just fallen in love with the woman of my dreams. But if you recall, I’d sold my soul to Joy for an extra five hundred bucks and had agreed to her Three Date rule.
“Um, sure,” I said, with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
“Wonderful! I’ll pick you up around one.”
Oh, well, I told myself as I hung up. I had to think positive thoughts. Maybe the date would be fun. Maybe I’d gain new insights on the elderly. Maybe I’d be able to sneak in a butter pat on my steamed veggies.
I was headed for the kitchen to pour myself a wee bit more chardonnay when I heard Lance banging at my front door.
Like a fool, I opened it.
“It’s official!” Lance cried, sailing in on Cloud Nine. “I’m in love! My date with Donny Johnson was absolutely divine!” He grabbed my wine and took a healthy slug. “You’ll never guess what we did!”
“If it involves handcuffs and whipped cream, I don’t want to hear about it.”
He shot me a wounded look.
“Jaine, please. Our date was perfectly innocent. Donny and I went for a long walk on the beach, then stopped off for dinner at an intimate little Italian restaurant, where they played old Dean Martin records and Donny wrote I Love You on the tablecloth with his ziti. Isn’t that the most romantic thing you ever heard?”
“Yes, nothing says love like pasta on a tablecloth.”
“And look what Donny gave me!” he said, ignoring my snippet of sarcasm.
He held out his wrist, revealing a magnificent stainless steel watch dotted with what looked like diamonds. “A genuine Rolex. It had to cost at least five grand!”
“Wow, it’s gorgeous!”
Lance grinned in triumph. “And you said he wasn’t a real millionaire!”
Was it possible? Was Lance the first person in Dates of Joy history to have actually gone on a date of joy?
“And what about you?” Lance asked. “How did your date go?”
“An utter disaster,” I sighed. “The guy was not only old enough to be Methuselah’s grandfather, he drove his Bentley two miles an hour, made me eat a veggie plate at a steak restaurant, and picked a fight with a blind piano player.”
“He drives a Bentley? How divine!”
“Have you not listened to a word I’ve just said? The guy’s an old fart vegan nutcase!”
“With a Bentley! Really, Jaine. Some day you must learn to get your priorities straight!”
I grabbed my wine back and finished it in one exasperated gulp.
“Would you look at the time?” Lance cried, flashing his Rolex in my face. “Must dash to get dressed for my date with Donny. He’s taking me to the ballet. You know how I adore the ballet.”
“Drooling over men in tights does not make you a ballet lover, Lance.”
“Oh, my. Somebody woke up on the bitchy side of the bed this morning. But don’t worry, sweetie,” he said as he headed for the door. “I forgive you. You’re just jealous because I found true love, and you got stuck with a loony old fart.”
I stuck out my tongue at his retreating back.
I hate it when he’s right.
Chapter 8
T he next few days passed in an aggravating blur as Joy got ready for her annual Valentine’s Singles Mixer.
Or as she so modestly put it, “ The singles party of the year!”
In full-tilt tyrant mode, Joy proceeded to drive Cassie and Travis crazy, barking orders at them as they transformed the Dates of Joy photo studio into a party venue.
After cramming all the photo equipment into the small kitchen adjacent to the studio, Travis and Cassie got up on ladders to string crepe paper across the room. A job that would normally take about a half hour took forever as Joy shrieked conflicting directions at them.
“Higher! No, lower! Now just a bit to the right! No, no! To the left! No, to the right again!”
Through it all, I sat at a computer in the reception area, banging out phony dating profiles.
When the crepe paper was finally hung, Cassie spent hours on the phone, trying to line up discount balloons and making arrangements with the caterer, a guy
“Um, sure,” I said, with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
“Wonderful! I’ll pick you up around one.”
Oh, well, I told myself as I hung up. I had to think positive thoughts. Maybe the date would be fun. Maybe I’d gain new insights on the elderly. Maybe I’d be able to sneak in a butter pat on my steamed veggies.
I was headed for the kitchen to pour myself a wee bit more chardonnay when I heard Lance banging at my front door.
Like a fool, I opened it.
“It’s official!” Lance cried, sailing in on Cloud Nine. “I’m in love! My date with Donny Johnson was absolutely divine!” He grabbed my wine and took a healthy slug. “You’ll never guess what we did!”
“If it involves handcuffs and whipped cream, I don’t want to hear about it.”
He shot me a wounded look.
“Jaine, please. Our date was perfectly innocent. Donny and I went for a long walk on the beach, then stopped off for dinner at an intimate little Italian restaurant, where they played old Dean Martin records and Donny wrote I Love You on the tablecloth with his ziti. Isn’t that the most romantic thing you ever heard?”
“Yes, nothing says love like pasta on a tablecloth.”
“And look what Donny gave me!” he said, ignoring my snippet of sarcasm.
He held out his wrist, revealing a magnificent stainless steel watch dotted with what looked like diamonds. “A genuine Rolex. It had to cost at least five grand!”
“Wow, it’s gorgeous!”
Lance grinned in triumph. “And you said he wasn’t a real millionaire!”
Was it possible? Was Lance the first person in Dates of Joy history to have actually gone on a date of joy?
“And what about you?” Lance asked. “How did your date go?”
“An utter disaster,” I sighed. “The guy was not only old enough to be Methuselah’s grandfather, he drove his Bentley two miles an hour, made me eat a veggie plate at a steak restaurant, and picked a fight with a blind piano player.”
“He drives a Bentley? How divine!”
“Have you not listened to a word I’ve just said? The guy’s an old fart vegan nutcase!”
“With a Bentley! Really, Jaine. Some day you must learn to get your priorities straight!”
I grabbed my wine back and finished it in one exasperated gulp.
“Would you look at the time?” Lance cried, flashing his Rolex in my face. “Must dash to get dressed for my date with Donny. He’s taking me to the ballet. You know how I adore the ballet.”
“Drooling over men in tights does not make you a ballet lover, Lance.”
“Oh, my. Somebody woke up on the bitchy side of the bed this morning. But don’t worry, sweetie,” he said as he headed for the door. “I forgive you. You’re just jealous because I found true love, and you got stuck with a loony old fart.”
I stuck out my tongue at his retreating back.
I hate it when he’s right.
Chapter 8
T he next few days passed in an aggravating blur as Joy got ready for her annual Valentine’s Singles Mixer.
Or as she so modestly put it, “ The singles party of the year!”
In full-tilt tyrant mode, Joy proceeded to drive Cassie and Travis crazy, barking orders at them as they transformed the Dates of Joy photo studio into a party venue.
After cramming all the photo equipment into the small kitchen adjacent to the studio, Travis and Cassie got up on ladders to string crepe paper across the room. A job that would normally take about a half hour took forever as Joy shrieked conflicting directions at them.
“Higher! No, lower! Now just a bit to the right! No, no! To the left! No, to the right again!”
Through it all, I sat at a computer in the reception area, banging out phony dating profiles.
When the crepe paper was finally hung, Cassie spent hours on the phone, trying to line up discount balloons and making arrangements with the caterer, a guy
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