"That way," she said. "You'll fall in love with the man, not the manicotti."
I'd chosen Jazzy's because it was a low-key lunch place with a varied menu. Monday at 12:03, I walked in to meet Billy Renaldi, and thankfully, he was already there. Billy is a fireman, so his schedule is always subject to change.
We said hello, and were seated at a private table for two.
"How's Boswell?"
It was his standard opening. I'd inherited Miss Millie's gray cat with a bent tail. Billy knew Boswell because he had once fished him out of a tree when Miss Millie was alive.
"Fine. I need to get him a scratch post, I think."
We chatted about our jobs, and I waited for a way to interject the sneaky question that Linda and I had decided would give me insight into each man's personality.
"So, Billy, what's your favorite movie?"
He didn't blink. "Rocky. What's yours?"
"It's a Wonderful Life."
He made a rueful noise. "I've never seen that movie. Always wanted to, but just never got around to it. Isn't it the one with the big rabbit?"
I smiled and nodded politely. I ordered a salad, he ordered a hamburger. We had a nice lunch, but he was paged and had to leave early. He tossed money on the table and gave me a swift kiss on the cheek as he ran out. I couldn't help the swell of pride when people turned to look at me.
"He's a firefighter," I announced, and everyone smiled.
The kiss stayed with me all afternoon. I dutifully relayed every detail to Linda that evening.
"Rocky is good," she said, nodding. "Macho, moral."
I was thinking sweaty and sexy.
The next day, Tuesday, I arrived at Jazzy's and the host smiled. "Weren't you here yesterday?"
"Yes."
"Jane?"
I turned and welcomed Paul Messer. Professor Paul taught at the college where my mother took night classes. The host looked him over and realized he wasn't the same guy I'd met the day before. He lifted his eyebrows and seated us at the same table.
Paul seemed less nervous than he'd been at the speed dating session. He chatted easily, and somehow I maneuvered the subject around to movies.
"The Empire Strikes Back."
Okay, that surprised me. I had enjoyed the movie, too, but wouldn't have listed it as an all-time favorite. "Mine is It's a Wonderful Life."
He made no comment.
"Have you seen it?" I asked.
He nodded, but still offered no comment. Our lunch arrived — my salad and his quiche — and we ate companionably.
Linda pursed her mouth when I told her. "Okay, minus one for the science fiction flick."
"But he tipped well," I commented. And maybe I shouldn't marry someone who was just like me. After all, I'm a boring person.
On Wednesday when I arrived at Jazzy's, the host pulled on his chin. When Dr. Jake River arrived, we both perked up. The host showed us to my "regular" table, and Jake and I fell into an easy conversation.
"My favorite movie?" He looked thoughtful.
With his Native American heritage, I was betting on Dances with Wolves.
"I'd have to say Patch Adams."
Ah, the doctor connection — of course. "Mine is It's a Wonderful Life."
"Yeah, I wish they would colorize that one."
Hmm. My salad arrived, and his veal. We both ate quickly because he had to get back to his wee patients, and I had to get back to my wee paycheck.
"Patch Adams is good," Linda said at our nightly post-date wrap-up. "Sensitive, poignant."
But the man had ordered veal. Ugh.
When I arrived at Jazzy's on Thursday, the host didn't blink an eye. But when Pablo Ricci walked in, the man did give me a "you go, girl" look when he seated us.
I was nervous because during the speed dating session with Pablo, he had made me a proposition — he would marry me if I would give him a child. Even Steven. In fact, if I had a boy, I just might name him Even Steven Ricci.
"Have you thought about my offer?" he asked as soon as we placed our order.
I could roll up in his European accent and die happy. "Yes, and I'm still thinking about it." I diverted the conversation to safer topics, and segued into movies. This would be interesting because Pablo's pick would undoubtedly be some foreign art film that I'd never heard of.
"Ghost," he said solemnly.
I couldn't hide my surprise. "Ghost?"
"Yes, what is yours?"
"It's a Wonderful Life."
He kissed my fingers. "How perfect — also about the netherworld."
My salad and his smoked salmon arrived. He'd also ordered wine for us, and I drank a glass, thinking it would help me deal with Mrs. Thornberry all afternoon. When we parted, he kissed me full on the mouth. It was a good kiss. I left tipsy, and talking with a bit of a British accent.
"Go with him," Linda said, fanning herself.
"But…Ghost?"
"Hey, it's romantic."
But I wasn't sure I was ready to be a mother.
When I arrived on Friday, the host simply shook his head. Ian Saunders was already waiting for me, holding his western hat by his thigh.
Conversation with Ian was effortless because he'd worked for my family when I was a teenager. "Ian, what would you say is your favorite movie?"
He laughed. "I can't tell you the last time I saw a movie. When my TV conked out a couple of years ago, I didn't even replace it."
Hmm. I adored television — it entertained me while I sewed. "Surely you used to go to movies?"
He shrugged. "Nothing memorable, I guess."
"Not even John Wayne?"
"I'm more of a Jimmy Stewart fan."
I brightened. "My favorite movie is It's a Wonderful Life."
"I know," he said, then smiled. Our food arrived — my salad and his enormous steak. As he left he put his hand on my waist, and tipped his hat. I resisted the urge to curtsy.
"You can't give him more points for knowing you better than the others," Linda said. "If anything, he's been around all this time and hasn't come around."
She had a point, but still…
Saturday was less busy at Jazzy's. The same host stood by the door. "This is my day off," he said. "But I had to see if you'd be back."
"My last lunch," I promised him just as Tommy Andersen arrived.
We were seated, and I relaxed. Tommy was a great conversationalist with lots of interesting life experiences. I only had to nod and hum. I ordered salad, and he ordered salad. We munched like a couple of rabbits, and talked.
"My favorite movie would have to be Memento," he said. "Tricky, complicated, thought-provoking. Yours?"
I was almost embarrassed to say. "It's a Wonderful Life."
"Oh. Yeah, that's a classic." Then he started talking about an article he'd read in The New Yorker. We chatted until I was almost late getting back to work. Mrs. Thornberry frowned as I slid in the door.
"You have a visitor," she said, her voice ringing with disapproval.
It was Linda, sitting with her feet propped up on my meager desk. "I had to hear about the last date so I could plan accordingly for the next step."
I told her.
"You don't want to feel like you can't be yourself around him," she said. "But he will challenge you to grow." She grinned and leaned close. "See how well this is going? At this rate, you'll definitely be married and rich by the end of the year. Just think of it!"
I was thinking, I was thinking.
Chapter Five
"Rise and shine, Jane Browning."
My eyes flew open and I was gripped with that panicky omigod-I've-slept-through-my-wedding feeling. Then I frowned. Just a few weeks ago, my dream anxieties centered around missing an appointment with one of Mrs. Thornberry's cranky customers. Five weeks into my husband hunt, and even my nightmares were skewing toward matrimony. Yikes.
I squinted up at my roommate, Linda. "Sunday is the only morning I get to sleep past six-thirty. Something had better be on fire."
"O
nly your birthday cake," she said, all attitude. "Twenty-eight candles. I had to buy an economy-size box of those little candles to have enough."
I groaned and pulled the covers back over my head. "Go away."
"If you don't get up, we'll never have this place clean before the guys get here."
I pulled down the corner of a sheet. "Guys? What guys?"
She grinned. "I'm so clever. I invited all your potential husbands over for your birthday party."
I almost swallowed my tongue. "But I'm not having a birthday party."
"Oh, yes, you are." She checked her watch. "In about six hours."
I sprang up. "Are you crazy for inviting them all here? What am I supposed to do, give them numbers?"
Linda sighed. "Don't you want a chance to see them all side by side? Good grief, Jane, I'm just trying to earn my finder's fee. Besides, I invited other people, too — your folks are coming, and all the girls from the hair salon. There'll be a nice mix."
"You know I hate birthday parties, especially my own." I was a throw-up away from full panic. "Are all the guys coming?"
She made a rueful noise. "Except for Paul Messer. He sent an email message saying that he's leaving town for a few weeks." "Leaving town?"
"Something about a science fiction role-playing seminar. How lame is that?"
I stared. "And he's the one my mother picked for me."
"Yeah, that's unfortunate." She clapped her hands. "I'll tackle the bathroom, if you'll take the kitchen."
"Deal," I muttered.
We spent the next three hours cleaning like fiends. I needed the last three hours to get presentable. Thank goodness Linda shooed me away so she could blow up balloons and such. I heard a couple of her giggly coworkers arrive and figured they had enough hot air to get the job done. I emerged from my bedroom 15 minutes before curtain, and from the look on Linda's face, guessed I looked passable.
"Jane, you look hot."
Okay, now I knew she was blowing sunshine up my sensible skirt — the only deviation in my grooming routine had been to use an eyelash curler.
I said hello to Linda's friends and downed a glass of wine to quell my jitters. When the doorbell rang, my heart jumped to my throat for almost no reason — almost. My parents had arrived.
Now, my parents are the best people who've ever walked the good green earth, but they have no grandchildren. Since my older brother is still "finding himself" on the slopes of a Colorado ski slope, they have all their hopes pinned on me. They were both wearing their church clothes and "I'm good in-law material" smiles.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart," my mother said, and kissed my ear. "Are the men here yet?"
"Er, no. Come in and have some punch." It was spiked.
My father looked a little bewildered, but Dad basically just does whatever my mother tells him to do.
The next few rings of the doorbell admitted two more of Linda's friends, a girlfriend of mine I see on rare occasions (she's married with two kids and doesn't have time to "loaf" anymore), and an empty-nester couple from down the hall in our building. But then Billy Renaldi arrived, and my adrenaline started to flow like the punch.
"Billy is a fireman," I said after I introduced him to my dad.
Billy set my inherited cat Boswell on the ground and shook my dad's hand. A good sign.
"Are you one of the guys who's thinking about marrying my girl, Jane?"
"Dad," I said with a big smile. "I think Mom is looking for you." That was enough to send him trotting.
"Sorry," I said to Billy.
"It's okay," he said, then pulled me into a quiet corner. "Happy birthday." He picked up a large box and put it in my arms. "It's a scratching post for Boswell. I remember you saying you could use one."
At least the man listened. And he liked pets — that was a must since Boswell and I were a package deal.
"And I was hoping maybe we could have dinner one night this week, although not Tuesday or Thursday because I'm on call."
Mrs. Billy Renaldi would always be subject to a schedule change, but would sleep with a hero.
I smiled, but was pulled away by Linda, who announced that Dr. Jake River had arrived. I tucked the scratching post into a cabinet, which was a mistake, because by the time I turned around, my mother had cornered Jake.
"So you're a doctor," my mother said in a falsetto singsongy voice. "A children's doctor, no less." She looked at me and mouthed "He's the one." I wanted to die, but I was afraid Jake would bring me back to life, and then I'd be doubly humiliated.
I rescued Jake, and he laughed. "Moms. I have one of those, too." He handed me a sheath of white lilies, and not the kind you get at the self-serve refrigerator from a grocery florist. "Happy birthday, Jane."
So romantic. I thanked him and went to find a container. While I ran water into the vase, he said, "Can we go to dinner one night soon?"
I nodded and he asked me to call and get his schedule from his secretary. Mrs. Dr. Jake River would have to put up with a hectic schedule, but would get flowers for her trouble.
A few minutes later when Pablo Ricci walked in, I slipped Linda a $10 bill to keep him away from my mother — she simply could not know about the offer that Pablo had made me about providing him an heir. Little did Pablo know, today I planned to be on the lookout for signs that he would make a good father. He kissed me on both cheeks in a European greeting, then pulled me aside and handed me a small box. "Happy birthday, dearest Jane."
I opened the box and pulled out a rubber ducky. I had the feeling he hadn't meant it for my bath. My heart jerked a little — perhaps I had gotten my sign.
Pablo leaned in close. "Just a reminder. Want to come to my house for dinner this week? I'll have my chef whip up something wonderful."
"Jane!"
My mother was calling, so I held up my finger. "I'll be right back."
I turned and saw what — or rather, who — had my mother in a lather. Ian Saunders had arrived.
"Jane, look who's here."
"Hi, Ian." I telegraphed an apology, but he only smiled.
"Jane, I'm going to get your father — he'll be so glad to see Ian." She walked away, head pivoting.
He grinned. "Since we might not have another minute alone, happy birthday." He produced a small white box. Inside was a tiny wooden ring box carved with an intricate design.
I looked up. "You carved this, didn't you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
I was touched.
"I was thinking in case you ended up with a heap of rings, you'd need somewhere to put them all." One side of his mouth slid back, then he looked over her shoulder. "I think I'll go say hello to Mr. Browning."
I was still trying to decide whether to be irritated when Tommy Andersen walked in carrying a bottle of peach wine and a copy of Anna Karenina.
Big points for him, I thought.
"Happy birthday," he said with a grin. "What are the chances of the two of us cutting out of here to split this bottle?"
I opened my mouth, but Linda yelled for everyone to be quiet and carried in my flaming birthday cake. Everyone started singing "Happy Birthday" and gathering around me and the cake.
"Make a wish and blow out the candles!" Linda cried.
I leaned over the cake and practically singed my eyebrows. Then I looked up and saw, lined against the wall opposite me, all the guys. I had a flashback to a sixth grade sock hop where the boys stood against one wall and the girls against another.
Five beautiful men lined up, all of them looking at me. I made a wish, took a deep, deep breath, and blew out all the candles.
Chapter Six
My birthday wish? That one of my potential husbands would distinguish himself as THE one and end my torture.
"In the olden days, we could've put them all in an arena and let them fight to the death," my roommate Linda said over breakfast the next morning. She'd seen the movie Gladiator 11 times. "But I've come up with something else that's almost as good."
I winced, afraid to a
sk. "But they all asked me out on a date — won't that be a good way to narrow the field?"
She shook her head at my apparent simple-mindedness. "Not yet. I'm thinking you need to see them together one more time to get a sense of where they stand on the big issues of trust, sex, paper or plastic — that kind of thing."
"And?"
"And —" Linda grinned. "Tune in to FM 95.7 today at noon."
I frowned suspiciously — that station was known for its gimmicks. "Why?"
"Just do it." She drank the rest of her milk from her bowl.
I stared — I drank from my bowl, too, but not while anyone else was in the room.
"Gotta run," she said, then dropped her bowl into the sink, grabbed her purse, and vamoosed out the door.
I fretted and fidgeted all morning at my desk, mulling over curtain swatches for a bank lobby and worrying what Linda's next move as my self-proclaimed husband-hunter would entail. At 10 minutes before noon, I tuned to the said radio station.
"Stand by, folks. In a couple of minutes we'll be going live to the Shear Indulgence hair salon in Buckhead where Linda Bledsoe will be giving a complimentary haircut to the husband candidates for her roommate, Jane Browning, and conducting an on-air interview at the same time!"
I swallowed hard — Linda was determined to get that two percent finder's fee.
"For those of you who don't know the story, Jane Browning was recently willed $1 million by a reclusive millionaire in her apartment building under one condition — that she marry within 50 business days! We'll meet the four men vying for the millionaire maiden right after the break!"
The commentator belly-laughed, and I felt a little ill. Millionaire maiden? Then the announcer's words sank in — four men? At last count there were five — had I managed to scare off another one?
"Jane!" Mrs. Thornberry called from the hallway. She did not sound happy. In fact, she grew increasingly cranky each day and hinted that she hoped I wouldn't leave her in the lurch just because I suddenly would not need to work.
I glanced at the clock, then sighed and trotted toward the showroom. "Yes, Mrs. Thornberry?"
Her mouth turned down. "There's a police officer here to see you. I hope you haven't done something that will reflect poorly on my business."
Stephanie Bond - 50 Days to Choose Your Husband Page 3
