Such a Pretty Face by Cathy Lamb

two, maybe a costume…willing to try a chocolate handcuff…no cages.”
    “Erotica?” I semishouted that word, then hushed right up. Don’t ever yell “erotica” in a law firm. It distracts the attorneys. They think it’s a legal term. “I don’t even know what that is. I can guess at it, but no, I don’t want to do it. I wouldn’t know how to do it. Oh, my goodness.” I buried my head in my hands, hearing my grandma’s voice. She always said, “Oh, my goodness,” too.
    “Moving on!” Zena declared. “See here, Stevie, before you vomit like a sick cow. I wrote that you’re searching for a man between the ages of thirty and forty-five who is ready to commit, who likes to camp and travel to Italy. You also want a man who is romantic and will take you to nice dinners…. You’re not into star signs or witchcraft, at least we got that right. You won’t be casting spells on anyone and boiling their balls.”
    I groaned. “I don’t want to do Internet dating. I can find my own dates. I sure don’t want to boil anyone’s balls.”
    “Where? Here? You can’t date a lawyer. That’s out of the question. Lawyers are all shits. All of them. Shits .”
    She did not bother to lower her voice when she announced, “Lawyers are all shits. All of them. Shits .”
    “Dare to date, Stevie. Don’t be a puss.”
    “I’m not ready to date.” Heck, no. The only person I wanted to date was Jake, but he would never ask. I could only dream pathetically. “I’m not a puss.” Was I? Was I a wuss? “I’m not a puss or a wuss.” I said that too loud and cowered down a bit.
    “You’re going to get ready,” Zena said. She is half drill sergeant, half brainiac. One time she threw a stapler at the head of a young, snobby male lawyer from another firm who whispered a suggestive, smarmy comment to her outside the firm’s bathroom. “Lock, stock, barrel, and a push-up bra. You’ve got a stupendous rack now, and you need to show those girls off to their best advantage. Pull ’em up, push ’em out.”
    “I like my boobs tucked in.” I so did. I was still hiding from my new body. I was not ready for it, didn’t know what to do with it, and did not want attention.
    “Yoo-hoo! You already have an interested gentleman. His name is Zack (Shorty) Holcomb and he likes midnight walks on the beach, massage, traveling to Central America, and piloting small airplanes. He says he wants a woman between eighteen and thirty-five who is financially independent, chases the high life, doesn’t have to be attached at the hip, is cool on fast cars, and likes camping in the mountains, skiing, running, nature, and adventures.”
    “He’s…” Zena paused, staring at the screen. She flicked her earring. It was long, wiry, and almost touched her shoulder. In her other ear she wore an earring, half as long, frog shaped. “Interesting. Especially if you lust for men with two chins who resemble donkeys. But let’s see who he is. All men lie, you know. It’s in their DNA. They’re all deceptive, sneaky, vague, untrustworthy. That’s why I never fall in love. I don’t believe in it. Love is simply passion unchecked. People don’t get it. They’re lustful and want a naked romp and a leg twister so they think they’re in love. Give me a break.” She clicked to another Web site, punched in some sort of pass code, and then typed in the name Zack Holcomb. Zena’s uncle is a private investigator, so she has access to his skills and tricks. She can look up anyone and get the scoop. “Let’s check this lecher out.”
    This was a bad, bad day. “If you think he’s a lecher and all men are disgusting, why do you want me to date?”
    For a second Zena contemplated me, cat-like brown eyes zooming right in like a target. “Because, Stevie. Now and then, when the moon is full and bluish, when the galaxy is all calm and peaceful and serenity rules and even the falling stars are falling gracefully, and the wind creates a beautiful song,