Annie Says I Do. Carole Buck
he sang, improvising nonsense lyrics to go with the mind-numbing telephone music as his fingers danced across the computer keyboard. “When a cyberspace policeman—”
Click.
“Matt?” It was Annie again. Her tone was considerably mellower than it had been. Matt deduced that whomever had been unwise enough to shove ad copy under her nose had had it summarily shoved back for a rewrite.
“Still here,” he told her.
“Sorry I kept you waiting.”
“No problem. I figured you were giving me a taste of the nineties’ version of playing hard to get.”
There was a brief moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then, “I beg your pardon?”
Matt leaned back in his chair, smiling. “A guy calls a modern career woman up and asks her out on a date,” he elaborated. “But instead of responding with a quick yes or no, she leaves him hanging on hold while she cuts some poor underling off at the knees.”
There was another short silence. Then Annie started to laugh. The sound was tantalizingly husky. It insinuated itself into Matt’s ear like a warm breath.
“Not a bad scenario.” The acknowledgment was wry. “But if this particular modern career woman had been cutting this particular underling off anywhere, it wouldn’t have been at the knees.”
“Ouch. What was the copywriting crime? Dangling participles?”
“Worse. Much worse.”
“But nothing you can’t handle.” Matt made the assertion with unalloyed sincerity. Annie was one of the most competent people he knew. She also had a knack for kicking butt when butt-kicking was required.
“Well...”
“Hey, you got me through Miss Kolodzy’s sophomore composition class, didn’t you?”
“That was quid pro quo for your coaching me in math the year before. Besides, you weren’t the literary equivalent of tone deaf.”
“Really? I seem to remember you telling me that if abusing the English language were a federal offense, I’d be on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.”
A second laugh rippled down the line. Funny, Matt reflected, reaching up and jerking loose the knot of his tie. He must have heard Annie’s laughter a million times in the past thirty-one years. Yet he’d never noticed how...provocative...it sounded.
“I was exaggerating to make a point.”
“Mmm.”
There was a pause.
“I think you mentioned the word ‘date’ a few minutes ago?” Annie eventually prompted.
“Yeah, I did.” Matt shifted, experiencing a sudden prickle of nervousness. “We, uh, left things undecided when I brought you home from Rio Bravo on Saturday. I was wondering how tomorrow night was for you.”
“Tomorrow night,” Annie repeated. Matt heard a rustling sound, as though she were paging through a calendar. “Hmm. That’s Friday...”
She’s already got a date, he thought, his body tightening. And not a “practice” one with a pal, either. A real one.
Well, why the heck shouldn’t she? he demanded of himself a moment later. Annie had devoted the past fifteen months to taking care of him. She’d gone above and beyond the call of duty, even for a best buddy. She had every right to decide that enough was enough—that it was time to start tending to her own long-deferred needs.
If only he’d thought the situation through before he’d blithely picked up the phone and punched in her office number. If he’d done so, he would have realized that it was very likely she’d have plans for tomorrow evening. As ignorant of the ins and outs of the singles’ scene as he might be, even he knew that Friday nights were prime dating time.
Matt spent a surprisingly unpleasant few seconds speculating about the identity of the man Annie might be seeing the following evening. Could she have gotten back together with that architect she’d been dating around the time Lisa had gotten sick? he wondered. Or maybe she’d take up with the gallery owner he recalled her discussing in connection with her fundraising work for the Atlanta Symphony. And what about that hotshot local newsman, Trent Barnes? Hadn’t she made several admiring references to him in recent weeks?
Matt frowned at the idea of the broadcaster. Although he’d refrained from mentioning it to Annie, there was something about Barnes that bugged him. Maybe it was his hair. It always looked so preternaturally perfect on TV. Matt figured the guy probably could report from the middle of a hurricane—wearing one of his trademark tan trenchcoats, of course—without mussing a strand. His hairspray bill had to be higher than the gross national product of—
“Matt?” It was Annie.
He blinked, wondering what he’d missed. “Uh, yeah?”
“I just told you that tomorrow night is fine with me.”
“Oh.” He raked a hand back through his hair. “That’s great.”
There was an awkward pause.
“Is something wrong?” Annie finally asked.
“No.” The denial was quick. “Everything’s fine.”
“You sound...odd.”
“Sorry.” Although Matt wasn’t certain an apology was necessary, he felt impelled to offer one. “I, uh, guess I’m surprised you’re not busy tomorrow night. What with it being Friday. Plus, I’m calling at the last minute—”
“Calling at the last minute is phoning from your car on the way over to a woman’s house.”
Matt straightened in his chair. “Guys actually do that?”
“Not to me, they don’t.” Annie’s voice was crisp and confident. “At least, not more than once.”
“You let them know who’s boss, huh?”
“Let’s just say I make it clear that I’m not so desperate for a date I’ll let myself be treated like a takeout pizza. I require a lot more than fifteen minutes advance notice before I’m ready for pick up. I respect myself. I expect other people to do the same.”
It occurred to Matt that he’d just heard a good summary of Hannah Elaine Martin’s philosophy of life. He wondered fleetingly how many of the women with whom people kept trying to fix him up shaxttitude. He also wondered whether there was a quick way of culling those who did from those who didn’t.
“Never let it be said that Matt Powell can’t take a hint,” he declared, easing back in his chair. “So. Respectfully, would you like to go to a movie with me tomorrow night?”
“A movie? On a first date?”
“Don’t men and women do that anymore?”
“Of course they do. It’s just that, uh...”
“Yes?”
“Look, Matt...were you serious when you said you wanted me to critique your, er, single guy technique?”
“Absolutely,” he confirmed without missing a beat. “Let me have it, Annie. What’s wrong with my idea?”
“Think about it. What happens when a man and a woman go to the movies?”
“Is this a trick question?”
“No, you idiot. It’s not a trick question.”
Matt chuckled. “Okay. Just checking. Mmm. Let me see. What happens when a man and a woman go to the movies? Well, first they drive to one of those multiscreen theaters, line up, and buy a pair of overpriced tickets. Then they go inside and buy overpriced refreshments at the concession stand. Then they head into the theater, search out a pair