Lucky In Love (10 page)

“A good place to start, honey,” Mona said, taking my hand and threading it through the crook of her arm. “As you get older, you begin to see more of the connections.”

“I can wait. I’m having enough trouble with the connections I already have.”

She gave me a knowing smile.

Never enjoying third-wheel status, I gave my parents a group hug then ambled off by myself. I spied three of the couples—acting couple-like—as they strolled the hall. The kids from New Jersey were
awol
as far as I could tell. Each of the other contestants scribbled notes on individual pads of paper as they read the animal symbol signs, careful to keep their choices hidden.

After walking the full length of the building then retracing my steps, I knew one thing: Couple Number One was definitely late to the party. Not really my problem, but I never met a problem I could resist trying to solve, mine or not.

Following my nose back outside and through the gates into the Secret Garden, I chased the scent of hamburgers through the gathering throng to a small, open-sided building near the exit—I’d missed it on the way in. Stepping inside, I had to grin. Jean-Charles in his chef’s whites and toque flipped burgers on a huge grill, mirrored by two similarly attired, equally focused chefs-in-waiting, spatulas at the ready: Couple Number One. They didn’t play by the rules, but at least they were consistent.

“I’d like a Whopper Junior, hold the mayo.”

All three glanced up and smiled. Jean-Charles whispered something to his charges and stepped back, relinquishing his spatula. “Lucky!” He reached out a hand as he rounded the counter between us. “Come. I have something for you.”

I let him take my hand, I don’t know why, and I felt that tingle again, a lightness in his presence. Why did I need enemies when I had me as a friend? But flirting, it’s a good thing, right? The French certainly have elevated it to an art. And what’s wrong with it—as long as everyone knows the rules. Jean-Charles knew the rules, didn’t he?

We stopped under the twinkling lights. He lifted my hand, turning it palm up. With a smile, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a coin, and set it in my open hand.

“What’s this for?” The coin had an animal on one side. A horse, I thought, as I looked at it more closely.

“It is an old French coin,” Jean-Charles said, suddenly looking a bit ill at ease. “I know we are not playing the game, but when I thought of you, this is what I thought.”

“A horse?”

“Ahhh, a very special horse.”

“French, of course.”

“
Oui.
This breed, my parents raised on their farm.” He looked at me, his eyes dark and deep. “It is a spirited animal, but sensitive and beautiful... like you. The perfect blend of . . .” He suddenly blushed.

Words and thoughts tangled with emotions. “I don’t know what to say.”

He closed my hand over the coin, holding my hand with both of his. “Keep it. Perhaps it will remind you of me.”

“I can’t.”

When he smiled, I knew he understood. “It is my gift. It is bad manners to reject a gift.”

I was about to disagree when the lights dimmed three times—the signal to gather at the Dolphin Pool. The taping was about to begin.

“It’s a beautiful gift. Thank you.”

He nodded. “Now, you must go. The show is to begin. And we must cook—there will be many mouths to feed when the show is over.”

“You will send Rocco and Gail?”

“They were voted off the show last night. Did you not know?”

“I’ve been chasing my tail all day.” At the look of confusion on his face, I explained. “Busy doesn’t begin to describe my day. I haven’t kept up.”

Understanding dawned, turning his eyes a lighter blue. “They are in love. They will be happy. They will cook together. It’s as it should be. Life has a rhythm.”

“Life, nothing but a timing issue,” I concurred. And mine seemed to be a bit out of synch.

“Timing issue? What is this?”

“Don’t mind me.” I finally found the energy to pull my hand from his. “Gifts make me uncomfortable. Not the giving, but the receiving.” I opened my hand and looked at the coin. “And thank you. You’ve brightened my day.”

“Then mine is complete as well.” He gave me a smile and a slight bow, then hastened back to his grill, barking orders at his two acolytes.

T
he
final test in the
Forever Game
was an invitation-only kind of thing. The hand-selected audience circled the largest of the dolphin pools—not technically a part of the Secret Garden, but adjoining. Gray torpedoes circled under water, breaking the surface occasionally, or leaping onto an angled concrete slab and sliding in circles before slipping into the water again. So playful. Dolphins were always good for a smile. Tonight, two of the aquatic mammals were shadowed by little ones—the results of the breeding program. Handlers in wet suits stalked the side of the pool. The dolphins circled, awaiting a signal. When they got it from their human, they performed the requested tricks—jumping through hoops, tossing balls, leaping then falling broadsided into the water, splashing the crowd.

From his chair in the front row, Teddie waved to me, motioning me to join him. Fighting through the crowd, I finally eased into the seat next to him just as Trey Gold took the stage. He blew into the mike in his hand. “Testing. Testing, one, two, three.” He looked toward the mixing console behind the crowd. “Good?” he asked.

A guy gave him a thumbs-up. Trey turned to the crowd. “Okay. Are you guys ready to crown a winner?”

The crowd hooted and hollered.

His orange color had grown on me, as had the dark, immovable hair—overdone for an overblown personality. Hollywood expectations. While Trey stalked the stage—working the crowd, distracting them—the contestants filed on, each taking a stool next to their supposed future mate.

Teddie leaned in next to me. “If you were an animal, you’d be an ox.”

I leaned back and turned to look at him. “A
farm animal
?”

“Would you stop? It’s a good thing, I swear.” He adopted that listen-to-me-I-went-to-Harvard look. “An ox symbolizes a hard worker, someone who pulls more than her own weight.”

“I’m underwhelmed,” I murmured, but he’d stopped listening. Part of the Curse of the Y Chromosome was an unerring ability to retreat from the conflict they’d created.

An ox. No matter how I spun it, I didn’t like it. I tried to muster a smile as I fingered the French coin, the one with the majestic horse, tossing its head in defiance, its mane flowing, its nostrils flaring. Passion. Adventure. I could live with that. But work? Please, I’d rather not.

Once comfortable in a relationship, why did a man go from the “we” mode back to the “me” mode? Romance—yet another casualty to time and complacency.

“Okay, contestants,” Trey Gold emoted into the mike. “We’re going to start taping. You know how it goes. We’ll start, and then at set times, I’ll cut for a commercial. After that, we’ll pick up again. You guys just be yourselves and have some fun.” In front of the cameras, he preened like a peacock, his plumage on display. If the situation at Miss Minnie’s had ruffled any of his feathers, he hid it well.

People cheered and clapped—a few whistles pierced the night air, which was cooling rather rapidly, making me glad for my sweater. Then the audience quieted as Trey went into his introductory spiel. Scanning, I only half listened. To be honest, I would have rather been eating a juicy hamburger than sitting here watching this circus.

Trey had buried Vera and Guy’s “arrangement,” but exactly how the whole thing was going to pan out was anybody’s guess. John and Melina had a warm congeniality, the shared spark of common interests and goals—a sort of love-the-mind-can’t-love-the-person kind of thing. No vibrancy. And Walker and Buffy? No comment needed. Sexual and superficial—buying the perfect accessory. None of them had that spark of true love I was looking for. The spark I saw between my parents. The one that lit the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock’s eyes when he looked at Miss P. And, as Nora Ephron said, marriage is hard enough without such low expectations. The whole show was demoralizing.

Ella materialized at my side and squeezed in next to me. “This
whole
thing is a
farce
.”

“Perfectly staged for the consumption of the masses.”

“You know,
lucky
, you’re becoming a bit of a
cynic
.”

“Weren’t you the one who called this a farce?” I watched the contestants as they fidgeted on their stools. They looked... falsely animated, except for Walker, who simply glowered.

“I was hoping you would disagree.” Ella once again trotted out a serious observation in her inside voice—I was beginning to see a pattern. “If you ask me, they are all . . .”

“Looking for love in all the wrong places?”

“Ah, there you are. I knew I could count on you.” She squeezed my hand with her tiny one. “You’re a hummingbird.”

“What?” I stifled a laugh. “A hummingbird is the smallest bird on the planet. I’m an amazon.”

“Perhaps, but if you have hummingbird magic, then you have a talent for finding the good in people. And you never look back wishing for what was. Instead, you make the most of what is, spreading joy.” She gave me a kind smile, one I’d never seen on her before. “If that describes anyone, it’s you.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I truly was blindsided. I never knew Ella to be particularly insightful, although she was a trained therapist.

“It comes with a warning, though.” Her expression turned serious. “You have an abundance of energy and a spirit that cannot be confined—you must fly free.”

“Is that figurative or literal?”

“Perhaps both.”

With nothing more to say, we turned our attention back to the stage. This was the weirdest day—nothing was as I thought it was, or as it appeared to be. Unexpected people lifted my spirits. And the ones I normally counted on... not so much.

Trey again addressed the audience. “Remember, we are down to three couples. Melina and John are in the lead, Walker and Buffy and Vera and Guy are trailing, separated by only a point. Guy and Vera, as the couple in third place, will lead off tonight.”

“Guy, you go first. If Vera were an animal, which would she be?” Trey Gold stuck the mike to Guy’s face.

“A peahen. You know, the girl peacock.” He looked smug—still like Malibu Ken in his Hawaiian shirt and khakis, with his tan and his hair gelled to spikes—but smug nonetheless. “She’s not much to look at. Know what I mean?” He gave an exaggerated wink to the crowd. “She can’t hold a candle to the guy.”

The crowd went nuts as Vera leaned back, eyeing Guy with cool disdain. Tonight Vera had ditched the Brooks Brothers attire in favor of a soft, feminine skirt and a light pink silk top. With her hair falling loose and free she looked almost pretty—except for the pinched look on her face and the venom in her eyes. “Perhaps her plumage isn’t as fine, but a peahen sticks by her mate. Pretty on the inside instead of the outside. That’s more than I can say for you,” Vera said.

The crowd hooted and jeered, egging them on.

“Those two have lost their magic,” Teddie whispered.

“You have no idea.” Despite his questioning look, I refused to give him more.

“Okay, Vera, your turn.” Before Vera launched in, Trey turned to the crowd. “This is going to be good. Nothing like a woman scorned.” Then he turned back to Vera. “Okay, if Guy was an animal . . .”

“What makes you think he’s not?” Vera’s coy manner seemed out of character, but the crowd bought it, cheering at her innuendo.

Trey laughed along. “Good one. So, what’ll it be?”

“Well.” Vera milked it, working the crowd. “At first I thought maybe a unicorn.”

“What?” Guy hissed, his face flushing red. “You’re telling them I haven’t got a . . .”

Vera turned to him and asked sweetly, “A what?”

“You know.” Guy lowered his voice further. “A... thing.”

“I said unicorn, Guy,” Vera said, patting him on the knee, “not eunuch.”

The crowd erupted. Gales of laughter washed over the stage. Guy looked like a man ready to hit someone, but he didn’t know what for. Trey let them laugh. Conflict was good for the show—or so I’d been told.

“I don’t know what she sees in him,” Teddie whispered. “Do you?”

“A pretty package?”

“Yeah, but you still gotta talk in the morning.”

“Perhaps talking is overrated?” I teased, just to see what he’d say.

Before Teddie could respond, Trey once again established order. “Vera, be serious. A Las Vegas wedding extravaganza is on the line here.”

Vera heaved an exaggerated sigh. “If you insist. I would say that Guy is a lion.”

That made Guy sit up a bit straighter, pulling his shoulders back. He even sucked in his stomach and flexed his biceps a bit, but maybe I imagined that part.

“Yes, a lion,” Vera continued. “The male of the pride who sits around admiring himself while the females do all the work.”

Again, gales of laughter. Guy sulked as the truth finally hit home. He was going to be the butt of the joke on national
tv
and there was nothing he could do about it. Of course, the
tv
audience voted and they might think Vera was being a bitch, but I don’t think she gave a rat’s ass.

I crossed my arms and settled in for the show. Not that I liked bitchiness—I always thought there was a nicer way to get your point across—but I did appreciate a woman who stood up for herself.

Trey turned to the camera. “Audience, it’s time to vote.” He rattled off the number to call. Apparently the couples were supposed to be rated on a compatibility index of one to ten, with one being the least compatible. And, curiously enough, there was some flexibility built in to the show. If someone didn’t like any of the couples, they could vote accordingly, and explain why in a comment box. “Remember, you have the rest of the show to call in. All votes will be tabulated at the end.”

Walker and Buffy were next.

“Buffy, your turn.”

“A jaguar,” she said, in her high, squeaky voice. She still channeled Betty Boop, but tonight the dress was black. Although the purse was the same—a fashion faux pas of epic proportion. I’d shoot myself before I appeared on national television carrying a stuffed animal.

Walker didn’t react—he sat stoic in his buttoned-up silence. The makeup artist was truly that, an artist. She must’ve used Spackle or applied foundation with a trowel—Walker’s wounds were invisible.

“Jaguars are known for their sneak attacks,” Buffy recited, as if she’d memorized her part in a play... or a farce, as Ella had observed. “A jaguar’s prey never sees it coming.”

The crowd
awwwwed
. Apparently they interpreted this as something cute—like love bites you when you least expect it. I knew better, but I wasn’t giving it up.

“Walker?” Trey asked.

“Buffy would be a white rabbit.”

Buffy bounced up and down on her stool as she clapped her hands. “How sweet. A cuddly rabbit.”

“Who can’t hide in the wild due to its color, so it needs protection.” Walker delivered his lines stiffly and without emotion. He came across harsh, but Buffy pretended not to mind as she threw her arms around his neck and gave him an exaggerated kiss.

“That was weird,” Teddie said. The crowd clearly agreed, as their response was ambivalent and muted. “There’s something going on there, but it’s hard to read.”

“If you can’t have his heart, take his wallet.”

“Harsh.”

“Money, a substitute for love.”

“You believe that?” Teddie sounded surprised.

“We’re not talking about me... or you.” I shot him a look. “But, the term
gold digger
must’ve come from somewhere.”

“True.” Teddie shook his head and grimaced. “The two of them together makes me feel like nothing is right in the world.”

“Happiness can’t be bought.”

“Right.”

At least we agreed on something.

Trey waved his arms with a flourish. “Now, last but not least, our leaders, Melina and John.”

The crowd applauded politely—no wolf whistles, no shouts, no emotion. Somehow that seemed to fit.

“John, what animal would Melina be?” Trey asked, still energetic, but almost falsely so, as if he was trying to inject his own energy into the game. Not a bad idea—John and Melina’s cool reserve acted like a wet blanket on the fire of the crowd’s enthusiasm.

“A snow leopard.”

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” Trey brightened. “Tell us why.”

“The snow leopard is regal, reclusive, almost mythic in its desirability, but very difficult to find.” John had no inflection in his voice. No real emotion in his eyes when he reached for her hand. A pragmatic choice. A life box checked.

I looked at the crowd around me. Underwhelmed, and so not fooled.

“Almost mythic in its desirability?” Trey repeated, looking for a foothold. “A beautiful sentiment.”

“Melina?”

“That’s very sweet.” She smiled. She seemed pleased... reserved, but happy enough. In her red dress and kick-ass stilettos, with her hair perfectly coiffed and her makeup subtly applied, she personified perfection in a Grace Kelly kind of way. Removed, and somehow above it all. “John, I picked a cheetah for you. Regal, graceful, fast, almost unattainable.” A frown skittered across her face then was gone, leaving her brows slightly furrowed.