Death by Pantyhose (16 page)

"I suppose you're wondering about my hair,"
I said, figuring I might as well get it out in the
open instead of trying to pretend I wasn't sitting
there like the reincarnation of Little Orphan
Annie.

"No," Andrew lied. "Not at all."

"Oh, come on," I said, reaching for a piece of
deliciously crusty sourdough bread.

"I look like a pumpkin just gave birth on my
head."

"So what happened?" he said, trying to keep a
straight face.

"I got ambushed by a psychotic stylist."

"It's really not that bad. And besides," he
added, with a sexy smile, "I happen to think
pumpkins are delicious."

Oh, my, yes. Things were definitely looking
rosier.

Our waiter, a laid-back dude who looked like
he just came in off his surfboard, gave us
menus.

"They've got a whole section of low-fat
dishes," Andrew said. "Everything cooked with
natural ingredients and no cholesterol."

Oh, foo. That sure didn't sound like fun.

Then he grinned.

"I never order from that section. I always get
the New York strip steak and baked potato. It's
to die for."

We both ordered the steak, and Andrew
poured me some more wine.

"So tell me about yourself," he said.

"You already know a lot about me. After all,
you've read my resume."

"True, but I'm sure there's life after Toiletmasters."

Little did he know.

I put on my First Date tap shoes and told him
how I liked to read and do crossword puzzles
and work out at the gym and go to the movies
and eat Ben & Jerry's in bed.

Okay, so I lied about working out and left out
the part about eating Ben & Jerry's in bed.

"You ever been married?" he asked.

"Yes, once, but it didn't work out."

No sense ruining his appetite with the gruesome details.

"How about you?" I asked. "Ever tie the
knot?"

"No, but I've been on the brink."

I thought how lovely it would be to be on the
brink with Andrew.

Dinner came, and it was, as advertised, to die
for.

And so was Andrew. On the drive over, I had
visions of us sitting across from each other with
absolutely nothing to say, Andrew filling the gaping holes in our conversation with stuffy banker
chat about IPOs and GNPs and SECs, the kind of
chat that tends to make me doze off into my
soup.

But I'm happy to report that Andrew was
amazingly easy to talk to. We talked about everything-our childhoods, our parents, the universal nightmare known as high school, and our
favorite books and movies and TV shows. (His,
in case you're interested, were Catcher in the Rye,
Tootsie, and Alf. )

As it turned out I, too, was an Alf aficionado
and we spent at least ten minutes testing each
other on Alf trivia.

"Where did Alf go to high school?"

"Melmac High!"

"How old was he?"

"229!"

"What sport did he participate in?"

"Captain of the Bouillabaisseball team!"

"Wow," Andrew said after I scored with the
bouillabaisseball answer. "You're good."

I beamed with pride, all those hours glued to
the TV when I should've been doing my homework having finally paid off.

Before I knew it, we'd plowed our way through
our steaks and baked potatoes and a heavenly
chocolate mousse for dessert. My waistband was
a tad tight, and frankly, so was I.

"How about a walk on the beach," Andrew
suggested, "to burn off some calories?"

Of course, I would've had to walk to Fresno
and back to burn off the calories I'd packed
away, but the thought of a walk on the beach
with Andrew sounded terrific.

"Sure," I said, "let's do it."

And so we clambered down a steep incline
onto the beach, took off our shoes, and began
walking along the shore, our bare feet squishing
in the sand. And for once I didn't have to worry about my hair frizzing in the damp. Thanks to
Gustavo, it couldn't possibly get any frizzier.

We walked for a while, burning off calories,
sucking in the marvelous sea air.

Then suddenly Andrew stopped and stared
out at the ocean, its whitecaps glittering in the
moonlight.

"Isn't it fantastic?" he sighed.

"Yes," I echoed, looking not at the whitecaps
but at Andrew's profile in the moonlight. "Fantastic."

We stood there under a silvery moon, the
waves breaking at our feet, like Burt Lancaster
and Deborah Kerr in From Here to Eternity. I almost expected to hear the swell of violins and
crash of cymbals in the background. If that wasn't
the perfect setting for Andrew to take me in his
arms and kiss me, I don't know what was.

But sad to say, he just turned to me and said,
"Ready to go?"

"Sure," f -said, hiding my disappointment with a
feeble smile.

As we headed back up to the parking lot, I
was flooded with doubts. What if he wasn't really
interested in me? What if he'd just been polite
all night? After all, if he really liked me, wouldn't
he have tried to kiss me?

By the time we pulled up in front of my duplex, I was convinced the spark I'd seen in his
eyes at the dinner table was just the glare from
my hair.

"Well, thanks for a lovely evening," I said
stiffly.

"Thank you. I had a great time."

Then he smiled as if he meant it. And I wondered if maybe he was interested, after all.

"Would you like to come in for some coffee,"
I asked, "or an after-dinner drink?"

"An after-dinner drink sounds great."

As it turned out, the only after-dinner drinks
I had were Nestle's Quik and Campbell's
Chicken Noodle Soup.

"Gee," I said, searching the linen closet I call
my liquor cabinet, "I could've sworn I had some
Grand Marnier in here somewhere."

"That's okay," Andrew said from where he was
sitting on the sofa. "I didn't really want a drink.
I just didn't want the evening to end."

"Oh?" My voice came out in a tiny squeak.

"Yes, I thought we could talk some more."

He patted the cushion next to him, beckoning me to join him.

I sucked in my gut and walked over to the
sofa, then sat down next to him, my heart
pounding.

It didn't look like Andrew was about to do
any talking. Instead, he reached over and
touched my cheek. With that touch I felt stirrings I hadn't felt in a long time. I felt warm and
melty; I felt ripe and ready-

Oh, damn. I felt Prozac's furry body worming
her way between us.

"Well, look who's here!" Andrew grinned,
pulling her up into his lap.

Hi, handsome!

She rolled over for a belly rub.

I'm all yours, big boy.

Wait a minute! I felt like shouting. That's my
line!

He rubbed her belly and she purred in ecstasy.

I smiled stiffly, wondering if I should demand my money back from the doctor who supposedly spayed her.

"I think somebody around here needs to go
potty," I said, shooting her a dirty look.

Fine with me. Don't hurry back.

`Jaine's right," Andrew said, putting her back
down. "Be a good girl and go potty."

Anything you say, lover.

ou won't believe this (I still don't), but
And you-'Won't-
she actually wandered off to her litter box! This
from a cat who hadn't obeyed a single order
from the moment I adopted her.

"Now where were we?" Andrew said, once
again touching my cheek.

Another jolt of excitement coursed through
my body, and before I knew it, he was leaning in
to kiss me.

Here it was: The moment I'd been waiting for
ever since the day I first laid eyes on him. I was
so excited I could hardly breathe. I only hoped I
wouldn't pop a button on my waistband and
knock his eye out.

Our lips were just about to touch when his cell
phone rang.

Damndamndamndamndamn!

Don't let him answer it, I prayed. Don't let him
answer it.

But once again the fates were about to desert
me.

He shrugged apologetically and opened his
phone.

"Yes .. I see.... Okay, I'll be right there." He
flipped his phone shut. "That was Sam. Emergency down at the bank."

"At ten o'clock on a Saturday night?"

"She stayed late to work on our project. She's having trouble with the computer, and she
needs me.

"Sorry," he sighed, "but I've really got to go."

"Oh, sure." I plastered a phony smile on my
face. "I understand."

He kissed me lightly on the forehead. Not exactly the suctionfest I'd been hoping for. Clearly
the phone call from Sam had broken the spell. I
couldn't help wondering if he still felt something for her, after all.

"I'll call you soon."

"Right. Sure."

I stood at the doorway as he hurried down
the path to his car.

Computer troubles, my fanny, I thought as I
watched his retreating figure. The bitch just
wanted to keep us apart.

Daring Shirt Theft

Movie patrons at the Tampa Megaplex 15 were
stunned yesterday when a deranged moviegoer
accosted a man on the ticket line and stole the
shirt right off his back.

The shirt in question was a silk Hawaiian sports
shirt, and the victim was Herman Kotler, 69, of
Clearwater.

"I was standing on line minding my own
business," the shaken Kotler said, "when
suddenly this crazy man came up to me and insisted that I was wearing his shirt. He kept talking about a'lucky gravy stain.' The guy was nuts!
I bought that shirt 15 years ago in Hawaii. The
next thing I knew, he ripped it off me, and took
off down the street, dragging his wife behind
him."

"For an old geezer, he sure could run," said
moviegoer Eduardo Solis, 42, who chased the
shirt thief for three blocks.

Witnesses with information about the identity of
the assailant are requested to contact Det. John
Vincenzo of the Tampa Police Department, (813)
555-6874.

To: Jausten

From: Shoptillyoudrop

Subject: Your Daddy, the Shirt Thief

Jaine, honey, you won't believe what happened
at the movies. It was horrible. Just horrible!

Daddy and I went to see the 3:20 show of that
adorable new Sarah Jessica Paltrow movie, but
somehow Daddy got the time wrong, and when
we got there the movie had already started, so
we decided to get tickets for the new Harvey
Porter movie instead, which was so disappointing as I'd really been looking forward to seeing
Sarah Jessica Paltrow; I just loved her in Friends.
But that's not the horrible news, darling. I'm
afraid I got a bit sidetracked. Daddy says I'm always doing that, that I can never get to the point
of a story, but Daddy's got a lot of nerve criticizing me after what he just put me through.

Anyhow, here's what happened. We were standing on line when suddenly Daddy gasped and
said, "Do you see what I see?" And I said, "Oh
my gosh, yes! They've gone and raised the ticket
prices another dollar!" And Daddy said, "Not that.
Look at that man over there. He's wearing my
shirt!"

And sure enough, there was a man on line
ahead of us in an orange Hawaiian shirt that
looked an awful lot like Daddy's. Well, before I
could stop him, Daddy ran over to the fellow.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "I believe you're wearing my shirt." The man said it wasn't Daddy's shirt, that he bought it fifteen years ago in
Hawaii, but Daddy refused to believe him. He
swore he saw his "lucky gravy stain" on the
lapel. The man said it wasn't a gravy stain but a
minestrone stain, and Daddy accused the man
of being a bald-faced liar.

By now everybody on line was staring at us, and
I was sorry I ever suggested going to the movies
in the first place. Then suddenly, before my horrified eyes, Daddy ripped the shirt right off the
poor man's back! In broad daylight! Like a common criminal on CSI: Tampa Vistas!

Then Daddy grabbed me by the arm, and we
took off down the street to our car, which was
parked six blocks away, because Daddy couldn't
find a parking space and refused to pay money
to park in the lot. I haven't run so fast since high
school gym class. I'm surprised I didn't wind up
with a heart attack!

No doubt about it. Your daddy has lost his mind.

Your miserable,

Mom

P.S. Now every time the doorbell rings, I think it's
the police come to arrest Daddy. The way I'm
feeling right now, I'm not sure I'd mind.

To: Jausten

From: DaddyO

Subject: Great News!

Great news, lambchop! I got my lucky shirt back!

I suppose Mom e-mailed you the newspaper
story. It just goes to show you can't believe
everything you read in the paper. That Kotler guy
was lying through his teeth. He was wearing my
lucky shirt, all right. I knew it the minute I saw it. I
tried to be reasonable with him, but he wouldn't
listen. So I had no other choice but to grab it and
run like a bat out of hell.

I'm seriously thinking of suing the paper for calling me a "shirt thief." Not to mention the clown
who called me an old geezer.

Mom is afraid the cops are going to arrest me.
Nonsense. They'll never track me down. And if
they do, so what? I only took what was rightfully
mine!

Of course, Mom is a bit miffed with me for dragging her six blocks in her flip-flops. But the important thing is, I've got my shirt back-and my
good luck! Today I beat Ed Peters at miniature
golf and found a parking spot right outside Ye
Olde Fudge Shoppe. (Don't tell Mom; she thinks
I kicked my fudge habit years ago.)

Lots of love from your lucky,

Daddy

spent a restless night dreaming of Andrew
and Sam making love over a hot spreadsheet
while I stood by trapped in a vat of pureed
pumpkins.