. Noor was the brainpower of the agency, the one who did the most crucial part of the process: the classification. Afterward, she would pass her recommendations to Lobna, who would set up appointments and handle the logistics. It was a smooth workflow that Noor came up with as soon as she started her own business. The seed funding for her agency came from her father, who gave her financial support as soon as she got her MBA, and right after, she pitched her idea to him. \u201cIt\u2019s a good business model,\u201d her dad agreed. \u201cFirst of its kind. Highly needed in this town.\u201d Matchmaking had always been done by word of mouth in Amman. A professional agency with a nine-to-five staff had never existed in the city. It was a novelty, a shrewd business idea that her dad was all over. \u201cGlad to see all the money I spent on your MBA didn\u2019t go to waste,\u201d he said as he handed her first big check.<\/p>\n Going through the recommendations and classifying them took her six hours. There were 20 Pures, 5 Quasis, and 8 Technicals. The Technicals are gaining momentum, thought Noor as she drifted to sleep. Good for them<\/em>.<\/p>\n When Noor returned to the office the next day, Lobna was doing her usual annoying giggle on the phone. It\u2019s that Ahmad guy again<\/em>! Ahmad would be the least of Noor\u2019s problems that day. As soon as Noor got settled in her office, Lobna was quick to tell her about \u201cthe problem,\u201d which involved their client Fadi. He was unhappy with choice number three, who admitted to him on their fourth date that she had had a boyfriend in college. Fadi had appeared in the office, yelled at Lobna, and demanded a refund.<\/p>\n When Noor heard the news, she wanted to chop Lobna\u2019s head off along with her boyfriend\u2019s testicles. She wanted to rip both of their body parts and feed them to all the tail-less, stray cats in Amman.<\/p>\n \u201cHow did that happen? I gave you 10 choices to pick from. What went wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, one of them turned out to be a Quasi. We had her in the system as a Pure. It wasn\u2019t my fault!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you sure this is what happened? I\u2019ve never made any classification mistake before. Are you sure you didn\u2019t give him the wrong candidate by mistake?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sure. I used the list you gave me,\u201d said Lobna looking annoyed.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t even know how you can focus on anything when you\u2019re always on the phone with that Ahmad guy.\u201d She sighed. \u201cLet me handle this disaster. And by the way, I don\u2019t want you to make personal calls during work hours. Understood? You call your boyfriend or whoever after hours.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut what if there was an emergency?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ll handle it then.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine,\u201d said Lobna, marching back to her office.<\/p>\n When Noor called Fadi, he asked to see her immediately. He told her he wanted to meet her at a coffee shop in West Amman to go over things. Noor grabbed her notes and agreed to meet him in an hour. When she saw him, he was wearing a black suit with a black tie. Who the hell is he mourning? His sense of humor? <\/em>He was sipping a cappuccino and reading the Jordan Times.<\/p>\n When he saw Noor, he smiled, stood up, and shook her hand. She tried to apologize for the mistake, but he had a different reaction than she had expected. He put his left hand on hers and said: \u201cIt\u2019s okay. Don\u2019t worry about it.\u201d Noor immediately pulled her hand away. \u201cWe\u2019ll refund you the down payment. We\u2019ll even offer you a 10% percent discount if you decide to use our services again.\u201d<\/p>\n Fadi continued to smile and nod his head. \u201cI\u2019m not here for business, Noor. I\u2019m here for you. I want to get to know you better.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor\u2019s immediate thought was to pack her stuff, say her goodbyes, and then pour the cappuccino in his lap, right on his manhood. Instead, she reminded herself how important her business was to her sanity. \u201cExcuse me? I don\u2019t think so. I\u2019m definitely not your type.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know, but I think you and I will have a great future together.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI need to go now. Have a nice day.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI see a great life for us. I know you\u2019re a career woman. I\u2019ve already thought about this. I can help you start the same business in the US. Even when our children are born, I won\u2019t mind you working from home. You\u2019ll be able to telecommute. Everyone does that over there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMr. Fadi, I don\u2019t think I\u2019m your type. I need to get back to the office now. Please make sure to get in touch with Lobna to get your down payment back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNoor, think about it. I\u2019ll make you happy,\u201d he pleaded. \u201cYou know I like blondes, but I will give that up for you. I think your long dark hair is very attractive. I\u2019m willing to compromise on many levels to make you happy.\u201d<\/p>\n She sighed. \u201cOkay. There is no better way to say this, but here you go. I\u2019ve had a boyfriend or two. I\u2019m not who you think I am.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, I see,\u201d he said. \u201cLet me think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere is no need to think about anything. I don\u2019t see a future for us. Now I really need to go.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor grabbed her purse and headed back to her car.<\/p>\n Is this who I\u2019m going to end up with after thirty? A controlling man who wants to lock up his wife?<\/p>\n Did I fast all these years to break my fast with an onion, just like the Arabic saying?<\/em><\/p>\n After their coffee shop meeting, Noor thought Fadi was gone from her life for good. She thought admitting her past experiences to someone looking for the Virgin Mary was the best deterrent she could ever think of. She was mistaken. Fadi called Noor the next day and kept calling twice a week. She picked up occasionally and asked him politely to stop calling her, but that didn\u2019t work. Flowers were delivered to her office every day at 9:00 am for 10 days straight until she finally told him that she didn\u2019t want to hear from him ever again, that she had put all of his flowers in the dumpster, and that her neighborhood stray cats were probably eating them by now. It was the first time she was ever rude to any of her clients, but she had had enough.<\/p>\n “You\u2019re funny. That\u2019s another reason I like you,\u201d Fadi said over the phone.<\/p>\n \u201cI also deleted your contact info from my phone and used your cards as coasters for my afternoon teas,\u201d said Noor, then hung up and rushed to meet her friend Maysoon for lunch at Romero\u2019s. Maysoon had called earlier, and Noor sensed a looming disaster when she heard her voice.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cScrew you, Noor,\u201d said Maysoon as soon as she saw her.<\/p>\n \u201cGood evening to you too. What’s the matter?”<\/p>\n \u201cScrew you and your damn business,\u201d she said while the waiter walked them to their usual table.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll tell you what’s the matter. I received a call from your office. Apparently, I’ve been recommended to a client, and he wanted to see me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? Impossible. You\u2019re not on the list.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI am. Your assistant called me to tell me the good news.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat damn Lobna! I don\u2019t know where she got your name from. I screen all the names before we put them in the system. Don\u2019t worry about this; it\u2019s a mistake. I’ll remove your name. She should know who to exclude from the list.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo, what do I qualify under? Technical Virgin? Is that where I am now?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCome on, Maysoon. Don\u2019t worry about it. You shouldn\u2019t be on the list at all. We all know this is not how you want to get married. My business serves a specific clientele, the nouveau riche. You know it was a mistake.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet me tell you something. I\u2019m no longer a Technical Virgin if that\u2019s what you have me under. I would qualify as a pariah. Isn\u2019t that what you call us?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d she said as her heart skipped a beat. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhen?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA few weeks ago.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho with?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNone of your business.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCome on, Maysoon. I need to know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy, so that you can reclassify me in your lovely database? Oh, no, I forgot, pariahs don\u2019t even make it to your precious list.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCut it out, Maysoon. I told you it was a mistake. I\u2019ll take care of it.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor drove back to her office in a daze. While dodging Korean-made cars and cursing drivers, Noor thought of her friend.<\/p>\n Maysoon, of all people? How, when, and why? And how could she? How is she going to live with that, and who is going to marry her now? How did it feel the first time?<\/p>\n Noor couldn\u2019t stop thinking about the moment when Maysoon finally gave in. Does she have any regret? How could Maysoon do it, and she couldn\u2019t? <\/em>Do you stop caring, as you get older?<\/p>\n Noor thought of Mark and how she had been so close to going ahead with it. She even bought her first lingerie that night. They had it all planned. They met at his studio in DC\u2019s Adams Morgan quarter.<\/p>\n He had the place lit with candles and scented with burning incense. It was clear to Noor that Mark, who was not the romantic type, was putting extra effort into making it special. Noor had dated Mark because she was lonely, and he was available and interested. He was witty and well-read. She admired his love of historical mystery novels and French movies. She knew he would be just a fling, but what the hell? She was in DC, and she could do whatever she wanted. She called him one day and told him she was ready.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you sure?\u201d he asked. \u201cYou know women never forget their first time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m very sure.\u201d<\/p>\n That night Mark was trying hard to make it memorable, his moves were slow and cautious, as if he was doing it for the first time, but Noor couldn\u2019t tolerate the initial pain and stopped him. It was not the physical pain but the mental pain that was agonizing her. \u201cI really can\u2019t do this. There\u2019s too much at stake here.\u201d<\/p>\n As she neared her office, Noor kept thinking of the best way to punish Lobna. She was going to cost her both her business and her friends. Yela\u2019an abouha (<\/em>May God curse her father.)<\/p>\n When she got back to the office, Lobna was on the phone. Bitch!<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cYour mom called,\u201d yelled Lobna from her office.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll call her, but first, we need to talk. Can you get off the phone and come to my office immediately?\u201d<\/p>\n When Lobna came to Noor\u2019s office, she expected her to be afraid, even shaking, at the possibility of losing her livelihood. Instead, Lobna had a look of defiance that Noor had never seen before. It seemed as if having this Ahmad guy in her life gave her enough self-confidence that enabled her to move mountains if she wished. Noor felt jealousy at that moment as she stumbled with words when she saw Lobna in her new state. The last thing she expected was a confident assistant instead of the submissive, meek 21-year-old she had hired right out of college. Lobna was from East Amman, a neighborhood for the less fortunate. She had a mediocre education, but she was in love, employed, and had her life mapped out for her. A husband, kids, a decent job, and a supportive family. How had this Lobna figured it out, and she hadn\u2019t?<\/p>\n \u201cYou called my friend Maysoon. How the hell did she make it to the list? Didn\u2019t I teach you to carefully scrutinize all the recommendations we get from West Amman and remove those who don\u2019t qualify?\u201d said Noor while seated in her leather chair, her elbows on the desk.<\/p>\n \u201cHer aunt recommended her.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHer aunt kept nagging and said she would pay us double if we added her, so I did. I thought I was doing you a favor.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? A favor? I didn\u2019t hire you to make executive decisions. You just do what I say. You\u2019ve been making a lot of mistakes lately, and that\u2019s because you spend most of your time with this Ahmad guy. I\u2019m giving you a warning. One more mistake, and you\u2019re out.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA warning! That\u2019s not fair. I work overtime and never get paid. I don\u2019t get any raises or bonuses, and you\u2019re firing me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYour performance is slipping. This all started after you started going out with Ahmad.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan you leave Ahmad out of this? You\u2019re just jealous.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow dare you say that?\u201d she said, banging on her desk.<\/p>\n \u201cOf course you are. I have a man in my life. You don\u2019t have anyone. All you have is your business and your chi chi girlfriends and gay men.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s it, Lobna. You have until the end of the day to pack your stuff and leave. I\u2019ve had it with your shit.\u201d<\/p>\n Lobna left Noor\u2019s office, slamming the door behind her.<\/p>\n Noor leaned back in her leather chair. Her hands were shaking, and she was feeling nauseous. She put her hands on her face and rubbed her eyes. I should have fired her ass a long time ago<\/em>. She opened her eyes to see a yellow Post-It Note on her desk: \u201cCall your mom. She says it\u2019s urgent.\u201d Noor dialed her parents\u2019 home number. \u201cWhat is it, Mom?\u201d she said as soon as her mom picked up. No hellos or how are yous.<\/p>\n \u201cAmir called.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cReally? He must be in town.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe says he doesn\u2019t have a cell phone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll call his parents\u2019 house.\u201d Noor could hear the sound of the TV in their family room blasting what sounded like an Egyptian drama.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s something else,\u201d her mom said.<\/p>\n She sighed. \u201cWhat? I\u2019m in a hurry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSomeone called Fadi asked to see your dad.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? That guy is unbelievable. He never stops.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe seems like a nice guy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMama, don’t start this now. He\u2019s not my type,\u201d she said, her voice increasing in volume.<\/p>\n \u201cType? Come on, Noor. You\u2019re 33. You shouldn\u2019t think of types at your age. Do you ever want to have kids? It\u2019s not like you have much time left.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor bit her lip. \u201cHere we go again with kids. I don’t wanna hear this.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNoor, listen to me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know what you’re going to say, that after 30, women are left with either a divorc\u00e9 or a widower.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGlad you still remember.\u201d Her mom chuckled.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know what? I’d rather be with a divorced man or a widower than be with this Fadi guy,\u201d Noor shouted.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re making a big mistake, Noor. You\u2019ll regret this for the rest of your life. I\u2019m your mother. I know these things. Do you want to end up a lonely spinster like your aunt Rula?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBye, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWait! Did you see today’s newspaper?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo! Why?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLook at the business section.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don’t have time for this; what is it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere’s an article about Fadi. He\u2019s in Jordan to start a local office for Google. He\u2019s rich and smart. He is even good looking. Can\u2019t you see that? If you really want to start a business in the US, then he\u2019ll be able to help you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBye.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor hung up, leaned back on her chair, and put her feet on her desk. She grabbed a pack of Marlboro Lights from her purse and lit a cigarette. She was not a smoker but always kept a pack in case of an emergency. No one was allowed to smoke at her office (except for wealthy clients). She hated the smell of smoke on her expensive leather furniture, but she was the boss and could do whatever she wanted.<\/p>\n Damn it!<\/em> She sprung off her chair and approached the mirror with the golden frame on the wall across from her desk. There it was. Yet another grey hair. It\u2019s because of that sharmouta Lobna.<\/em><\/p>\n Noor returned to her chair and looked outside her office window. Construction workers were putting the last touches on a new state-of-the-art highrise, across the street.<\/p>\n Skyscrapers were becoming trendy \u2014 Amman had high ambitions. The city\u2019s new slogan splashed across the streets\u2019 billboards: \u201cThe Sky is Not the Limit.\u201d<\/p>\n Noor kept puffing away as she gathered her thoughts. She thought of Maysoon and how she had betrayed her. She never thought she would do this without discussing it with her first. How did Maysoon find the courage? She had no fear of retribution, which puzzled her. Noor considered her prospects and whether she was doomed to a life of virginity. She thought of Amir and his offer. Would marrying him liberate her? Would she be able to have affairs with whomever she desired while married to her gay best friend? Would she be as free and as happy as he suggested? Would they even have kids?<\/p>\n She let out a big sigh, put her feet down, and moved to the end of her office to where the trash can was. She rummaged through the receipts and tissue papers and found the card that came along with the flowers that Fadi had sent her this morning. She went back to her desk and let out a sigh. She dialed his number.<\/p>\n After all, she was still a virgin.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A shrewd businesswoman runs a matchmaking agency in Amman that finds brides for male clients based on a virginity scale.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":396,"featured_media":27127,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[16,2774],"tags":[178,488,649,962,1093,2812,1566],"article-category":[],"article-type":[],"coauthors":[2729],"class_list":["post-27057","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-tmr-33-stories-from-the-markaz","tag-amman","tag-dating","tag-fiction","tag-jordanians","tag-marriage","tag-matchmaking","tag-short-story"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n
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