Too Good to Be True

I took a deep breath. “Hi. I’m Grace.” I paused. “I’m currently pretending to have a boyfriend. My sister’s dating my ex-fiancé, and to make everyone think I was fine with that, I told my family I’ve been seeing this fabulous guy.

How’s that for pathetic? And like you, Karen, I’ve been on some astonishingly bad dates, and I’m getting a little nervous, because my sister and Andrew are getting serious, and I’d really like to find someone. Soon. Very soon.

”

There was a moment’s silence.

“I’ve made up boyfriends, too,” Karen said, nodding her head slowly. “The best man I ever dated was all in my head.”

“Thank you!” I exclaimed.

“I did it, too,” Michelle said. “I even bought myself an engagement ring. It was beautiful. Exactly what I wanted. For three months, I wore that thing. Told everyone I knew I was getting married. It got so I was trying on dresses on the weekends. Sick, really. Looking back, though, it was one of my happier times.”

“This brings up one of my strategies,” Lou announced. “Men love women who are taken, so Grace, your little ruse isn’t the worst idea in the world. It’s a great way to get a man intrigued. A woman who is sought out by other men shows that she has a certain appeal!”

“Or a certain lack of honesty,” I offered.

Lou guffawed heartily. Beside me, Julian winced. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought this was worth a shot.”

“It’s only sixty bucks,” I whispered back. “Plus we can get margaritas after.”

“Let’s get going with the class. Some of these things are going to sound a little silly, maybe, a little old-fashioned, but the name of the class is Meeting Mr. Right, and my methods work.” He paused. “For you, Julian, I’m not so sure, but give it a try and let me know how it’s going, okay?”

“Sure,” Julian said glumly.

For the next hour, I bit my lip to keep from snorting and did not look at Julian, who was similarly struggling.

Everything Lou said sounded silly, all right. Downright idiotic, sometimes. It was like we were stepping back in time to the 1950s or something. Be feminine and proper. An image of me clubbing Callahan O’ Shea came to mind. So proper, so ladylike. No swearing, smoking or drinking more than one small glass of wine, which should not be finished. Make the man feel strong. Make yourself as attractive as possible. Makeup at all times. Skirts. Be approachable. Smile. Laugh, but quietly. Flutter your eyelashes. Bake cookies often. Exude serenity and grace. Ask for a man’s help and flatter his opinions.

Gack.

“For example,” Lou said, “you should go to the hardware store. There are lots of men at a hardware store.

Pretend you don’t know which lightbulb to choose. Ask for the man’s opinion.”

“Come on!” I blurted. “Lou, please! Who would want to date a woman who can’t choose her own lightbulb?”

“I know what you’re thinking, Grace,” Lou sang out. “This is not me. But let’s face it. ‘You’ isn’t working, or ‘you’ wouldn’t be in this class. Am I right?”

“He’s got us there,” Karen admitted with a sigh.

“THAT WAS FAIRLY DEMEANING,” I said, mimicking Lou’s rolling speech pattern as we sat at Blackie’s a half hour later, slurping down margaritas.

“At least it’s over,” Julian said.

“Okay, stop, you two. He has a point. Listen to this,” Kiki said, reading one of the handouts. “‘When in a restaurant or bar, square your shoulders, look around carefully and say to yourself, I am the most desirable woman here. This will help you exude the confidence necessary to make men notice you.’” She frowned in concentration.

“I am the most desirable woman here,” Julian said with mock earnestness.

“Problem is, you are,” I answered, nudging him in the ribs.

“Too bad you aren’t straight,” Kiki said. “Then you and I could hook up.”

“If I were straight, Grace and I would be married and have six kids by now,” Julian said valiantly, putting his arm around me.

“Aw,” I said, tilting my head against his shoulder. “Six, though? Seems like a lot.”

“I’m gonna try it,” Kiki said. “It’s our homework, right? So here goes nothing. By the way, I am the most desirable woman here, and I’m exuding confidence.” She smiled and stood up, then walked over to the bar, crossing her arms and leaning on the counter so her br**sts swelled like ocean waves in a storm surge.

A man noticed immediately. He turned, smiled appreciatively and said something.

It was Callahan O’ Shea.

My face flushed. “Crap,” I hissed. God forbid that Kiki mention the class, for one, since Callahan would know I wasn’t dating anyone, and for two…well…if Kiki was turning over a new leaf with men, shouldn’t she know Callahan was recently released from prison? And should he know she tended to be a little wacko when it came to men?

“Maybe I should warn her,” I murmured to Julian, not taking my eyes off the two of them. “That’s my neighbor. The ex-con.” I’d told Julian about Cal’s past.

“Oh, I don’t know. Embezzlement didn’t sound so bad,” Julian said, sipping his piña colada. “And God, Grace.

You didn’t tell me he was so hot.”

“Yeah, well…” My voice trailed off. Kiki said something, Callahan replied, and Kiki threw her head back, laughing. My eye twitched. “I…I’ll be right back,” I said.

Walking over to the bar, I touched Kiki’s arm. “Kiki, can I talk to you a sec?” I said. I turned to my neighbor. “Hi, Callahan.” I was already blushing. Wondered how my hair was. Dang it. I wanted to look pretty because Callahan O’ Shea was looking at me.

“Hi, Grace,” he said. He smiled…just a little, but enough. The man was just unfairly attractive.

“Oh, do you two know each other?” Kiki asked.

“Yes. We live next door to each other. He just moved in.”

I hesitated, not sure I was doing the right thing. But Kiki had been my friend for years. Wouldn’t I want to know if a guy I was interested in had just left prison? If she knew, she could make her own decision. Right?

Callahan was watching me. Dang it. I’d bet the farm that he knew what I was thinking.

“Kiki, Julian and I have a question,” I finally said.

“Sure,” she said uncertainly. I dragged her off a few paces, not looking at Cal. “Um, Kiki,” I whispered, “that guy just got out of prison. For embezzling over a million dollars.” I bit my lip.

She winced. “Oh, damn!” she said. “Isn’t this typical? Leave it to me to pick the criminal. Crap. Of course he’s gorgeous, too, right?”

“And he seems…well, he’s…I just figured you should know.”

“No, you’re right, Grace. I have a hard enough time as it is, right? Don’t need to date an ex-con.”

With me trailing a step or two behind, Kiki went back to the bar and took her drink from the bartender. Callahan was watching us. His smile was gone. “Cal, nice meeting you,” Kiki said politely.

His eyes flicked to me in a knowing glance, but he simply inclined his head in a courtly manner. “Have a good night,” he said, turning back to the baseball game on the TV above the bar. Kiki and I hightailed it back to our table.

Our artichoke dip had arrived, and Julian was already eating, gazing across the restaurant with his soulful gypsy eyes at a good-looking blond guy who was returning his gaze with equal intensity.

“Go for it,” I said, nodding toward the guy. “You’re the most desirable woman here.”

“He looks like that football player. Tom Brady,” Julian murmured.

“How do you know who Tom Brady is?” I asked.

“Every g*y man in America knows who Tom Brady is,” he said.

“Maybe he is Tom Brady,” Kiki said. “You never know. Go ahead, give it a shot. Make him feel manly and smart.

Use those feminine wiles.”

For a second, Julian seemed to consider it, then his shoulders dropped. “Nah,” he said. “Why do I need a man when I have you two beautiful girls?”

For the rest of the night, I shot little glances at Callahan O’ Shea’s back as he ate a hamburger and watched the baseball game. He did not look back.

CHAPTER TWELVE

ON SATURDAY MORNING, I WAS once again wrenched out of bed by Angus’s hysteria and staggered down the stairs to open the door. This time, it was Margaret, a suitcase in tow, a glower on her face.

“I’m here,” she said. “Got any coffee?”

“Sure, sure, let me put it on,” I answered, still squinting. I’d been up late last night watching all two hundred and twenty-nine smarmily glorious minutes of Gods and Generals, weeping copiously as General Jackson barked out his last delirious orders to First Virginia. I think it’s fair to say I had a Confederate hangover, so Margaret in all her grouchy glory, first thing in the morning…ouch. I followed her as she stomped into the kitchen.

“So what happened?” I asked as I measured out coffee grounds.

“Here’s the thing, Grace,” Margaret said in her master and commander voice. “Don’t marry a man you love like a brother, okay?”

“Brothers, bad. Got it.”

“I’m serious, smart-ass.” She bent over and scooped up Angus, who was chewing on her shoe. “I said to Stuart last night, ‘How come we never have sex on the kitchen table?’ And you know what he said?” Margaret glared at me accusingly.

“What?” I asked, sitting down at the table with her.

She lowered her voice to imitate her husband. “‘I’m not sure that’s sanitary.’ Can you f**king believe that? How many men would turn down kitchen-table sex? You want to know when Stuart and I do it?”

“No, I absolutely do not,” I answered.

“Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday,” she snapped.

“Wow,” I said. “That sounds pretty good to—”

“It’s in his daily planner. He puts a little star in the nine o’clock slot to remind him. Intercourse with Wife. Check.”

“But still, it’s nice that he—”

“And that’s the whole problem, Grace. Not enough passion. So I’m here.”

“At the home of passion,” I murmured.

“Well, I can’t just stay there! Maybe he’ll notice me a little more now! Maybe not! I don’t really care at this point.

I’m thirty-four years old, Grace. I want to have sex on the kitchen table! Is that so wrong?”

“I know I wouldn’t say so,” came a voice. We both turned. Callahan O’ Shea stood in the kitchen doorway. Angus exploded into his usual sound and fury, struggling to get out of Margaret’s arms. “I knocked,” Cal said, grinning.

“Hi, I’m Callahan. The good-looking neighbor.”

Margaret’s expression morphed from furious to rapacious, a lion staring at a three-legged baby zebra. “Hi, Callahan the good-looking neighbor,” she said in a sultry voice. “I’m Margaret the horny sister.”

“The horny married sister,” I inserted. “Margaret, meet Callahan O’ Shea. Cal, my sister, pretty happily married for lo these many years, currently suffering from what I believe is called the seven-year itch.”

“Hey, it has been seven years, hasn’t it?” Margaret snapped out of her lustful daze. “So you’re the embezzler, huh?”

“That’s right.” Cal inclined his head, then turned to me. “Not fit for decent company, right, Grace?”