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Authors: Hillary Kanter

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BOOK: Hillary Kanter - Dead Men Are Easy To Love
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Thank you, Woody. The voice of reason.

He was right, of course.

Unbelievably, boring and predictable were beginning to sound better and better. I thought about the lawyer, Rob, who lived in the apartment above me, and about my cute, single accountant, who asked me out one time. I had given neither of them the time of day, figuring they were not interesting or brilliant enough. And these were only a few of the men in my dating life that I’d written off as too “normal,” too “predictable, “boring,” or “too crazy.” Could it be I was all wrong?

Having considered my options, I had a revelation. These guys were no better, and maybe even worse, than the men I dated in the present. Yes, caught up in the various scenarios, I had fallen in love with these men before me—each one interesting, passionate, attractive, talented … but dead. And they all carried an enormous amount of “baggage.” I became acutely aware that these journeys and these dead men were only an escape, and were wrought with the same problems I’d had with living ones.

I blinked, tried to focus.

What to do?

Before me, seven men sat with bated breath, awaiting my answer. I drew in a big gulp of air. “I’ve made my decision,” I said, watching their eyes come alive in expectation. “I choose
none
of you. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to live in the past. I need a living, breathing man in my life—right here, right now.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, and clutched the crystal heart. “Now I’m wishing you away. I don’t love you anymore … not
any
of you. Go back where you belong! Go away … go away. I implore all of you to return to the past.”

When I opened my eyes, they were gone. Ha. It had worked.

Hemingway and Van Gogh, Clark and Beethoven, Lindbergh, Butch, and Vlad Dracul … Every single one of them, gone. Just like that. Whether it was my own conviction or the crystal heart, it did not seem to matter. All that mattered was that they were gone.

Glancing around Elaine’s, I noted that the black and orange balloons were back, as were the usual patrons. There were eight stools at the bar, but dead men were seated in
none
of them. The music still blared. I had my original drink back in front of me and it was still cold. I nursed it, still feeling shaky.

All appeared normal now, as if nothing had ever happened.

Except I still had the crystal heart.

The man next to me departed, his seat soon filled by a bleach-blonde woman wearing too much eyeliner, who was chewing gum and looked about thirty-five years old. She answered a call on her cell, talking loudly in an annoying Brooklyn accent.

She hung up, turned to me, and snapped her gum in her mouth as she spoke. “I can’t
believe
it. I just got stood up. Again. This is the third time in a row that a stupid
guy
has done this to me.” Chomp, chomp. “I can’t stand it anymore. I’m giving up. The men today … I swear. They’re
so
boring. Dating sucks doesn’t it? There are
no
good men out there.” Chomp, chomp. “Oh, but from the looks of it, you don’t have that problem anymore. Love your engagement ring.”

“No, I’m not engaged,” I said. “Hell, I’m not even
dating
at the moment.”

“But isn’t that an engagement ring?” she exclaimed, pointing to my ring finger. “Or was it your mother’s, or something?”

Looking down, I gasped. The stone on my finger was at least two carats!

“I
sooo
want a Canary diamond like that when I get engaged,” she gushed. “So who’s the lucky guy?”

I was too stunned to respond. I did not even know how the hell this ring had landed on my hand. I had not accepted any of those offered by the dead seven. I wracked my brain for an explanation. Turning my hand over and over, the diamond’s facets caught the light.

Nope. Did not recognize it, even though plenty of them were offered to me by dead men.

“Well, when
I
get married, I want it to be in Jamaica,” the chatterbox next to me went on. “Don’t you think Jamaica is the most
romantic
place in the world to get married? I want a ceremony right on the beach, at sunset. All my bridesmaids will be wearing pale blue, and my cake’s going to be at least seven layers, with chocolate and butter-cream frosting. And I wanna walk down the aisle in a Vera Wang gown.”

Yeah. And I could bet she’d be chewing her gum.

“I’m saving up for it now,” she droned on. “Well, that’s if I ever decide to date again. This last guy was a real loser. You know what he did? He …”

The Fifth Dimension was now singing; “Won’t you marry me, Bi-ill … I’ve got the Wedding Bell Blu-ues … Please marry me, Bi-ill … I’ve got the Wedding Bell Blues.”

“Say, what’s your name, doll?” the bleach-blonde asked me. “I’m Sylvie Schwartz.”

I rolled my eyes. I was not in the mood for this. “My name’s Ariel … Richards.”

Noticing she was losing my interest, she changed the subject and pointed at the crystal heart around my neck. She said, in her thick New York accent, “That’s so pretty. What a
gawgeous
necklace. It looks like a cut
quatz
.”

Well, finally, somebody who actually knew what it was.

And that gave me a thought. In a flash, I realized this woman was a perfect candidate for the crystal heart. Voila. She hated dating the men she was meeting, and she breathed boredom. Looked to me like she might be up for an adventure or two.

“You know what,” I said, unclasping the chain from around my neck, “this is for you. I want you to have it. It‘ll bring you good luck. I know that for a
fact
. You’ll have all the romance and adventure and interesting men you could ever dream of, for as long as you wear it.”

“It’s really
gawgeous
,” Sylvie repeated. “But I couldn’t possibly accept it.”

“No. I really want you to have it. I insist. And I won’t take no for an answer. See?” I said, pointing to the diamond on my finger. “You were right. I was just kidding. I
am
engaged. It brought me luck, didn’t it? So I guess I don’t need it anymore, do I?”

“I guess you don’t,” she said, licking her lips. “And if you ended up with a ring like
that
, you must have had some awesome luck.” She took the necklace and clasped it around her own neck.

“That looks good,” I told her.

 Several minutes passed and then Tom the bartender placed a drink in front of my new acquaintance. “Miss, this is from that guy sitting there at that back table.”

She and I followed his eyes to the man in the in the corner. Someone was standing in front of him, obscuring our view, and all we could see were his long legs under the table. He wore khaki pants and what looked like deck shoes. When the person in front of him shifted, I caught a side glimpse of his sun-tanned face, and my heart skipped a beat.

But the man in khakis was not staring at me; he was staring right at Sylvie. Hemingway nodded in her direction, raising a strawberry daiquiri.

That was it. I was outta of there.

Throwing on my coat, I tried to slip out.

“Hey, Ariel. Where are you going?” Chomp, chomp. “And who do you think that man is over there? Do you know him or something?”

“Goodbye,” I called over my shoulder. “Nice meeting you, but I’ve gotta run. I’m meeting my fiancé, and I’m late.”

I ventured out into the black of night. The snowfall had ended, and a full moon stared down at me. I stared back and chuckled, recalling the old joke: “If we put one man on the moon, why can’t we put them all there?”

Making my way home down Second Avenue, my thoughts swinging between relief and amazement, I slipped on a patch of ice. My feet flew out from under me, and I landed hard on the sidewalk. I was dizzy. My vision went dark for a second.

Uh-oh. Oh, no, please no!

Cautiously, I opened one eye.

Sweet relief. I was still in the present.

My writing notebook had fallen out of my hands, and I was still sprawled on the pavement, when a voice addressed me from the darkness.

“Are you all right, Ariel?”

I turned and saw it was that lawyer Rob, who lived in the apartment above mine. What a coincidence, in a city as large as Manhattan. “Uh, yeah. I’m all right. Besides the fact that I feel like an idiot.”

“Yeah, the snow’s come kinda early this year. But I did the same thing myself last winter. I almost broke my neck. Here, let me give you a hand there,” he said, and with strong arms lifted me from the sidewalk. “Oh, and here’s your notebook.”

“Thank you very much.”

 After our one and only date we had passed each other in the stairwell of our apartment building often enough, and even ran into each other at the museum, but I had not seen him in months. He had been a little on the chubby side, but now looked like he had lost some weight. With his angular face and wide smile, he looked handsome in a way I had never noticed before.

On this chilly New York evening, we walked together in the same direction.

“Writing anything interesting these days?” he said.

“I’m writing. But I’m not sure it’s anything interesting.”

“I’ve read some of your articles in
Men’s Health
. All of them, actually. They’re great,” he said. “You’re a really good writer.”

“Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome very much.”

“How about you, Rob? How’s the lawyer business these days? Didn’t you say you were … let me think … a tax attorney, right? In that law firm, um…what was the name of it?”

 “Duncan and Sweeny,” he said. “Well, I was. Now I’m the main attorney in Simon and Schuster’s legal department. You know, the publisher?”

“Sure, I know. I submitted my novel to them a few months ago, but haven’t heard anything back yet.”

“If you’d like, I’d be happy to, you know, check on the status. Things can get really backed up, with all the manuscripts coming in. I could ask about it.”

“I’d appreciate that. It’s really nice of you.”

Rob smiled. “Say, would you want to maybe meet me for coffee next week?”

“Sure.” My definitive answer surprised me. Definitely not the norm. “Let me give you my email.” I tore a piece of paper from my notebook and scribbled down the address.

“Great, then. It was nice bumping into you, Ariel. I’m heading to the gym right now, but I’ll be in touch. I look forward to seeing you soon.”

“Thanks for picking me up,” I said, laughing.

Overhead, a thousand stars lit the night. The skies had cleared, but the wind still nipped at my ankles. As I strolled toward my apartment, I moved with lightness in my step, a smile on my face, and my head filled with hopefulness. There would be no more dead men in my future. I would be free of them forever.

I slowed at the traffic light and after I crossed Second Avenue, I stopped dead in my tracks, pausing in front of a large, flashing, neon sign.

 

PSYCHIC

ALL YOUR QUESTIONS ANSWERED

LIFE, MONEY, ROMANCE

 

I buttoned up the top button of my jacket, and kept on walking.

 

 

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 

 

Hi there, readers:

 

I have always gone by the doctrine that “if you gotta tell ’em who you are, you ain’t.” And, if you’re “only as good as your last three minutes,” well … But here goes anyway.

All you really need to know about me is that a decent while back,
I was
an award-winning hit songwriter, singer and musician, and I had a lot of songs recorded by a lot of famous people. But I won’t go into all of that. And as a singer with RCA records, I recorded two critically acclaimed albums—read that as, although they were very
good,
I did
not
sell a lot—AND I sang back-up on tour with a famous Latin American named Julio Iglesias … whom you may now only know as the father of pop star Enrique Iglesias.

I live in Nashville, Tennessee with a great guy, and five adorable cats named Bosco, Barley, Max, Purr-cy, and … ? We haven’t named him yet. Yes, they are all MALES. My hobbies are snowskiing, and I’m an avid movie buff and reader of biographies.

By the way, this is my second career and second book, which I guess you could say is an offshoot of sorts from my first book,
Dating Sucks! A Single Woman’s Confessions, Obsessions and Lessons.

 

For a good laugh, you can check that out—and I hope you will. You can find out more stuff about me and that book at:

 

www.DatingSucks.net

Table of Contents

Chapter One:
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five:
Chapter Six:
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten

Table of Contents

Chapter One:

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five:

Chapter Six:

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

BOOK: Hillary Kanter - Dead Men Are Easy To Love
10.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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