Part 5 (2/2)
”Oh, all right,” I sighed. ”No elastic waists.”
Having overturned the lone obstacle to my finding true love, Lance resumed waxing euphoric.
”Oh, Jaine! I have good vibes about all this. Something tells me we're going to meet the men of our dreams!”
As you've no doubt already figured out, Lance's imagination tends to run on overdrive-especially when it comes to romance.
”Wouldn't it be great,” he was saying, Disney stars practically twinkling in his eyes, ”if we both wound up falling madly in love and had a double wedding?”
”Lance,” I gently reminded him, ”we haven't even met the guys yet. Don't you think you're getting a little ahead of yourself planning our weddings?”
”You're right, sweetie. Of course. First we've got to plan our bachelor and bachelorette parties! I'm thinking Vegas!”
I didn't even try to talk sense into him. Instead I did the only thing possible under the circ.u.mstances: Finish his fries.
Chapter 6.
Feeling guilty about all those chili cheese dog calories nestling on my thighs, I took a twenty-block walk when I got home that night. Okay, so it was ten blocks. Okay, six, if you must know. Which is about five and a half more than I'd walk if left to my own devices.
By the time I got back to my apartment, I was ready to eat the wallpaper.
And I wasn't the only one feeling peckish.
The minute I walked in the door, Prozac started weaving in and out around my ankles in her patented Feed Me dance.
Do you realize it's been a whole two and a half hours since my last snack? If I don't eat soon, I may faint.
”Oh, don't be such a drama queen,” I said, trying to make my way to the kitchen without tripping over her.
I was just slos.h.i.+ng some Hearty Halibut Guts into her bowl, debating whether to order Chinese or pizza for my own dinner, when Joy called.
It turns out I was about to meet the man of my dreams a lot sooner than I thought.
”Fabulous news, Jaine!” Joy's voice came braying across the line. ”I've just worked another dating miracle and fixed you up with one of L.A.'s most eligible bachelors!”
Ten to one, it was Barry the pocket protector guy.
”He's six feet tall, with blond hair, blue eyes, and homes in Malibu, Maui, and Palm Beach.”
That sure didn't sound like Barry. Was it possible that for once in her life Joy had actually come through with a decent date?
”His name is Skip Holmeier III, and he's picking you up in half an hour.”
A measly half hour? Well, that ruled out any last-minute liposuction.
”Now remember,” Joy was saying. ”My reputation is on the line here. You need to make a good impression. So whatever you do, don't wear elastic waist pants.”
Oh, h.e.l.l. She must have been talking to Lance.
After a.s.suring her I would not leave the house with elastic clinging to my waist, I dashed into the shower to prep myself for my date with one of L.A.'s most eligible bachelors. I have to confess I was more than a tad excited. I stood under the shower spray, my cute new coif stuffed into a shower cap, trying to remember the few attractive male clients I'd seen on Joy's database and whether any of them had houses in Maui and Palm Beach. But my mind was a blank. Oh, well. I'd find out who he was soon enough.
Finished with my shower, I slipped on my undies and hurried to my closet, where I reached for a pair of nonelastic waist charcoal gray skinny pants I'd picked up half price at Nordstrom. Somehow I managed to close the b.u.t.ton on its set-in waist, and put on a red merino wool tunic, some sterling silver dangly earrings, and my one and only pair of Manolo Blahniks.
Unfortunately I was unable to replicate Ca.s.sie's fabulous makeup job, so I just scrunched my curls, slapped on some lipstick and a bit of mascara, and hoped for the best.
”What do you think?” I asked, modeling my outfit for Prozac, who was stretched out on the living room sofa, giving herself one of her hourly gynecological exams.
She yawned a cavernous yawn.
I think it's time for a belly rub.
But there was no time for belly rubs. Because just then there was a knock on the door.
Omigosh. It was him! My Most Eligible Bachelor!
I took a deep breath and walked to the door.
And that's when I made my first mistake: I opened it.
Standing there was Skip Holmeier III.
How foolish I'd been to think Joy would actually come through for me.
True, he was six feet tall. And true, he had blond hair and blue eyes.
But I'm guessing he'd had those baby blues of his for at least seventy-five years. And that blond hair sitting on top of his head like a yellow bird's nest was most definitely a toupee.
For a crazy instant I allowed myself to hope that he was Skip's elderly chauffeur.
But, alas, that was not to be.
”Jaine!” he cried, his blue eyes twinkling through his cataracts. ”I'm Skip Holmeier. What a pleasure to meet you!”
”Likewise, I'm sure,” I gulped.
”For you, my dear,” he said, handing me a nosebleed expensive bouquet of long-stemmed roses.
”Thanks so much,” I managed to stammer. ”Come on in, while I put these in water.”
He stepped inside, and as he did, he suddenly clutched his chest.
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