Dating Kosher (7 page)

“Can we go out for lunch today?”

Bev nodded. “Sure, I think I’ve got a break between appointments around noon.”

I nodded back. “Okay, I’ll let Rita know.”

* * *

We went to a little dim sum place for lunch. It was quick and cheap and the food was good. I felt a bit guilty about getting a couple of deep fried dishes (shrimp rolls and deep fried squid) considering I had forgone the gym but figured the humiliation I had suffered over the weekend, thanks to both Max
and
Phil, warranted it.

Bev stuck mostly to the steamed dishes, (
siu mai, har gau
, sticky rice) and like me, used chopsticks like a pro. It’s weird about Jews; we seem to be really into Asian cuisine. Walk into any decent Asian restaurant on a Saturday night and you will find tables of Jews pigging out on various authentic dishes, almost always containing strictly forbidden, non-kosher seafood. I can’t explain the phenomenon, but thanks to it, and stereotypical Jewish parents, I’d learned to use chopsticks very early on.

As a cart left our table, Bev took the opportunity to begin the conversation that I’d been rehearsing in my head all morning.

“So, tell me why you had such a heinous weekend.”

I cleared my throat and took a sip of jasmine tea. “Well, for starters, me and Max are over.”

Bev’s chopsticks halted midway to her mouth, a round shrimp-filled dumpling between them. “I thought you and Max were over like last week.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, but then you reminded me I have Dad’s wedding coming up. I can’t go to his wedding without a date.”

The dumpling resumed its arc into Bev’s mouth. She chewed a couple of times. “So you’re going to stay with him until the wedding?”

“Well, that
was
the plan,” I admitted, more than a little embarrassed that it had backfired in such a spectacular way.

“So what happened?”

“Turns out he couldn’t go anyway, has to go to buy diamonds somewhere. Like he has to go that exact week,” I huffed, still incredulous at Max’s audacity.

“Hmm,” Bev said, surveying the bamboo steamer boxes on the table.

“That’s not all, either.” I swallowed. I wasn’t happy about telling this part of the story to Bev, but I needed to get it out. “I ran into Phil.”

“Which one was Phil?” Bev asked, her nose scrunching up. She always seemed to have trouble keeping my guys straight.

“The computer geek.”

Bev nodded. The conversation got put on pause as another cart, pushed by a tiny Asian girl stopped at our table. “Chicken feet, beef ball, beef tripe…” she offered.

We both shook our heads vehemently, passing on all dishes offered. A bit too ethnic for me even though my parents regularly ate chicken feet. They were a throwback to Jewish cooking when their mothers would chuck the chicken feet into the soup for flavor and would later scoop them out and give them to the kids as a snack. Yuck. Some Jewish traditions needed to end with my parents.

Bev continued, “Okay, so if I remember correctly, he moved his company or something. Where did you run into him?”

“Well, I heard he was back in town so I called him and we went out.” I couldn’t lie to Bev.

“Oh.”

“Anyway, we went back to his place and did it and then he says he doesn’t want to hook up with me again.”

“What did he say exactly?” Bev poured us each some more tea from the steaming china teapot.

I felt a paraphrase was in order. “He said I was vacuous and a gold-digger. What does vacuous mean?” I very deliberately skipped the whore part: I already knew what
that
meant.

Bev blinked a couple of times. She looked like she’d just smelled something bad. “It means empty.”

I looked down at the long, deep-fried tentacle poking out of my bowl. “Oh.”

Bev jumped to my defense, God bless her. “You’re
not
empty, Shosh. He’s a putz. Don’t let it bother you, what he said.”

“Maybe I
am
empty. Maybe I
am
a gold-digger,” I took a sip of tea, trying to dislodge the lump that had appeared in my throat.

Staring at me, Bev seemed to chew on her words along with the dumpling in her mouth. “I don’t think you’re empty. Gold-digger…that’s a harder call.” She cocked her head when I frowned at her. “I’m sorry, Shosh, but you’re pretty materialistic.”

It was true. It wasn’t anything I didn’t know. But hearing it straight from my best friend’s mouth hurt. Hurt more than hearing Phil say it. I nodded and pushed my dish away from me. I’d lost my appetite.

“I’m really sorry,” Bev said.

“What am I gonna do?” I asked. I really was stumped. What was I supposed to do now?

“I don’t know,” Bev said, but I could see it in her eyes—she was looking at me like I needed a makeover. A personality one.

I was terrified that she was right, but I couldn’t deal with that right now. I had to find a date for the wedding. Until then, I was not prepared to spend any time or effort on anything else.

“Keep your eye out for someone I can take to this wedding,” I said, waving the dim sum tally sheet at the waitress so she could ring us up. We had to get back to work.

Bev sighed and nodded, reaching for the last shrimp dumpling.

Chapter 11

“Hi there, I’m here for my facial.”

I looked up and almost didn’t recognize Mr. Blue Collar—the air conditioning repair guy—standing in front of me. The last time I’d seen him, he was wearing his uniform
a la
grease monkey and now here he was, all cleaned up in a white button-down shirt, without his name embroidered above the chest pocket. I couldn’t see what was below, as he was leaning against the reception counter, but I assumed it wasn’t worn navy work pants.

“Sure, I’ll let Bev know you’re here. Please take a seat.” He didn’t move, but just stood there, smiling at me. It was unnerving, but now that he was a client, I couldn’t exactly be bitchy. Pretending he wasn’t there, I picked up the phone and dialed the extension for the back room. “Your seven o’clock is here,” I said when Bev picked up; most of the other girls had finished for the day and had already gone home.

“Is it that hot air conditioning guy?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s correct, he is here for a facial,” I answered, looking up at his grinning face, hoping he couldn’t hear Bev through the phone.

“Sweet, I’ll be right up.”

Almost before I replaced the phone on the cradle, Bev had skipped to the front desk to pick up her client. She stuck out her hand toward him. “Hi, I’m Beverly and I’ll be doing you.” Her face suddenly went a very hot-looking shade of red. “Oh my God, I mean I’m doing
your facial
.”

“I’m Nate,” the guy said, as he handled her faux pas gracefully, shaking her hand and clearing his throat, but making no mention of it. He followed her into the back and out of sight.

My shift was over at eight when the spa closed, but by five after, Bev and Nate still hadn’t come out of the back room. I locked the front doors and peeked around the corner of the desk but all I saw was the closed door on Bev’s treatment room. I was beginning to wonder if he’d had his way with her on the narrow (and not great for sex, believe me) treatment table when he came out of the room, Bev right behind him.

Not that Nate’s skin had been troubled by any means, but when he emerged from the treatment room, he had a subtle pink glow to his cheeks, evidence of Bev’s top notch expertise.

“Thanks a lot, Nate, I hope you enjoyed it,” Bev said. Hope he enjoyed what? The sex or just the facial? I wondered. Nah, who was I kidding? Bev would never jump a guy in the spa. Something like that was much more
my
style.

“No, thank
you
, it was really nice,” Nate said. He made his way up to the desk and pulled his folded-up gift certificate out of his pocket and handed it to me. With a quick glance toward the back, to where Bev had disappeared back into the treatment room to clean up, he leaned over my counter so his face was only inches from mine. His pores looked great, thanks to Bev and really good genes. I thought he was going to kiss me but instead he whispered. “I’m new at this, am I supposed to leave a tip?”

I smiled. I was born knowing but sometimes forgot others had to work at spa etiquette. And just in case, Rita had supplied me with the correct answer to this very important and sometimes awkward question. “It is customary, but not required. It is a token of your appreciation and the amount is completely discretionary.” Since Bev was my friend, it was tempting tell him an exorbitant amount, but if I ever got caught I could lose my job. Say goodbye to free spa services for Shoshanna. I told him the average tip for a facial was.

“Whew, thanks. Can you give this to her?” He pulled some bills out of his pocket and handed me the tip.

“Sure.” I took it and put it in one of the discreet tip envelopes, scrawling her name on the front.

“Oh and one more thing?”

I looked up at him, my eyebrows raised. He truly was dangerously good-looking: those eyes were stunning. Too bad he wore a tool belt to work instead of a stethoscope. Maybe I could make an exception? Oh, who was I kidding? An air conditioning guy? Please.

“Can I get your phone number?”

I gave him a smug grin. “Sorry, I don’t fraternize with clients.”

“No, I meant for the spa here. Do you have a card or something? I’d like to tell my sister about this place.”

Okay, so
that
was incredibly embarrassing. “Oh, yes of course, sorry.” I reached up to the counter and grabbed one of the spa’s brochures. I turned it over and pointed at the contact information. “This is our number, you can give the brochure to your sister. It outlines all of our services.”

“Great, I’ll give it to her.” He looked like he was going to turn toward the door, but blinked a few times and opened his mouth. “Um, so, do you have a lot of male clients coming in here regularly?”

“Not a whole lot,” I answered, thinking about the few men that came into the spa regularly, usually thanks to urging from their wives. “Mostly for manicures, or the odd waxing. Why do you ask?” I hoped he didn’t need his back waxed; that would totally ruin my fantasy.

He leaned over the counter again, lowering his voice. “Well I hate to admit it, but that facial felt great. I feel like a new man.”

“See? We women know what we’re doing.” Most men didn’t get
why women spend so much money and time at the spa so it was very validating to convert even one.

He nodded. “So what other services would you recommend?”

“Well, you said before you wouldn’t bother with a manicure…” I looked at the brochure for some help. “What about a massage?”

“You do massages here?” He straightened up, pushing his shoulders back. “With the work I do, that would be great. Set me up. This time next week is good if that’s available.”

I tapped at the keyboard, bringing the computer to life. “Did you want Bev again?”

“Does she do massages too?”

I nodded, “All of our estheticians perform all services.” I kept my eyes on my computer screen, just in case he decided to take that as a double entendre.

“Well sure, that’s great then…” he leaned over again to read my name tag, “Shoshanna.” Nice that he hadn’t bothered to remember it from the last time he had done that same move. I stifled the urge roll my eyes.

I typed his name into the seven p.m. slot on Bev’s schedule. “Okay, I’ve got you in for next Thursday at seven p.m. for a massage with Bev. Would you like that on a card?”

He nodded and I wrote the particulars on an appointment card and handed it to him. “Thanks, Shoshanna,” he said, this time not even having to look at the little rectangle pinned to my chest.

I got up to let him out through the locked door and was treated to a good view of his butt. I was pleased to see it was as nice in the khakis as it had been in the work pants.

Chapter 12

Feeling lazy, I spent Friday morning in bed with the television on, flipping from
Live with Kelly and Michael
to the fashion channel where they were featuring a special on Ralph Lauren’s winter line. Nothing that caught my eye, but a girl has to stay informed.

I was planning on going to visit my grandmother, but not until later in the afternoon, so I languished in bed, indulging my lazy bones in some serious R&R.

At ten-thirty, the phone rang. It was Susan, my soon to be stepmother (that sounded weird when I thought about it).

“Hi Shoshanna, just confirming today with you.”

“Sure, Susan. Of course.” Dammit, I’d forgotten about our planned shopping trip. Even as I spoke to her on the phone, I threw back the covers and stood up.

“Okay, I’ll be by at noon and then we’ll go for lunch. Where would you like to go?” Susan was the epitome of accommodating.

“I’m not fussy. Wherever you’d like to go is fine with me.”

“Great, maybe a nice patio if the weather holds. We can figure it out when I pick you up.”

I hung up the phone and jogged to the bathroom to grab a quick shower.

* * *

I was already waiting in the lobby of my building when Susan pulled up in her Lexus at precisely noon. Walking through the glass doors, I discovered it was a beautiful day; warm and sunny without a trace of humidity. Despite being rushed into doing only the bare minimum, it was going to be a good hair day.

“Hi,” I said as I got into the car.

She smiled over at me, her hands ten and two on the wheel. “How are you? I was thinking we could go to Tulips for lunch. That okay with you?”

“Yeah that’s fine,” I said, clicking the seat belt buckle into place. Tulips was a little café type place with all sorts of herbal teas and the kinds of sandwiches you normally only get at showers and bridal teas. Three-layer egg salad fingers with the crusts cut off, cream cheese and lox pinwheels brought to the table on a tiered platter. Yum, they were my fav.

“So how are the wedding plans going?”

Susan was still smiling, but she blinked repeatedly behind her Christian Dior sunglasses and her knuckles went white on the wheel. It didn’t take a Ph.D. to see that she was stressed to the max. But Susan was everything a lady was supposed to be: demure, refined and the epitome of polite. “Oh, you know, little snags here and there, but fine.”