The Wedding Bet (7 page)

I wore a long white dress and a skinny chic belt around my waist and sensible ankle sandals to Limber & Love for the Tuesday morning Personal Ad meeting. I opened the door and there sat Amy, the receptionist with a big knot on her forehead. I froze. “What happened at the Robotic Park Amy?”

“Love happened!”

I sat down for a second at the chair along side of the wall, like a guests. I reached into my Oxford laptop bag, “I found this new liquid blemish foundation. It will cover that bruise in a second.” I pulled out the foundation.

“That’s okay. I wear my love proudly.”

“You’re only scaring me before my Personal Ad meeting with PR Man and Lover’s Dance later on tonight.”

“Who?” Amy said, in her cool non hysteria voice, as she pulled out a mirror and lifted her black bang that almost covered the red-looking knot.

I slapped my tube of liquid foundation on her desk. She snapped it up and quickly started applying it. “I really should save this for him. The knot on the left side of his head is even larger than mine!”

I burst out laughing. “He got a bump on the head, too. That’s much better.”

Amy giggled. “Thanks. I don’t know what I was thinking. So I fixed my helicopter. I flew it higher and higher, then over the pond, by the dog park section. As I tried to bring it back from over the pond, it started wobbling and sputtering. I was afraid some huge dog would chase after it like a ball and the carnage would be massive. So I ran and ran all the time pressing the direction button three hundred degrees. Then bang! This cute boy walking his poodle crashed right into me.”

“That must have hurt,” I said waving away the liquid blemish foundation tube. “You keep it.”

“He apologized as his dog went running where I came from and my helicopter came crashing down on the other side of the pond in the dog park. We sat on the ground laughing, him holding a broken leash remnant in hand and I holding my helicopter remote control. Then I asked him out!”

I laughed. “Surely this younger generation did have different minds. You’re brave.”

“I figured someone named Ian Olmedo couldn’t be a stalker...oops....”

“I’m not afraid of a stalker, Amy. I had a bet— Go on finish your story and I’ll tell you mind.”

“And Ian said yes!” Amy clapped her hands like a little girl at a tea party. “He didn’t call me a slut or whore or think I was only after his body. Like most guys do.”

“That’s wonderful, Amy. Every girl wishes they’d experienced love at first—”I hesitated to say it—”crash?”

“Yup. Love at first crash.” She giggled some more.

I tried not to laugh. I laughed softly at Amy’s crazy boy-situation.

“Tonight we’re going to see a movie, something drama and girly. You realize standing side by side to Ian, both of us will look like a twin-headed Minotaur, his growing horn on the left and my growing horn on the right.”

I double over with laughter as a slow motion scene flashed before my eyes. Ian stares down being dragged by his mid-sized out of control poodle; and Amy gazing skyward, chasing after her sputtering helicopter. Soft love music playing as the screen jumped back to Amy running left and then switched to Ian running from the right. Finally the two of them crashing into one another as the romance music stopped. They look at one another and circled halo of tiny red love hearts began to spin around their knotted heads.

“Then on Friday, we’ll go see an action flick.” Amy slipped the liquid blemish into her purse. “You were telling me about PR Man.”

“Yes. Last Saturday one of my best friends since high school got married. I catered her wedding. I built a nice purple, pink, white and green three-tiered cake. Then while trying to avoid any drama with the bridesmaids, I stood far in the back as Cynthia tossed her wedding bouquet. I don’t know how it happened but I accidentally caught the wedding flowers.”

“You’re next in line to get married then,” Amy lectured.

“About that tradition…I apologized and said they could toss then again.”

“They didn’t agree to that. Because it’s bad luck!”

“Who says its bad luck?” I asked incredulous.

Amy shrugged her shoulders. She wore a vertical wavy line print pleated skirt with a silk pink tie and a simple black blouse with collar. “The Love Gods?”

“So my best friend who just got married—Cynthia, and Olivia, who wanted to catch the bouquet, said I had to at least entertain the thought for a year. If I didn’t get married after trying for a year, they’d leave me alone.”

Amy doubled over in laughter and almost bumped her knot on her forehead again. “That’s crazier than my love story.”

“Mine is not a love story. I have no intention of getting married this year.”

“You’re twenty-seven, Megan. It’s about that time.”

“No...It is not about that time,” I argued back. “So that’s why I call Steve Laferte the PR Man. I don’t intend to marry anyone ugly or handsome this year. All emotions are in check, under control.”

“That’s fair enough. You can say at least you tried.”

PR Man rushed out of the maze of hallways of Limber & Love. “Did Megan arrive—I was—there you are. I’m sorry for the delay. You’re about to go live,” and PR Man grabbed my hand and took me into the dark confusing maze of Limber & Love’s offices, dragging me into his office.

* * * *

“Sit.” PR Man walked round his desk quickly. He took another snap shot of me.

“Awwwww I wasn’t ready.”

“Spontaneous pictures are best. That’s how a talent scout finds supermodels and award-winning actors. Shopping at a mall. Eating an ice cream cone with a friend. Stuffing a taco in their face at a kiosk at lunch time.”

“How come I know Michelle is now looking at my picture; thinking of something crazy to do with it?”

“Maybe post cards or a triptych—three-sided two wings central display or we’ll slap an A-Board display of two sloping boards are joined at top, for you to walk around in the Lover’s Dance. The board will say, “Dance all you want, but this Lady is not getting married sooner or later.”

“A-Board—don’t they use those outside, not inside?”

“You can stand outside the Grantor Hall wearing it. But anyway I’ve have some words for your personal ad. I want to try them out on you.”

Comfortably seated I needed to confess. I crossed my legs. “I believe in personal ads, PR Man. They work. You’d be surprised at the oddballs who take the time to read them. I mean if the man reads, he might be perfect for me. An intellectual.”

PR man scanned eight neatly stacked papers on his desk. There were large placards, small scribbled notes from a yellow pad. Something that looked like a license plate. His face showed a slight frustration. Then his dark and handsome features lightened. He picked up the small piece of paper that had drifted off his large black desk.

“Hot Fertile woman, 27, one-time gold digger, now wants to settle down. Call—” and he rattled a phone number off.

I tried to swallow the fact that I was retired from prostitution. “Wait a minute, I’m not a hooker.”

“No, you’re not, but I’m not going to let you run away satisfied and married.” He stretched his arm out for me to look at the small ad. “This personal ad guarantees unlikable suitors for you. Suitors you can easily reject. I’m test marketing it on you.”

I liked the rejecting part. Strangely enough lying came with the hunting for a man. “How about this—Hot Fertile woman, 27, one-time major frog kisser, now wants to settle down. No frogs need respond. Call No More Frogs for single Woman in Joinrite City.”

PR Man settle back letting the phrase roll off his tongue. “One-time major frog kisser. I like it. That’s a good ad. But my concern is you want get enough variety to keep you amused while you’re looking. We don’t want to spend more than ten hours a week on answering ads. This Personal Ad will run in local sports bars, Spanish clubs, community papers in the city and suburbs. We could run both. Personal Ads are inexpensive.”

“Hey, PR Man, I want to tell you what happened Friday night!”

“I don’t want to hear any romantic stories.”

“You want to hear about your competition?”

PR Man’s eyes narrowed intently. “Go on.”

“I pulled into my small driveway and noticed a pile of yellow flowers at my catering door. I went inside the building and opened my door to find eight bundles of sweet smelling joy waiting. I picked them up. Each card colored baby pink said something different and expressed its undying love for me. Took me a minute to notice, none of the cards were signed in the back.”

“You didn’t fall for that old ruse, did you?”

I shook my head pathetically, “Course not. You warned me about subliminal advertising; you’ve made me tougher than that. I picked up the flowers and cradled them to my breasts. They felt good and alive. Then I grew suspicious. At first, I thought you were tricking me again. Then I realize you don’t even know what my favorite flowers are. I flipped the last card over and there was Cynthia’s signature.”

PR Man started laughing. “That’s one cold bitch of a friend you have. I can see her being the leader of your Triad.”

“Yeah well I called the lead bitch and told her I was not amused. She wanted to know if in the tiniest way, I wished they were from the man of my dreams. I scoffed, what the man on the moon? No, I knew it was from you and I’m looking for marriage not just any guy who can afford flowers.”

PR Man let his eyes relax. “You know this campaign is just starting. I’m not going protect your heart strings. I plan on tying those for many projects and activities that you won’t find time to fall in love or focus on one person! Maybe we’ll do a slice-of-life advertising or skywriting.”

“That’s great, PR Man.” I raised my hand to give him a high-five slap. He didn’t get the reference until a couple seconds later. We slapped hands and his hot moist hands felt wetter than my own. “I knew we’d make a winning team.”

“By the way the caricature bus ad begins tomorrow. You’ll find that sort of tricky to explain the but best way to respond is with constant humor. Take no one seriously about it. Refer to it as a joke of a best friend. He lifted the large placard color posters from under the Casablanca statue couple. “See. On the sides, back mostly. None inside because that gives them too much time to figure out who you really are.”

“Great! I can tell Olivia and Cynthia I’m really trying hard to find someone.”

“So the Personal Ad will read: Hot Joinrite Fertile woman, 27, one-time major frog kisser, now wants to settle down. No frogs need respond. Call No More Frogs for Her. And then the personal ad number is listed, and a web email.”

“I like it. Now.” I pulled out a tight white blouse and a tight pink top. “Should I wear this dress I have on in blue at home or this outfit and I laid the sexy dress on PR Man’s desk.”

“I like this pink top and tight white blouse—on you but. Do you have something in lace? Specifically a lace white collar.”

“Olivia and Cynthia won’t believe it if I showed up in lace. They’d just say I hired a crisis manager not a public relations firm.” I took the hot outfit and stuffed it back in my purse. “I will go out and buy some lace.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve done that for you, Megan. One more thing, the Lover’s Dance always has a cruise contest during the ‘Blue Light’ dance.”

“I’ll be sure to be sipping apple cider or in the ladies room at that time.”

PR Man adjusted himself in his chair. “It’s random.”

“Random. They’ll suddenly play the theme from ‘Love Story’ and any couples already on the floor will be eligible to win. They have to declare a winner.”