Barefoot and Pregnant?. Colleen Faulkner
looking for—the author makes suggestions—and then you just total up the numbers!”
Liz stared at the photocopy.
“The fact of the matter is,” Elise explained, “we don’t have time for men who aren’t good candidates for long-term relationships.”
“You mean for marriage.” Liz studied the sheet. “Let’s see, type of car—sports car, sport utility, sedan. Bonus for cars costing more than forty K. Good. I love a man who drives a nice car.”
Elise laughed. “Seems a bit much, but I guess that’s important to some people. And it can indicate a man’s education and socioeconomic status.”
“First date,” Liz continued to read. “Check one—dinner, dinner and dancing, movie and dinner. Topics of conversation—talks about you, talks about himself, knows what’s going on in the world. No clue.” She laughed looking up at Elise. “And this book said this would work? You can find a husband with this thing?”
Elise shrugged. “Well, nothing’s guaranteed of course, but this is essentially what dating services do, right? And the book is full of lots of helpful suggestions. I’ve already started highlighting some of them.” She paged through the volume to show where she had used a lavender highlighter.
Liz still looked unconvinced.
Elise poked her in the side. “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure? This’ll be fun.”
Liz groaned and put out her hand. “Lay it on me.”
Elise handed her friend the checklist. “Now be sure to fill out all of your requirements, then make photocopies. Use one set of sheets per date. There’s a place to put his name right at the top.”
Liz was still chuckling as she accepted the checklist. “You’ve had some crazy ideas before, Elise, but this one—”
“Hey, checklists work in the real estate business, don’t they?” She indicated the plush office building with a sweep of her hand. “It’s how things get accomplished around here. We set goals. We check them off and we end up achieving what we set out to do. It’s good time management. The Husband Finder is nothing more than a tool to help us get what we want. To help us be happy, healthy women.”
“Now you sound like that book.” Liz clutched the sheet to her chest. “Okay, I surrender. I’ll try your checklist.” She rolled her eyes. “Nothing else has worked. Blind dates. Dating services. Personal ads. What have I got to lose?”
“That a girl.” Elise smiled as she tapped her on the back with her copies. “Just trust me. This is going to work.”
“Gotta run.” Liz waved. “Talk to you later.”
Elise watched as she disappeared down the hall, her navy pumps tapping on the hardwood floor. “Don’t forget Friday night, that benefit dinner,” she called after her friend.
“Pick you up at six.”
Elise glanced down at the photocopies cradled in her arms. A checklist for potential husbands. It was crazy…wasn’t it?
Desperate was more like it.
After years of casual dating and no long-term relationships that ever led anywhere, Elise realized she was ready to get serious. She had all the things she thought would make her happy: a well-paying job, a great condo, a good retirement plan. But it wasn’t enough.
Her father, Edwin Montgomery of the oil Montgomerys of Dallas had always told her that good hard work was the only thing a person could depend on. He had drilled into her head since she was a child that her career was what was important; personal happiness was inconsequential. So for a long time, Elise lived that life. And for a while, her career was enough. Only, over the past few months…year if she was honest with herself…her job hadn’t been enough. It just hadn’t been fulfilling in the way it once had been; she wasn’t even sure she liked the real estate business. She realized she was lonely and she didn’t want to end up like her father, alone and cantankerous. Elise ached for an intimate relationship with a man. She wanted a partner to love, a man who she could trust, who would love and trust her in return.
She glanced at the checklists cradled in her arms. It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?
Chapter One
Never rely on physical chemistry between yourself and a man. Sexual attraction is fleeting.
Elise lifted her glass to her lips and sipped her tonic water with a twist as she gazed at the hotel’s reception room filled with local hospital employees and benefactors. She’d dressed carefully this evening in her favorite “little black dress” and wore a new shade of lipstick called Seduction. It looked like a soft pink to her, but she supposed that when you paid $35.00 for a tube of lipstick, the manufacturers couldn’t just call it Pink.
Ordinarily, Elise hated these kinds of affairs, but Waterfront Realty had bought her the expensive ticket for the benefit. It was her job to smile, sip tonic water and shmooze, looking for potential clients. She’d been to so many of these events in the past few years that she knew the drill by heart. She would make light conversation with people she didn’t know. Then she would push dry chicken and overcooked green beans around on her plate, listen to a dull speech and then go home to have a bag of popcorn for dinner and watch a late-night talk show.
But tonight was different. She could feel it from the top of her recently foiled head to the tips of her new pumps. Tonight was going to be different. She was going to date men, fill out the form, add the scores and find a husband.
Elise spotted Liz Jefferson coming toward her in a way-too-tight black dress. She was drinking a glass of wine and probably not her first. Elise admired Liz’s ability to hold her liquor. Elise never drank in public, not because she had anything against alcohol, but because it made her act stupid. One drink and she was telling anyone who would listen how she had always wanted a puppy as a child and had never been able to have one because it might soil her father’s white carpet.
At that moment, it occurred to Elise that she had white carpet in her condo.
And no dog.
How had her life gotten so far from what she had wanted it to be? She had always sworn she wouldn’t be like her father. Was that who she was becoming?
“Hey, babe.” Liz glided over. Elise guessed her dress was too tight to allow her to walk.
“Seen anyone with potential?” Liz parked beside Elise and swirled her Chardonnay, gazing over the rim of the glass into the room.
“Same old, same old, so far,” Elise said.
There were men in tuxes everywhere. Elise knew many of them. She had dated quite a few. There was Joe Kanash, who revealed sheepishly to Elise after two dates that he was not quite divorced. Then there was Bobby Rent. He slurped his lobster bisque and whistled through his nose whenever he got nervous, which she discovered was often. Then, of course, there was Alex Bortorf the proctologist, Mark Wrung the department store owner—the list was endless. Some of the men both Elise and Liz had dated, though, thankfully, never at the same time.
Elise sighed. Now that she was here, she was beginning to get cold feet. How was this self-help book better than any other? She ought to just go home now and start popping popcorn for her usual late-night date with Letterman. Besides, her new pumps were hurting her feet.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Liz said lifting her hand to her hip to pose. “A new face at one o’clock. No ring on his finger.”
Liz was better than Elise at recognizing the married ones. Elise shifted her gaze as she raised her glass, but she didn’t drink. Goodness. It was a new face. And a nice one at that. The man taking a canapé from a waiter’s tray looked to be mid-to late-thirties. He was a natural, sun-bleached blonde with one of those bad-boy haircuts. Just a little long at the ears and the nape of the neck. His face was suntanned, but she doubted it came from a bottle or a tanning