Dating Dead Men by Harley Jane Kozak

Author:Harley Jane Kozak
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9780385512534
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Published: 2004-01-19T16:00:00+00:00

chapter nineteen

The card read, “This is state-of-the-art and will keep you safe until you have a man around the house to fill that function. Regards, Rex.”

“Rex, your brunch? The CBS guy?” Fredreeq closed the cash register and peered at the boxes accompanying the card. “Was he raised by wolves? You don't send hardware after a date.”

The hardware was a complicated-looking security system, delivered in the early afternoon by UPS along with my Wednesday night date outfit. “No, it was thoughtful,” I said, ripping open cardboard. “I can really use this.”

The truth was, Rex could've sent an ant farm and I'd be smiling. Doc's kiss, brief as it was, had traveled the length of my body and altered my mind for the last hour, and possibly the rest of my life.

Fredreeq tore into the Tiffanie's package. “Network executives,” she sniffed. “And he wonders why they have no demographics? This is worse than that head of Caesar sitting in the back room.”

“Dante, not Caesar.”

“Yeah, well, at least that had attitude. This has operating instructions, for God's sake. Whatever happened to long-stemmed roses?” Fredreeq pulled a scrap of silver material out of its tissue paper. “Oh, my. Now we're talking, sister.”

I stared. “That's it? I've seen more fabric on a pair of socks. I can't wear that.”

“You can. You will. We gotta do something with your hair, you've got a bad case of bed head, but if this dress looks the way I think”—she held it up to her jumpsuited body—“this man is gonna be drooling on himself. In a good way, of course.”

Two senior citizens, regular customers, entered the shop and headed to the back wall, engaged in a heated debate. I gave them a wave, and they waved back, still arguing. Electric guitars in the ceiling speakers penetrated my consciousness. It was not easy listening. “Fredreeq, what's this music?” I asked.

“Hendrix. Oh! Dylan Ellison called this morning and I rescheduled him for tomorrow. Wollie, have pity,” she said, moving to block my path to the stereo. “It's not my regular day. I'm only wired for bad music Tuesdays, Thursdays, and—”

“Fredreeq,” I hissed, moving around her. “Spies.”

“Who, Mr. and Mrs. Retirement Village?” She nodded to the customers, who looked heavenward as electric guitar gave way to flutes. “You think Bundt has the brains to recruit our regulars? I'm thinking he gets rejects from the Wal-Mart security guard program. Anyhow, now that you're back, I'm outta here, I've got three facials coming and I need lunch.”

When Fredreeq and the seniors were gone, I slipped into the back room, propped the door open to listen for customers, then moved Doc's laundry from washer to dryer, adding a fabric softener sheet. My pulse raced with the thrill of taboo behavior.

In addition to the List, each Dating Project subject had individualized Dos and Don'ts, compiled by her discriminating friends. Mine were all Don'ts: Don't Do His Laundry, Don't Let Him Move In, Don't Use the “L,” “R,” or “B/G” Words (Love, Relationship, Boyfriend/Girlfriend) Until He Does.

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