Dress Rehearsal
Page 20
“What do you mean you saw Neil?” Robin asked suspiciously.
“I mean he called and asked me to meet him.”
“What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Robin frowned and put her iced tea glass down on the table. “Than why are you telling me this?”
“Because ever since Neil came in to the boutique I’ve been thinking about him.”
“You are treading in dangerous waters, Lauren. Neil is getting married.”
“But is he getting married to the right woman?”
Robin shook her head in disbelief. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear that. On second thought, I’m going to suggest that maybe you attend one of my seminars, Time Heals Old Wounds –Ex-Boyfriends Inflict New Ones.”
“You want me to take relationship advice from a woman who was just flipping through a catalog of men who deposit bodily fluids in a Dixie cup while watching porn.”
Robin paused, pondering the image for minute. “You think they watch it or read it?”
“They probably put them in a room with a VCR and portable TV and say, Today’s selection of porn du jour includes Caddysnatch and Auto-Erotica, the Best of Mercedes Bends.”
“I’m impressed. You seem pretty current with your porn.”
“I just made those up.”
“Then I think you’ve missed your true calling. Either way, they both sound like cinematic tour de forces.”
“You’re telling me it doesn’t bother you that your future child may result from a horny stranger watching a woman with silicon boobs and collagen lips take it up the butt.”
“Okay, back up a minute. How’d we go from Neil to anal sex? We were talking about you meeting up with your ex-boyfriend, who eight years ago you let move away without you.”
“I found my check list from senior year and Neil matched nearly every requirement.”
“I don’t even know where my check list is, but I’m guessing Mark was ten for ten – a perfect asshole. Which just goes to show you, it’s not about meeting abstract criteria.”
“Then what’s it all about?”
The waiter approached, balancing our roast beef sandwiches on a tray above his head.
“That, my dear friend, is the sixty four thousand dollar question.”
Chapter 20
Paige had agreed to go on her non-date date Thursday night, and we decided to meet at the boutique before grabbing a cab over the river to Cambridge. Robin’s lawyer had scheduled a last minute meeting and she was going to try to meet us at the bar when she finished, which was fine with me. I needed tonight to go off without a hitch if I was going to use Paige and Hugh to prove my cake theory for Vivian, and the last thing I needed was to worry about what Robin thought of Charlie.
My last appointment of the day was leaving when Paige arrived.
“She’s cute. What’d they pick?” Paige asked, letting the front door close behind the future Mr. and Mrs. Blake Peterson.
I kneeled on the floor and hesitated, pretending to rub an invisible scuff mark with my finger while I figured out what to tell Paige. Blake and Claire picked the cake that, in an ideal world, Paige and Steve would have settled on with little debate. “White cake with blackberry filling and white chocolate mousseline,” I mumbled.
Paige inhaled a little too deeply, considered this for a moment and then handed me four pages of computer print outs neatly clipped together. The top sheet’s photo showed a three-story brownstone with all of its vitals listed below. “Here, I brought these for you.”
I stood up, but didn’t take the pages. “I told you, I’m not ready to buy a place yet.”
“Just take a look, you might be tempted.” She waved the pages dramatically in front of me, like she was charming a snake.
“The only thing I’m tempted to do is throw them out.”
Paige crossed her arms and stood there watching me. “Considering I’m letting you set me up with a strange man mere weeks after I broke off my engagement, shouldn’t you be a bit more gracious?”
“Point taken.” Paige handed me the listings and I took them into the kitchen, where, true to my word, I didn’t throw them in the garbage. I stuffed them in my desk drawer on top of my catalogs.
“What’s that?” Maria asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Some real estate listings Paige brought over.”
Maria perked up. “Paige is here?” She wiped her floury hands on the front of her apron and straightened her bandana. “I’m going to say hello.”
In the few minutes it took me to shut down the computer and grab my coat, Maria had already bee lined it into the gallery, where I found her fussing over Paige like a doting mother hen.
“How’s that handsome teacher of yours?” Maria asked, inquiring about Steve.
Paige shot me an uncomfortable look but answered Maria. “We’re taking a break right now, to think things over.”
Maria threw her hands in the air, as if tossing confetti. “What’s to think over? You love him, he loves you – you’re getting married!”
Paige gave Maria an endearing smile, but didn’t defend her situation. “We’ll see.”
Maria shot me a wary look, as if she was trying to piece together what had happened to Paige and Steve and knew I had something to do with it.
“We better get going,” I suggested, grabbing Paige’s elbow and leading her out of the boutique. “We’re going to be late.”
Paige and I weren’t late. But Charlie was. Although we easily located Hugh hanging out by the bar with Amanda and Allison, Charlie was nowhere to be found.
“He begged us to come along,” Amanda explained when Hugh left us to order our strawberry margaritas. “But now that you’re here we’ll be leaving. You be nice to my baby brother, Paige.”
Amanda and Allison waved across the room to Hugh, and left before he could object to being stranded with two strange women.
“He’s cute, isn’t he?” I nudged Paige, who was watching for a table to open up.
“Sure,” she answered, her voice completely lacking the enthusiasm I was hoping for.
If only Paige knew how much I had riding on tonight. I’d become accustomed to the belief that if I assembled all the right ingredients and carefully followed the directions line by line, I was assured that in the end, everything would work out fine. I wished Paige was a more willing participant in my little recipe for love.
While we waited, I kept an eye on the door and hoped Charlie would show up soon. I wasn’t really too worried about Paige and Hugh, after hearing he’d wanted Amanda and Allison to choose a carrot cake, I just knew Paige would like him. Now it was my job to make sure she knew it, too.
“So, Hugh, why carrot cake?” I asked when he returned with our frozen margaritas.
“What?”
“You wanted Amanda and Allison to pick a carrot cake, and I was just wondering why.”
“Oh, that. Well, I don’t know, I never really thought about it before.” Hugh paused to consider my question. “I just like carrot cake. Especially the cream cheese icing.”
I elbowed Paige, who seemed more interested in the basket of free tortilla chips than my matchmaking efforts. “Did you hear that? He loves cream cheese icing.”
“I heard.”
“Ever had carrot cake with spiced buttercream icing, Hugh?”
“No, but it sounds good.”
“Did you hear that Paige?”
“Yes, Lauren. I heard.” Paige sipped absentmindedly on her straw, looking bored.
The cake route wasn’t working, so it was time for Plan B.
“So what’s going on in the world of mortgages these days?” I asked Hugh, and finally saw a spark of interest from Paige.
“Do you think rates are going to down or will the Fed raise them as the economy improves?” Paige asked, moving closer to Hugh and giving me an opportunity to step back and watch my wizardry at work.
But their eyes didn’t lock in passion, there were no
fireworks or starry eyed gazes. I stood by silently listening to Paige and Hugh talk about the real estate market, whether the bubble was going to burst and if Chairman Greenspan could keep rates low for much longer – not exactly captivating talk from two people I was hoping would discover they were soul mates.
Just when I thought I’d nearly die of boredom listening to Paige and Hugh go street by street comparing home sales data, Charlie pulled the front door open and pushed his way through the crowd, scanning the room for us. I caught his eye and without even thinking, my hand shot up and waved. When I met Neil at the Bell In Hand, there was the recognition that goes along with seeing someone familiar, but not the wave of anticipation that surged when Charlie started toward me.
When he reached me, Charlie brushed an unexpected kiss on my lips. It was a kiss that that was way more Harry wants to fuck Sally than Harry wants to be Sally’s friend.
“Sorry. Work, what can I say?” he apologized.
Charlie looked even more attractive tonight, in a French blue oxford and navy suit, and judging by the appreciative looks he kept getting from passing women I wasn’t the only one who noticed. I wanted to stamp a sign on his forehead – hands off.
“You’re forgiven, but it better have been worth it – did you convince your client to work it out?”
“Not a chance. His wife was having an affair with his best friend.”
I introduced everyone and watched as they played the name game, bringing up people they knew at Charlie’s law firm or friends who used an agent in Paige’s office.
When the small talk died down, Paige scouted a group leaving a table by the front window, and she and Hugh ran to save it.
“What were you telling Mel about me the other night at the bar,” I asked Charlie while we waited by the bar for his margarita on the rocks.
“Just how we met, why?”
“He told me that people in my line of work are a guy’s worst nightmare.”
Charlie laughed. “That’s just Mel. He’s a confirmed bachelor.”
More like confirmed asshole.
“So what kind of people do you think he was referring to?”
“Probably people who feed the fantasy of the perfect day followed by the perfect honeymoon where all you do is have sex on the beach as the water crashes at your feet, before you stroll off hand in hand into the sunset.”
“Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”
“Of course it doesn’t. Did you know that studies show that married women are more dissatisfied than married men. And why? Expectations.”
“So you want women to lower their expectations?”
“Not at all. It would be nice if everyone had realistic expectations. Here, hold this a sec.” He handed me his drink and paid the bartender.
Charlie’s explanation was no doubt the result of his clients’ experiences, which admittedly would probably make anyone look at relationships with a dubious eye. But even though he seemed to believe women and men vowed till death do us part with varying expectations, Charlie didn’t sound like he was preaching the gospel according to single man, imparting his wisdom with the irreverent tone of a radio shock jock. This wasn’t a guy thumping his chest, ready to divulge all of his hard-earned knowledge of the illusive female species. He wasn’t making accusations. He was simply sharing observations, as if offering me a hand, an olive branch, hoping I’d accept. He was just my date, trying to find some common ground in a situation that usually put us on opposite sides of the same field.
“So how do you think they’re doing over there?” Charlie tipped his head toward my coupling experiment seated by the window.
Paige was sitting at our table trying to look interested in something Hugh was saying. She must have felt my eyes on her, because she looked over at me. I waved and took my index finger and pointed to the smile on my face. Paige shrugged, I’m trying.
“She’s still there, that must be a good sign.” Or at least I hoped so. If I was going to convince Vivian I needed Hugh and Paige as living proof that my cake theory was more than just wishful thinking.
“Shall we join them?” Charlie asked, holding out his elbow to escort me across the bar.
I accepted and we made our way toward the table. I noticed Paige’s margarita glass was already empty, only a shallow pool of pale pink slush lay melting in the bottom.
“We’re going to get a bite to eat. Want to come along?” Hugh offered.
Charlie didn’t give me time to answer. “Thanks, but we were going to stay and grab something here.”
Hugh and Paige left, his hand resting on the small of her back as they walked single file out the front door.
“That was pretty brazen of you, sending Paige off into the night alone with Hugh.”
“I’m not opposed to playing matchmaker. Besides, it’s a nice change, my contribution to creating universal equilibrium. What goes around, comes around.”
We ordered a couple of fajitas and hung out until the waitress was giving us the evil eye, impatiently waiting to turn our table over to another group of paying customers.
“What do you say? Want to come over to my place for a bit?” Charlie asked as the waitress practically took my margarita glass out of my hand in mid-sip.
He didn’t have to ask me twice.
We took a cab over to Charlie’s apartment on the border of the Back Bay and the South End.
“It’s not exactly a prestigious address, but it’s an easy commute,” he told me, unlocking the door.
The loft-like apartment was a wide open space with one large room and a kitchen set off to the side, separated from the living area by a black granite breakfast bar in front of shiny stainless steel appliances. The space had obviously been rehabbed, because although the unit wasn’t ornate, it was definitely new. The interior wasn’t exactly designer-ready, but it wasn’t fraternity chapter room either. It was a grown-up man’s home. Unless you counted the foosball table in the corner.
“Big TV, total cliché,” Charlie pointed out before I could.
“Four remote controls, I’m impressed.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m a novice compared to my friends – they think I’m slumming it with my VCR instead of TiVo.”
Charlie left me alone to change out of his suit, and I wandered around taking in the scenery. On a console table lined up against the living room wall, Sports Illustrateds were stacked next to a Fortune and People magazine. I picked up People and was thumbing through its pages when Charlie returned wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt.
“Big fan of Brittany Spears?” I asked him, pointing to the cover.
“My mom got me a subscription for Christmas. Beats last year’s present.” He pointed behind the dining room table, where one of those framed inspirational prints usually hung in corporate cafeterias was leaning against the wall – Some people dream of success…while others wake up and work hard at it. “Don’t you just love the sunrise over the golf course? I don’t even play golf.”
“Remember, it’s the thought that counts,” I reminded him. A guy who cared about his mom enough to keep cheesy Christmas presents definitely got along with his family. Add another check to the list, please!
“Do you play?” Charlie asked, taking a backgammon briefcase off the bookshelf.
“I’ve been known to.”
Charlie set up the board while I grabbed beers out of the refrigerator. “These are the last two,” I told him, handing over a Heineken.
“I know. I’m probably a big disappointment, but I haven’t been to the store. I think there’s some vodka under the sink.”
Charlie scavenged a half full bottle of Absolute from the kitchen cabinet.
“Let’s see, for mixers we’re looking pretty bleak. There’s water,” he sounded hopeful and held up a Brita pitcher. I shook my head. “Okay, we can rule out milk. What’s this?”
Charlie stood up and kicked the fridge door shut with his foot. “Three cans of cream soda?”
“That works.”
While we played I told him about Vivian and the book.