Part 5 (1/2)
Joy now released his hand and segued into Business Mode.
”Members.h.i.+p fees start at fifty thousand dollars,” Joy blithely lied. ”But because I'm so very fond of you, Lance, I'll make it twenty-five. How would you care to pay? Cash? Check? Credit card? Stock options?”
”Oh.” Lance pursed his lips in a tiny moue of concern. ”I'm afraid I don't have that kind of money available right now. All my a.s.sets are tied up in a pesky trust fund.”
Joy's smile was rapidly fading.
”But I should be getting it at the end of next month,” he a.s.sured her.
”Why don't we wait until then,” Joy said, sliding the cover back on her G.o.diva box, ”before we get started?”
Aha! I knew she wouldn't buy it!
But I'd underestimated Lance. Just when I thought the game was over, he struck back.
”Oh, foo. I was so looking forward to getting started. I guess I'll just have to sign up with Carson Hendrick over at the Billionaire Boys Club. He's been positively hounding me to join.”
”Carson Hendrick?” Joy scoffed. ”That hack?”
I could see Lance had got her where he wanted her. Joy was torn. On the one hand, she could sign him up now and risk getting stiffed, or she could let him go and risk seeing a compet.i.tor get all his dough.
And that's when Lance went in for the kill.
”I've got an idea,” he said. ”Until my inheritance comes through, I'll get you all the designer shoes you want with my Neiman Marcus thirty percent employee discount.”
”Thirty percent, huh?”
”It can go up as high as eighty percent during special sales events.”
That did it. She was hooked.
”Welcome, darling Lance,” she said, throwing out her arms, ”to Dates of Joy! Normally I'd have Travis take your picture for our date book, but I know Donny's going to love you. Leave your contact information with Ca.s.sie at the front desk, and I'll have him call you.”
”Super!” Lance said, leaping up. ”Can't wait to meet him. In the meanwhile, is it all right if I steal Jaine away for lunch? I promised I'd take her for a bite at the Jonathan Club.”
”Of course, hon. Anything you say. Ta ta, darlings.”
She dismissed us with her Queen Mum wave, and Lance herded me out the door, but not before swiping another chocolate from Joy's G.o.diva box.
”You don't mind, do you, darlin'?” he cooed.
No doubt about it. It looked like Joy had at last met her match in the Monumental Chutzpah Department.
Chapter 5.
The Jonathan Club happens to be one of the most exclusive joints in L.A., where the one percent meet to steer clear of the rest of us 99ers.
Needless to say, Lance did not take me there for lunch.
Instead he opted for the slightly less prestigious Der Wienerschnitzel, where we dined al fresco on chili cheese dogs and fries, taking in the scenic view of the gas station across the alley.
Of course, Lance would spend at least 347 hours at his gym burning off Der Wienerschnitzel's industrial-strength calories. I, on the other hand, have a ”live and let live” policy where calories are concerned, and planned to let them settle merrily alongside the others nestled on my thighs.
”Why, I do declayah!” Lance said, after tucking into his chow. ”This wiener is divine!”
”Enough with the accent, Lance. Any minute now you'll be calling for your mammy and putting on your gown for the barbecue at Twelve Oaks.”
”I've always pictured myself a modern day Ashley Wilkes,” Lance drawled, a faraway look in his eyes. ”Brooding, sensitive, and secretly in love with Big Sam.”
”Do you actually plan to keep talking like this on your date with Donny Johnson?”
”Sho 'nuff.”
”And by the way, I sincerely doubt Donny's an heir to the Johnson & Johnson fortune. Joy's almost as big a faker as you are. You'll be lucky if he can afford to pick up the check at Der Wienerschnitzel.”
”Oh, don't be such a buzz kill,” Lance pouted. ”It's possible Donny might be filthy rich and insanely handsome.”
”Dream on,” I said, inhaling the last of my chili cheese dog.
Boy, that sure went down fast, didn't it?
”So what's with the makeover?” Lance eyed my new haircut. ”You look great.”
”Thanks. You're not the only one going on a Date of Joy. Joy's fixing me up with somebody, too.”
Lance's eyes lit up.
”That's wonderful, Jaine! I bet this time you're going to meet your prince charming!”
Then his brow furrowed with concern.
”But whatever you do, promise me you won't wear elastic waist pants on your date.”
For some reason, Lance is convinced I've got no fas.h.i.+on sense. He says moths come to my closet to commit suicide. Which is perfectly absurd, as anyone who's ever seen my vintage collection of CUCKOO FOR COCOA PUFFS T-s.h.i.+rts will be the first to tell you.
”Did you hear me, Jaine?” Lance was waving a fry in my face. ”No elastic waist pants.”
”But I like elastic waist pants. They're so comfortable.”
”So are granny nightgowns. But you wouldn't wear one on a date, would you ...? Well? Would you?”
”I'm thinking, I'm thinking. With the right elastic waist pants, it might not look so bad.”
”No more fries.” He slapped my hand away from his plate. (I'd long since finished my own and had started filching his.) ”Unless you promise. No elastic waists.”