Don't Bet On Love (8 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Now that I'd finally admitted the truth to myself, Mark’s bet was more intolerable than ever. Only now there was a major difference. Before, I was afraid that Colette would turn Gary down and break his heart. Now I was even more afraid that she wouldn’t, which would break mine.

The wee
k dragged by, one miserable day
at a time, without any mention of whether Gary had asked Colette to the prom. Of course, I didn’t expect to hear the news from Gary. I hadn't spent a single minute alone with him since the rest of the world discovered him. Still, I was sure Mark would have been shouting it from the rooftops if he'd won his bet, and so far he hadn’t.

Then on Friday afternoon my brother charged into the den, where I sat nibbling popcorn and staring at some dumb rerun on television. Something about the eager look on his face made my heart sink all the way down to my toes. I was sure that my worst nightmare was about to come true.

“
What’s up?
”
I asked, hoping I sounded normal.

Instead of answering, Mark said,
“
Molly, are you doing anything this afternoon?
”

“
No. Why?
”

“
Because Gary’s coming over in a little while. He says he needs to see you. It’s really important.
”

My heart leapt from my toes right up into my throat. Was it possible that Gary had changed his mind about Colette and realized that I was the girl for him?

“
Gary needs to see
me
?
”
I squeaked.

“
Yeah. He’s got some questions about table manners. He wants to take Colette to a fancy restaurant on prom night—you know, one of those places where they give
you a different fork for every day of the week.
”

I felt like a deflated balloon. I looked down at the bowl of popcorn in my lap so Mark couldn't see the disappointment in my face.
“
Sorry. I've got a lot of homework.
”

“
But you just said you weren't busy
!
”
Mark objected.

“
I changed my mind
,
”
I said, scowling.
“
Besides, what does Gary need my help for, anyway? If he’s taking Colette to the prom, why doesn’t
she
help him?
”

“
Because he hasn't asked her yet,
”
Mark said. Grinning wickedly, he added.
“
And
she
doesn’t owe me money!
”

I wasn't sure who I was more annoyed with—Mark f
or putting me into this impossi
ble situation, or myself for being secretly thrilled at the prospect of seeing Gary alone again, even if
it was only to continue prepar
ing him to impress Colette.

At any rate, by the time
Gary
arrived twenty minutes later, I was ready for him. After looking up formal dining etiquette in an old book of Mom’s, I’d set out a single place setting of her best china at one end of the dining room table, flanked by what
seemed like an endless array of silverware. I sat at the other end, determined not to let my personal feelings
i
nterfere with the task at hand. And
i
f
Gary
found all those knives, forks, and spoons so intimidating that he lost his nerve and decided not to take Colette out to dinner after all, surely no one could blame me for that.

“
All right,
”
I told Gary briskly, moti
oning for him to sit down. “
To your left, you have forks.
”

“
No kidding,
”
he remarked, eyeing them warily.
“
And a third here.
”

I consulted Mom’s etiquette book.
“
That’s the dessert fork which, as you can see, goes over the plate. The one on the far left is the salad fork, and the one next to the plate is your main dinner fork.
”

“
Got it. But do I really need three different knives, too?
”

“
We’ll get to the knives in a minute,
”
I said.
“
First, let's take the spoons. The spoon on the saucer is for coffee, the big one beside the plate is the soup spoon, and the little one over the plate is the dessert spoon.
”

“
Hold it!
”
Gary said.
“
If I have a dessert
fork
, why do I need a dessert
spoon
?
”

I glared at him.
“
How should I know? That's just what it says in this book.
”

“
Now for the three knives, right?
”

“
Right. The first one is a salad knife, the next one is for the ma
in
course, and the one on the bread and butter plate is for—
”

“
Don’t tell me, let me guess!
”
Gary inter
rupted.
“
Bread and butter! I’ll bet all this nonsense was
i
nvented back in the Dark Ages by a little old lady with too much time on her hands. What do they do to you if you use the wrong one at a restaurant? Do they toss you out, or just poke you to death with a salad fork?
”

“
Oh, we haven’t gotten to the really good stuff yet,
”
I said, flipping ahead a few pages.
“
Let’s see—there’s the salt shovel, the sugar shell, the ice cream knife—
”

“
Ice cream
knife
?
”
Gary repeated.
“
Who eats ice cream with a knife?
”

I shrugged.
“
I guess Emily Post did.
”

“
Well, I’d sure like to ask her a couple of questions,
”
Gary muttered.

“
You can’t,
”
I informed him.
“
She’s dead.
”

“
And I’ll bet I can guess what killed her,
”
he said, wavi
ng his butter knife menacingly.

I completely destroyed my bus
in
esslike
image by giggling.
“
Rememb
er, this whole thing was your i
dea,
”
I pointed out.
“
You're the one who wants to take Colette to a fancy restaurant.
”

“
Actually, it was Mark's idea,
”
Gary told me.
“
He seems
to think she’ll expect it. Per
sonally, I’d rather stick with something that doesn't need forks—like hamburgers and french fries, or pizza.
”

“
Well,
i
f you
don't
want to take Colette to a fancy restaurant, you don’t have to,
”
I said. “
You shouldn’t let Mark push you around.
”

Gary glanced down at the silverware.
“
I know, but he's counting on me to win the bet for him,
”
he said, balancing the butter knife on the rim of a wineglass.
“
This is really important to him.
”

“
And what about you?
”
I asked seriously.
“
Isn't
i
t important to you, too?
”

“
Well, sure,
”
he said. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he didn't sound very sure at all. Before I could say so
,
Gary spoke up again.
“
Gosh, I wish there were some easy way to keep all these knives and forks straight.
”

Suddenly I felt ashamed of myself. Until
four days ago, Gary's love for Colette had been every bit as hopeless as my love for him was now. This was his big chance, and if I really cared about him, I should be doing my best to help him
,
no matter how much it hurt.

“
Okay, let’s try something else,
”
I
said, getting back to business.
“
Suppose you want to add cream and sugar to your coffee. Which spoon do you use to stir it?
”

“
This one,
”
Gary said, pointing to the spoon resting on the saucer.

“
Very good! Now, suppose the waiter brings your salad, and the pieces of lettuce are too big. What do you use to cut them up?
”

Gary studied the two knives beside the plate, muttering,
“
Eeny, meeny, miney, moe. This one?
”
He picked up the one closest to the plate.

“
Wrong,
”
I said, checking Mom’s etiquette book.
“
That’s the entree knife.
”

He shrugged.
“
Oh, well, it was a nice try.
”

“
There
is
a way to remember that might be a little easier,
”
I suggested.
“
Start with the silverware that’s farthest from the plate, and work your way in to the middle, course by course. Do you think that might work?
”

“
Maybe, but I just thought of another way that sounds even better. I’ll bet it would be a lot easier to remember if these plates had real food on them.
”
He grinned at me.
“
Well, how about it?
”

“
How about what?
”
I asked warily. If Gary expected me to whip up a multicourse meal so he could practice eating it and impress his dream date, he could just forget it! I might be head over heels in love, but I still had my pride.

“
How about us going out to dinner tonight and trying this stuff out for real?
”

My heart began to pound so loudly, I was sure Gary could hear it all the way down at the end of the table.
“
Us? You mean—you and me? Together?
”

“
I know it’s short notice, but I could pick you up at six, if you want to give it a try.
”

“
I—I’ll be ready,
”
I managed to reply.

At a quarter of six I sat on the edge of the living room couch, nervously smoothing the full skirt of my favorite turquoise-blue dress.

This is not—repeat not—a date
, I kept telling myself.
This is simply a trial run for Gary's prom date with Colette
, and you'd bet
ter not forget it.
Bu
t no matter how often I said it,
I couldn't help feeling thrilled.

I almost jumped out of my skin when the doorbell rang promptly at six. Determined not to appear too eager, I forced myself to remain seated and let someone else answer the door.

“
Hey, Moll!
Gary
's here!
”
Mark bellowed, and a moment later Gary entered the room.

I had never seen him dressed up before.
He was wearing a gray suit, a pale pink shirt, and a gray and pink paisley tie. The padded shoulders of his jacket helped to fill out his beanpole frame. Gary looked absolutely wonderful, from his new haircut all the way down to his...

“
Reeboks?
”
I said, staring at his sneaker-clad feet. Who else would wear sneakers with a suit?
“
Wouldn't wing t
ips be more
appropriate?
”

“
I can tell y
ou’ve never tried to buy shoes
for size-fourteen feet,
”
Gary answered with a
rueful grin.
“
I have to take what I can get.
”

I could have hugged him. Success
would never spoil Gary Hadley,
that was for sure!

We drove to the Lamplighter, an elegant new restaurant on the other side of town. The parking lot was crowded, but Gary finally found a vacant space marked
“
One Hour Parking Only.
”