Life on the Naughty List, or What the Elf!

14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

T ea in hand, I entered the theater, then climbed up the escalator, which was still not moving. I wondered if they’d get the blasted thing working before the first day of previews. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about those details. I had to worry about whether we’d have a show to put up.

I walked into the rehearsal theater. The tables were set up again on the stage. I smiled at Eugenius Moses, the composer, and he lifted one corner of his lips in a cordial greeting. From the looks of the bags under his young eyes, I didn’t think he’d slept.

I crossed the stage and found my seat. Sure enough, there’s a brand-new notebook with a brand-new script inside. There were a few new sheets of music, too. I glanced around the table and saw a sea of weary faces on the creative team. From the looks on everyone’s faces, the entire team was on-hand last night to work through the producer’s new vision. At precisely 9:00 a.m., Divya Philomena Kappel, the choreographer, sauntered into the theater. She made a grand entrance up the stage. The level of drama she exuded reminded me of Glenn Close in the last scene of Sunset Boulevard .

“If you will please settle down,” Kappel said, in her thick Spanish accent. “Asier is taking a meeting with the producer, so he asked me to rehearse you this morning. And by rehearse, he wants us to go through the new materials. Since I am not really needed until it is time for you to move your bodies, I will sit back and let Maestro Moses take over.” She looked over at Eugene, who clearly didn’t know this was coming.

Eugene stood up and turned to face us. “Well, as you, umm…well know. We were thrown a bit of a curveball yesterday. Umm…Mabel, Tyreek, and I stayed up all night trying to make the producer’s vision a reality.”

Kishor Khatri, who was dressed in a tan suit, looked at Eugene and asked, “Is this your show or her show?”

“Well, umm—“

“We’re hired to create the show the producer pays us to,” Tyreek said, cutting Eugene off. “I get it. This isn’t the process any of you expected, but it’s the one we have. I’m going to ask that you work with us. Trust me, we’re working as hard as we can.”

Mabel looked at Tyreek and added, “We all have a job to do. Our job is to write a show. Your job is to put that show on. We wished we had a fully developed show on day one, but that’s not how it turned out. I suspect it’s not the last curveball we’ll be thrown—to pick up on Eugene’s baseball metaphor.”

“Err…thanks, guys,” Eugene said, clearly getting his bearings again. “Our goal is to walk you through the current vision of the show. We’re hoping that when San Nicolás gets back from his meeting, we’ll have a better idea of…well, we’ll know if the show is going forward as is or if more major rewrites are coming down the pipeline.” Eugene looked at everyone expectantly. No one asked questions or appeared to have any qualms with the group’s process that morning. “Great, let’s open our scripts to page one. We might as well sing the first song. We haven’t changed anything on it at all, but the dialogue after the song differs from the steel barons…ghosts…I mean, now elves. Geez, I need some sleep,” he mumbled as he sat down at the piano.

He started playing the now-familiar tune, and the cast joined in. We read through each scene, then Eugene and Tyreek would sing the song that would happen. If there wasn’t a song yet, Eugene or Tyreek would explain the general direction of the score. A couple of times, one of them would tell us what would happen next, and the group would groan. Either Eugene or Tyreek would be like, “Okay, maybe that was a bad idea.”

There were a few giant plot holes in the script and Mable would tell us she’s working it out. By the time noon got there, we’d finished the first run-through of the new material, and I had to admit, it didn’t totally suck. Sure, with each passing day, our new musical looked less and less like the movie it was supposedly based on, but that’s show business.

“Hey, how are things going in your world?” Katherine asked, sidling up next to me.

“Things are going well. The show looks less and less like a disaster. I think we’ve passed Carrie terrain and are heading toward the NBC Grinch musical.”

“Ouch! The reworks aren’t that bad.”

“True, but there is still a lot of room for improvement. At this rate, we’ll have a show bad enough to ruin anyone’s Christmas,” I groused.

“Tell me how you really feel, Mrs. Grinch,” Katherine joked as she narrowed her eyes at me.

“I know. It’s not that bad. Just out of it is all. A lot of weird things are happening, and I’m still trying to make sense out of it all.”

“Let me guess, Blinded by Faith ?”

“You’ve heard?”

“I heard it was published. What type of hatchet job did Michelle Bouvier do to you?”

“That’s it,” I stammered, “She was nice. Very nice. It was like she went out of her way to make me sound like the golden child of Broadway. She practically makes me seem like some musical theater saint.”

“And this is a bad thing, how?” Before I could respond, she then asked, “Wanna go to lunch and talk about it?”

“Sure.”

We grabbed our coats and purses before heading out into the cold. Kappel yelled after us to be back in an hour as we left. Technically, we weren’t supposed to have that long at lunch, but if the director-stand-in tells us to take a long lunch, that’s precisely what we planned to do.

We went around the corner to a diner that was always fast and cheap. We were seated at a booth in the back, away from staring eyes and prying ears. Between being seated, getting menus, ordering, and receiving our food, I told Katherine everything that had happened after I left rehearsal yesterday.

“You really had no idea this book was coming out?” Katherine asked between bites of her grilled chicken and roasted asparagus.

“Not a clue. I didn’t know a book about the show was being written. No one contacted me or asked if I wanted to say anything on or off the record.”

“And Brice didn’t know either?”

“He said he knew a book was coming out about the show, but he figured it was a coffee table-type book.”

“I could see how he thought that, but don’t those usually come out while the show is still running? The only people who buy those books are theater geeks and tourists who saw the show on Broadway and want the book as a memento.”

“Hey, I own a few of those books. My favorite one is the Avenue Q book with the orange furry cover.”

“As I said,” Katherine said, pointing at me with her fork, “theater geeks.”

She had me there, so I laughed and shrugged slightly. I had been a high school theater nerd through and through. I had wanted to be on Broadway since I watched a touring production of The Phantom of the Opera as a child. The tour was okay, but I fell in love with the whole idea of musical theater after seeing that show.

“What are you doing tonight?” Katherine asked.

I snapped my attention back to her. My mind had wandered. “Say again?”

“I asked, ‘ What are you doing tonight? ’ You really are in a funk today, aren’t you?”

“Yes, to the funk. And I don’t know what I’m doing tonight. Why?”

“Well, I talked to my friend Darrin Becker, the hottie lawyer, and he said he could squeeze in a dinner date between 8:00 and 10:00 if you could meet him at a restaurant near his office.”

“I can tell he’s really into this whole dating thing.” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

“It’s not like that. I promise, Erika. It’s just,” she paused to put the right words together for a second, “he’s a bit different. It’s like I said, he’s a little shy. But he has a smoking hot bod.”

“And how have you seen his body?” I asked.

“Okay, full disclosure. His parents are friends with my parents. We grew up together. And I may have seen his body once, twice, or a dozen times over the years. We shared the same rental property every summer. I would play out in the ocean, and he would read under an umbrella, avoiding the sun.”

“So, you’re setting me up with a nerd. Better than my last date, but that’s easy.”

“Yes, he’s a total nerd, but he’s a great guy. And he has a killer six-pack. He’s one of those guys who doesn’t have to do anything to stay fit or look hot. He wakes up, throws on clothes, and goes about his life. But he has one of those male model bodies. You know the type. No matter what the guy wears, it fits him like a glove and looks like he stepped out of a catalog.”

“I may have dated a couple of guys like that. Admittedly, the last one who could pull that off was Asher. As much as I hate admitting it, he could wear anything and look like a fashion model gracing the cover of GQ .”

“Maybe so, but from what you’ve told me about Asher’s recent problems, this Michelle Bouvier character at The Post has an ax to grind with Asher.”

“Or Bouvier had the unfortunate experience of holding a conversation with Asher,” I grumbled. I had to check myself. I may not like Asher, and he was many unflattering things, but he wasn’t a completely horrible person. “I don’t think anyone deserves to be beaten up in the press unless they’ve done something horrible. And no matter how much I think being a prick should be punishable by death, it’s not. And whether I want to admit it, there’s still a place deep inside my body that cares about him.”

“Those are called your ovaries, dear. You want to borrow his sperm and make babies,” Katherine joked.

“Don’t ever say that again. Not even as a joke. The idea of having any part of Asher worming its way into my body is enough to make me go get my tubes tied tomorrow.”

“Ahhh…come on. He’s not that unattractive. The two of you would have such adorably cute babies.”

I knew she was joking and trying to get under my skin. But the thought of having anything to do with Asher made me physically ill. I never really dealt with Asher’s betrayal. Sure, I’ve talked to my shrink about Asher, but I haven’t seen him or talked to him since the incident .

“Okay,” I finally blurted out. “I’ll go on a date with the hot lawyer. But if he ends up being married or engaged, I may go Lorena Bobbitt on him.”

“Who?”

“I sometimes forget how young you actually are,” I joked.

“Huh?” Katherine asked, clearly not following my brain’s thought train.

“Lorena Bobbitt chopped off her husband’s… candy cane and threw it into a field.”

“When was this?” Katherine asked as she gasped in disbelief.

“It happened in the early to mid-1990s.”

“Ahh…pre-millennium news. Kind of surprised more women didn’t join her movement over the years.”

I considered it for a second, and realized I don’t think I’d heard about another woman chopping off her husband’s candy cane since Bobbitt.

Katherine texted the lawyer. A couple minutes later, she texted me the location and time. I’d heard of the restaurant but knew little about it. I glanced down at my watch, and it was almost time for us to be back in the theater.

“We really need to pay up and hurry out of here. We don’t want to be late for whatever grand new idea Eldridge has come up with last night.”

“Maybe she’ll decide that the whole show will take place in Whoville,” Katherine said as she giggled at her own joke.

“I’m sure there’s a copyright infringement in there somewhere. But I’m sure she could stage the whole show on Mars. We could call it Christmas on Mars . We could all be aliens instead of elves.”

“Don’t you dare give her that idea,” Katherine said in all seriousness. “You know as well as I do, Eldridge might like the idea. And honestly, I don’t want to play green again.”

“Me neither. Playing Elphaba was fun for a time, but I swear I still have nightmares. I’m still painted green, hitting the C# five to eight times a week. After a show, I go to my dressing room to shower, but the green won’t come off. I scrub and scrub. But the more I try to wash the green makeup off my body, the greener I become.”

“If I was a shrink, I’m sure I would have a field day with that dream. You’re like an analyst’s fantasy.”

I shot her a dirty look and wrinkled my brow. “You don’t stay in show business too long before you develop enough neuroses to need a whole team of shrinks.”

“Preach, girl.”

We got our check, paid, and walked back to the theater. We talked more about Katherine’s schoolgirl crush on Mr. Darrin Becker, esquire. She told me they never dated because he didn’t talk enough for her.

“I’m sorry, but I need a guy who can uphold his end of the conversation,” Katherine said. “He doesn’t need to out-talk me, but he needs to converse in more than monosyllabic responses.”

“And why am I letting you set me up on a blind date again?” I asked.

Katherine shrugged and said, “Because you’re that desperate.”

“I’m really not that desperate,” I fought back.

“Oh really? Should I call Mr. Married Man for you?”

“Okay, so maybe I am that desperate,” I said with a little more humility. “If nothing else, it will be a good meal.”

We got back to the theater and the rest of the afternoon went by in a flash. San Nicolás reported that Eldridge was on board with the new direction the creative team was taking. Eugene audibly sighed in relief when he heard the good news. Part of me wondered what it would take to get the three younger people to stand up and leave the show. I didn’t want them to, but I had to wonder how much they could take.

The rest of the afternoon was spent going over the new script with San Nicolás now that he was back and could see and hear everything. The show sounded like it had a clear narrative arc, which was a definite positive improvement.

After work, I walked home and ran into Kirk on the streets. He was juggling a bunch of recycled bags filled with groceries.

“Hey, stranger,” I said as I approached him.

“Oh,” he said, spinning his head to see who was talking. “Hey, Erika, how are you doing?” he asked. His dimples flared.

“I’m doing well. The show’s moving along, so this was an overall good day.” I took stock of how awkward he was walking with all the bags, so I offered to help.

“No thanks, I got ’em,” Kirk said.

“I didn’t think you were one of those guys,“ I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kirk asked.

“Well, you clearly need help, but won’t ask a woman for help.”

“I’m not that guy. I really don’t need help.“ He almost tripped over a crack in the sidewalk as he said that.

“Mmm-hmmm,” I started. “Want to rephrase your answer?”

“Fine. Would you please help me, Erika?”

“Gladly,” I said and grabbed a couple of bags. My body language may have gloated, but I kept my tongue in check, which is more than I can say for myself on a typical day.

We chitchatted about nothing, and I told him about the book. He was surprised to find out a book had been written about me without my knowledge.

“Well, the book is about the show. I happened to be a large part of that show.” He nodded and encouraged me to go on with my story. We talked all the way into the building and up the elevator. He let himself into his apartment, and I handed him the two bags I’d been carrying.

“Would you like to join Carissra and me for dinner?” Kirk asked.

“I wish I could, but I have a date tonight.”

“Another one?” Kirk asked.

“Excuse me?” My body tensed, and I was ready to throw down…metaphorically.

“Nothing bad,” he said, quickly backpedaling. “I remember how much the last jerk had hurt you when you found out he was married.”

“Well, my friend who set me up on this blind date has assured me he’s single, so that’s a check plus in my book.” On that note, I made a big gesture of looking down at my watch and telling Kirk that I needed to head home. “Gotta get ready for my date.”

“I sincerely hope this date is beyond your wildest dreams,” Kirk said. “I think the universe owes you.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you around,” I said, pulling the door closed behind me. I walked next door to my blue-painted door and let myself inside.

The warm water cascaded over me as I stepped into the shower. I wanted to wash my worries and fears away, but there wasn’t enough water in the Hudson River to do that these days. I picked up my loofa, squeezed a dollop of my favorite British Rose bath gel on it, and began the slow, methodical process of exfoliating my whole body. I scrubbed everything until it was nice and foamy without being crazy rough and causing my skin to pinken because of abrasion. I then used a nice tea tree shampoo and conditioner before using a seaweed and aloe face cleanser I’d picked up the last time I’d been home in Iowa. My mother had begged me to go to the mall with her and my sisters, so I had. Who’d have guessed that I’d find a product there that I fell in love with? Thankfully, the shop had a small web presence, and I could order more any time I needed. I probably could have had my mother pick it up for me and ship it, but I didn’t want to bother her with something like that. She had enough on her plate without catering to my facial cleanliness.

Once I rinsed off, I stepped out of the shower onto the plush shower mat, which absorbed any extra moisture. I reached over and grabbed a towel from the hanger and patted myself dry. I looked into the bedroom. Bootsy was lying on the front part of the bed, cleaning himself.

After brushing my teeth, I set about applying makeup. Now, I’d learned a long time ago how amazing makeup is. It can completely transform someone, but you must be careful because a little goes a long way when you’re sitting across a table from someone. You need more if you’re going to be on a television screen, and you’ll need a lot more to make sure someone in the back row of the 1926 seats of the Gershwin Theatre, where Wicked has called home for forever and a day. I rubbed an excellent moisturizer onto my skin before applying a primer. I waited for a second for the primer to set before starting on my foundation. I still preferred to use my fingers when evening out my foundation, though I know a lot of women both on and off the stage that use foam wedges or brushes to lay it down. Foundation in place, I placed a little concealer under my eyes and over a couple of spots on my face that I wanted to hide. Post concealer, I pounded my face with powder to get the base to set and dry. I added highlights quickly to my nose and cheekbones to make them pop. Then it was all about the eyes. I’d chosen a blue sweater that hung low enough to show a little cleavage without giving the girls completely away, so I went with a simple black eyeliner, followed by cranberry eye shadow, and ended with a smoky mascara. I then lined my lip with a shade of cranberry before applying the lipstick to ensure I had nice, plump-looking lips. The cranberry color was still in the red family, so I liked it. Once I was happy with everything, I used a setting spray and waited for a minute before getting dressed. I took extra care to make sure my face didn’t touch the front part of the sweater. The last thing I needed was to turn my clothing into the Shroud of Turin.

I looked at my clock. 7:15, I’m still on target . I picked up the phone and ordered an Uber, then I shimmied into my black pants and pulled on my black leather Laura Chelsea boots. I went into the kitchen and made sure Bootsy had fresh food before sitting down and reading a couple of text messages. Nothing important, so I figured I’d respond to them at a later point. For now, my goal was to go out and have a great date.

I transferred my essential belongings into a small black clutch that was considerably smaller than the regular, bulky purse I used when running around the city. I wanted to make sure I had my wallet, cash, credit cards, phone battery backup, charging cable, keys, and iPhone. I put on a black leather coat I had hanging next to the front door. I looked back to make sure Bootsy wasn’t about to try a runner, but he was more interested in the food I’d placed on the ground for him to care about what I was up to.

After opening the door, I closed it behind me and headed to the elevator. There was a couple in the elevator holding hands. I recognized one from a children’s television show, but I couldn’t remember his name or the show’s name. I knew his husband worked as a substitute pianist all over town. When someone needed a day off or went on vacation, they’d call him up. He’d show up and hang out in the pit to see how the show ran. If he was lucky, he sat in the pit twice before taking over. Mostly, he sat through the show once before taking over conducting the orchestra while playing a score he’d just learned. The technical skills substitutes have on Broadway amazes me. Their ability to sightread music with little to no rehearsal in front of a live audience was beyond impressive.

The elevator opened in the lobby right when I got a message from the Uber app letting me know my driver had arrived, along with the make and model of the car and my driver’s name. I stepped out of the black town car, walked over, and opened the door closest to the street before saying hello. He nodded and took off driving. We arrived at il Buco Alimentari & Vineria, located at Fifty-three Great Jones Street between Broadway and Lafayette Streets. The car pulled up to the curb, and I got out, double-checking to make sure I had everything I entered the car with.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said.

“Have a good evening,” the driver responded in broken English.

I looked around and found the tall Black man I was meeting for dinner standing to the side of the front door. His thumbs were moving at lightning speed over the face of his phone. I took a minute to take him in. He was as fine as Katherine had told me. He was probably 6‘3“ and looked like a cross between Tyson Beckford and Wentworth Miller. He finally looked up from his phone and caught me staring at him. What I had not expected were green eyes the shade of an emerald.

“Hi, I’m Darrin Becker. You must be Erika?” he asked as he extended his hand.

I lifted my hand into his. Cradling it gently, he shook my hand. “I’m Erika Saunders. It’s nice to meet you, Darrin.”

“Shall we?” he said, gesturing to the restaurant’s door.

We walked into the restaurant, and the ma?tre d’ immediately said hello to Darrin, grabbed a couple of menus, and showed us to a back corner table where we were quasi-alone. The Italian restaurant was tiny and used all the space it had. Thankfully, the place was only half full, or I doubt we would have been able to hear each other.

“So, what’s good?” I asked, picking up the menu.

“Everything’s good,” Darrin said in response. His nose was buried in his menu, and he didn’t look up at me once.

The server soon approached, and Darrin took over almost immediately. “We will start with the fresh-baked bread and an olive oil tasting.” He then looked at me. “I hope you’re not one of those girls who avoids carbs or is allergic to olive oil. If you are, we’re in the wrong place.”

“Nope,” I responded lightly. “I love me a good carb.”

He looked at me with a quizzical look as he cocked his head. He then turned back to the server. “I’m going to have the spit-roasted Long Island duck. Erika?”

I hadn’t looked at the menu fully, so I glanced down and ordered the first thing on the menu. “How about the cavatelli with a side of the cast-iron roasted cauliflower?”

“Great choice,” Darrin said. “We’ll also take a bottle of Chateau des Rontets.”

“Great pairing choice,” the server said before leaving the table.

“I hope you like red wine,” Darrin said. “It’s a red wine from Beaujolais, France. Made from gamay grapes by C?te de Besset. They only have the 2016 vintage on the menu, but I prefer the 2019. That’s not to say that the 2016 isn’t a great blend of fruit, but it lacks something that the 2019 year had.”

“Wow, you know your wine,” I cut in.

“I know enough about wine to differentiate small nuances, but not enough to explain the complexities involved. In essence, I won’t join the Court of Master Sommeliers any time soon. I guess it’s a good thing I’m a lawyer.” He then chuckled at his own joke. I forced my lips into a smile.

“What type of law?” I asked, trying to break into the conversation he appeared to be having all by himself.

“I practice corporate law, primarily. I handle a range of contract negotiations, mostly in the entertainment industry, but I can handle almost any type of contract.” He told me about every type of contract he worked on…in great detail.

By the time the freshly baked bread and different olive oils appeared, I was hoping the combination would stop Darrin from talking, but nope. He kept talking as if I was a student in a law class. He talked about the intricacies of different legal cases and settlements. I did my best to smile and nod my head, looking for a way out of this disastrous date. I will say that, in retrospect, his choice of wine and food was top-notch. Too bad his conversational skills weren’t at the same level.

I ate the whole time, primarily out of boredom. He kept droning on, and I kept shoveling food into my mouth to keep myself entertained. At one point, I stopped listening and watched his lips move. He had gorgeous lips, and I could think of a few things I’d rather do with those lips than listen to them talk.

“What do you think, Erika?”

The question pulled me out of the internal monologue in my head. I smiled and said, “Uh-huh.”

He tilted his head to the side like a dog does when trying to hear better before asking, “What type of dessert would you like?”

Only then did I notice the server standing next to our table. Wow, I really had ventured into la-la land. “What would you recommend?”

“Personally, I think all their desserts here are amazing. The olive oil cake is a unique experience if you haven’t had it. And, of course, you can never go wrong with gelato. I always love the vanilla bean panna cotta. It comes with aged balsamic on the side.”

“I guess I’ll try the panna cotta then,” I said, looking at the server who jotted it down.

“Espresso?” the server asked.

“Yes,” both Darrin and I said simultaneously.

The server turned and left. Darrin’s lips started moving again. This time I was extolled on the virtues of balsamic vinegar and all the different types he’d tried during his travels across Europe. I couldn’t figure out if the man had zero social skills, was completely into hearing his own voice, or was as bored as I was on this date.

“Excuse me,” a woman said as she approached the table. “I hate being a bother, but would you mind signing my book?” She whipped out a copy of Blinded by Faith and a pen.

I smiled at finally having something to do over dinner besides listening to Darrin drone on and on about whatever topic caught his fancy at any moment. “Who should I make it out to?”

“Margaret Johnson.” She handed me the book and a pen as she beamed. “I want you to know, I never believed those rumors about you on the Internet. I always assumed you were the wronged party in all this.”

“Thanks, Margaret. It’s nice that the truth about everything is getting out there,” I said. I took a second to think about what to write. I ultimately penned, “ Thanks for believing in me and the healing power of faith. - Erika Lynsay Saunders ”

I handed the book back to her. Mrs. Johnson beamed as she walked to the other side of the room to a table where four women sat. I watched as she showed everyone at her table the book.

“I take it you’re famous?” Darrin asked.

“I’m Broadway famous,” I admitted.

“What’s that mean?”

“People who love musical theater will know who I am. People who only watch television and movies do not know I exist. Sure, I’ve done a couple of episodes of Law and Order . Who hasn’t? But I’m known primarily in the musical theater and cabaret world.”

“I see,” he said, steepling his hands under his chin. “I have a few clients on Broadway. Nothing lately, but the firm works with a wide range of clients.”

The server showed up with our desserts and espressos. I gently dug into the panna cotta with my spoon. To get the full effect, I dipped the underside of my spoon in the balsamic before scooping up the panna cotta. I put the silky concoction in my mouth and was wowed by the burst of flavors. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it. If you’d like to taste the olive oil cake, I’d be happy to share it with you.”

“Just a small bite.” He used a leftover fork on the table and cut off a small corner and gave me the fork. I bit into the piece of cake. I wasn’t sure what an olive oil cake would taste like, but this wasn’t it. Sure, I could taste the olive oil. It had a slightly fruitier taste than the olive oils we’d tried with our bread, but it was coupled with a hint of almond and sugar. “Wow, that is pretty amazing too.”

“I would agree. That’s why I ordered it,” Darrin said without irony in his voice. We sat in silence for the first time as we ate our desserts. When I spooned the last bite of my panna cotta into my mouth, Darrin said, “Well, I hate ending our dinner short, but I do have to get back to the office.”

“I completely understand. You have work to do and clients to bill,” I joked.

“Yes, I do. It’s good that you understand,” Darrin said, completely missing any humor in my statement.

He flagged the server and got the check. He paid for the meal, saying it was the least he could do since I had come to him for our date. I opened the app and got an Uber sent to the restaurant for my journey home. Darrin walked out with me and offered to stay until Uber showed up.

“I’m good,” I said. “I’ll stand right outside the restaurant until Uber gets here.”

“Well,” Darrin said, extending his hand. “It was nice to meet you.”

I offered my hand, saying, “Likewise.”

“Let me be perfectly frank,” Darrin said. “I don’t think we’re a match.”

“Whoa,” I blurted out. “Where did that come from?”

“Well, you clearly had your mind on other things this evening and did not participate in our conversation. Personally, I would recommend you try to engage more with future dating partners. I also found it rude that you let your fans interrupt our dinner for an autograph. Do you have any feedback for me? Since it’s blatantly clear we’re not a match, I might as well get feedback.”

Maybe that’s because you never shut up . “Well, I would start by not talking about the law so much. You didn’t once try to bring me into the conversation.”

“Hmm…that’s not how I saw it. But it’s always good to see how things are perceived from the opposition’s standpoint.”

“Okay,” I stammered out of my mouth.

“As for you, I would recommend several things. First, I would wear a less revealing sweater on the first date. Second, I think your makeup was heavy-handed. In the future, I would advise going for more girl next door instead of a starlet on the prowl at night. Frankly, I couldn’t imagine taking you to meet my parents dressed like that. Third, you should work on your conversational skills. I gave you ample opportunity to join in my conversation, but you missed all the cues. Fourth, I would have advised against the dessert. You could have said something like, ‘Why don’t we share,’ which would have brought you closer to my sphere while we ate. I’m sure I’ll have some more ideas once I process them. I’ll forward them to Katherine, and she can get them to you.”

I stared at him. He expected me to say something. I stood there, gobsmacked. I had several ideas for him, and the first one would be where he could shove his advice.

“As such, I do not see any future with you. I wish you the best. Please tell Katherine I did at least try this time.” With that, Darrin turned and hurried down the street, leaving me aghast.

I stood there watching Darrin flee as the Uber pulled up. The driver smiled at me, and I slid into the back seat. I immediately pulled out my phone and texted Johnny.

Erika : You won’t believe what just happened .

Johnny : Do tell .

Erika : My apartment. 25 minutes .