** 1 **
"Wow! How you gonna
have time to watch all these? Don't you have a life?" The
look on his face told me I'd done it again. Ma had always said
that tact and I had never been formally introduced. Still...five
movies in two days. The guy had way too much free time on his
hands.
"It's sort of a hobby of mine. I'm new in town, and I've
had a hard time finding any nice women." Touché. Mr.
VCR had some spunk. He even had the sense to exhibit a modest
blush. I've always been partial to sensitive guys...
Back to work. Hmm, not bad. A Linklater. Whit Stillman. One False
Move. None of the dreck from the recent releases section. I flashed
him my best come-on smile, as I scanned his selections. He hesitated
before returning a shy Keanu Reeves grin. Maybe I hadn't blown
it this time. Elliott Rydell, I noted from his membership card.
"These are due back by Thursday night, Mr. Rydell."
I reminded myself to change the schedule with my assistant, Billy,
so I would be there.
Don't ask me why I even cared. I'd sworn off guys after what Cliff
pulled on me. After four months he announced he was "getting
back with his old girlfriend." "You mean the slut who
wrecked your car, constantly cheated on you, and never understood
you anyway?" I asked sweetly. "Yeah. We're in love."
Who could argue? Not me. The bowl of soup I dumped on his lap
expressed much more than words.
**
2 **
I tried to pretend Thursday was just another day, but the time
I spent staring in the mirror preparing for work dispelled that
notion. Usually when I want to impress a guy, I aim to achieve
a certain look. Big hair. Lots of makeup. Short skirt. (Like Melanie
Griffith in Working Girl--before she became sophisticated.) I
sensed this would be the wrong approach for Elliott. I toned down
the hair and makeup a bit. I kept the skirt short though--there
are some things all guys like. "You look ravishing, if I
do say so myself," I confided to the mirror.
If only Christine would cooperate. She had been a great car for
ten years; unfortunately, I still owned her after twelve. We conducted
our little starting ritual. I gently pumped on the gas pedal.
I twisted the key with all my might (the only way it would turn
nowadays). Christine reacted with a distant hum. After a few seconds,
she responded with a sputtering cough, like an ex-smoker forced
to sit in the smoking section of a restaurant. Finally, her engine
turned over, and she revved up like a stock car waiting for the
starting flag. "That's my girl. We have big game to hunt
today."
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