The Wedding Bet (2 page)

I’d be too busy running around making sure the flower girls wore bras and the bridesmaid at least thongs. I’d forget to add the sugar and every baker knows sugar gives a cake its bulk. So my plan to counter Olivia’s mom and apple pie goodness and Cynthia’s Public Relations skills implored me to hire a PR firm to ensure I became the most unsuitable women in all Joinrite City to take wedding vows.

Olivia and I swore a pinky finger bet.

“If you can’t find me a suitable mate one year from today a—it’s—?

“Four-sixteen in the afternoon,” said Amber.

I reconfirmed. “Four-sixteen o’clock, June 9th, 2013. By next year, you’ll forget about this whole lovely mistake and never mention marriage for me again.”

“Agreed,” Olivia said and smiled turning to Cynthia. “I know just the person for Megan.” I heard Olivia say as the cadre of women followed her lead into a small huddle.

I determined not to give up my singlehood without a fight. And when I made a commitment to something, I followed through to the end. And I’d end this Megan’s marriage nonsense. And I take that flight to Flanders. Sure I’d be lying, but everyone lied now a days. And really it wasn’t a lie, if Olivia doesn’t get me married before the end of the year, I’d unhook the ball and chain of tradition.

I lost no time. I pulled my cell phone out of my white blazer pocket as the group of women dissipated towards the front of the church. They all had volunteered to spruce up after the wedding. I headed for the front door before the wedding brigade got any ideas about the men attending the wedding. Usually that is where most people met their husband at the wedding of a friend or a wedding of a wedding of a friend. I fully planned to avoid any “friends” statistics. “Hello is this Limber & Love Public Relations firm?”

“Yes,” answered the cool woman’s voice on the other end.

“I’d like to speak to a public relationships specialist.”

“We have several. Is there any particular one? What is your specific problem? Scandalous divorce? Boyfriend hate mail? Stalker repelling? Woman too smart for men?”

“Yes. The last one you mentioned. Woman too smart for men? That would be Public Relations Specialist Steve Laferte. I’ll connect you.”

Just then Olivia came back with a puppy on her leash. An adult puppy. Like in human size, the kind that walk on two feet and listen to dominant women like Olivia.

“Megan, I want you to meet Giancarlo Bond.” The handsome man stood there in his white shirt, black tux, a very serious smile on his face.

“Just—Just a minute.” I flashed my happy smile for a second and looked back to the phone.

“What did you say your name was Miss?”

“Miss Mila Bayer,” I lied.

“You’re not related to the headache guy?”

I looked back at the puppy guy and Olivia. Olivia’s frown started wilting. But Giancarlo Bond’s face remained like a carving of stone.

“Miss Mila Bayer. Tell Steve I have to call him back. An emergency came up.” I clicked my android cell phone and received a text message at the same time. I did a double take at the message. “Call Steve Laferte at 615 LibLove.”

I put my cell back in my white blazer. “My feminist agent.”

“Since when did you have a feminist agent?” Olivia questioned. Mr. Bond remained quiet and docile listening to us.

“Since, you’re trying to marry me off within 365 days!” I joked to soften the blow. I honestly didn’t want to hurt my best girl friend’s feelings. Yet. Was I supposed to just go along let her take responsibility for my love life? First women turned their responsibility of love over to their dads, then their husbands, now their girlfriends. I always rejected extreme forms of feminism. “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings,” I pouted.

“No. I’m fine. But I wanted you to meet a friend of mine.” She turned to the docile young man almost certain to land in every woman in Joinrite City friend’s zone by default. “What was your name again?”

“Mr. Bond. Mr. Giancarlo Bond.”

Olivia stopped talking in her tracks like his heavenly dark, tall good looks and those famous words could slay my heart. I paused and looked over the specimen of maleness carefully looking for the chinks and cracks in his armor. He had none yet. Undaunted, I then committed myself to finding his armor chinks. Exposing them. So his character could be looked at like an old Polaroid photograph.

Olivia, the dedicated fact finder, knew how to chase down a book even if it rested on a bookshelf half way around the world, buried under one thousand years of Chinese dust. I suppose finding a suitable man for me in the church proved an easy task.

“I don’t date comic book characters,” I promptly told Olivia and then Cynthia laughed. She stood in the cue line, her puppy man hooked at her elbow. “Told you, Olivia.”

“Honestly Mr. Bond....James.  Giancarlo. Thing is I’m attracted to ugly men. You’re way too beautiful.”

“You are not attracted to ugly men,” Olivia gasped. “You don’t want to admit he’s perfect in the looks department.”

I pulled Olivia over to the side. “What would it look like if I married a man simply for his good looks? Some kind of boy-toy marriage.”

Olivia face changed ever so slowly into puzzlement. She pulled on her pink taffeta dress. Thinking.

Mr. Bond what do you do in real life?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“What type of lawyer?”

“Criminal lawyer?”

“Would you say, Mr. Bond that is your responsibility to get criminals off scot free?” I questioned.

“I would never knowingly take on a guilty client.”

“Every single one of your clients has been innocent?”

“To my knowledge, yes.”

“And would you say some of your client’s may, just may have lied to you?”

“Anything is possible.”

“Then it is possible you’re an accessory to a crime?”

“Wait a minute. I don’t like the way the judge here is interpreting my answers,” he said to Olivia.

I batted my short eyelashes. “I rest my case. I cannot knowingly date someone who is an accessory to a crime... It really spoils the whole,” I made some flamboyant little girly gestures... “all the happily married notions.”

“That’s using female logic. Mr. Bond couldn’t possibly understand where you were going using that line of questioning, Megan.”

I threw up my hands, “Olivia, he’s a lawyer. Do you really want me to hitch my wagon to someone like him?”

“I don’t have to stand here and be insulted. I’m a man, I watch football and ice hockey on the weekends.” The cute looking spy lawyer walked off with a very light, graceful step.

I shrugged my shoulders.

Olivia stepped aside and waved Cynthia to come forward. “Perhaps her man-catch is more appropriate than my own.”

I had a funny feeling Cynthia’s choice would be tougher. Not that Cynthia is smarter than Olivia. But Cynthia’s banana-slim shape attracted all sorts of guys from Alpha to Zetas. And Cynthia never liked to ditch anyone, if she could send them on to someone else. And the ever popular Cynthia always had a home for her rejects.

“This is Lenny.” Cynthia unhooked her elbow and pushed him forward.

Lenny pushed round, gold rimmed glasses further up his nose. “I’m getting contacts in on Monday. It’s Saturday today.”

I didn’t know how to scream or shout loud enough? Then this very meek sound comes out of me, perfect for Lenny or any injured bird that had fallen from the tree nest to my front porch. “Lenny. You look healthy.”

“I am healthy. Am I Healthy?”

Alpha Cynthia jumped in. “Megan, stop playing like something is wrong with Lenny. He is a perfectly full-bloodied male.”

I nodded. “I stand corrected, Cynthia. Thanks for reminding me I have to accept any male walking.”

“No. I didn’t mean it like that,” Cynthia quickly apologized. I just meant he’s quiet. He works as a bank examiner. He’ll make sure your money is safe while you earn millions catering all over the world.”

“Now don’t try to smooth one over on me. I’m not like that southern cooking lady who has got two million subscribers including two on the space station floating above earth.”

“Does she have two subscribers up there?”

“Oh, you really are not keeping up with the Joneses, Cynthia.” I patted her on the shoulder and then patted Lenny’s hand. “Thing is Lenny. I’m looking for someone with a little more Umph!”

“Umph?”

I put my hands on my hips and suddenly forced them out twice. “You heard the ta-dumph, ta-dumph sound when I did it almost.”

Cynthia started laughing.

But Lenny didn’t get it.

So I held up both my arms horizontal and made the best girl bicep muscles I could. “He is strong.”

“I’m weak!”

“No, he is just Alpha.” I continued our cave man talk. Lenny seemed to understand it.

“I need to beef up.”

“Agree. Eat wheat, steak. Bread.”

“I eat those things, but it doesn’t work.”

I considered laughing. If I laughed would he yell loud and call me a fridgid bitch for turning him down? I chanced it. “Cynthia means well Lenny, but you’re just not my type.”

Lenny straightened his spine and stopped casting glances down at my décolleté, what little there was for the B-cup cutie I am. Then he suddenly bellowed out loud in the church. “What? You fridgid bitch!”

Everyone looked around and stared. Cynthia threw her hand over her mouth. Olivia’s eyes narrowed as she mentally came to my defense. But I had cultivated several responses for just such an occasion. In my Stop-Making-Noise-in-the-Library voice I yelled, “Friend’s Zone Wimp! Not in a million years!”

Lenny slumped down like a new dishrag soiled and dirty and in need of a good washing. “I guess I deserved that, Megan.”

“Yeah, you asked for it, Lenny.” I shrugged. “I’m a librarian. I’m used to instant assholes.” He schlepped away out of the church. I raised my chin, rather proud of myself.

Cynthia stared aghast. “I—I so did not know he was kind of a cave asshole to yell like that. You’re entitled to turn down any guy you want, Megan!” Cynthia gave me a hug.

Olivia quickly followed and hugged me too.

Our Triad hung together, like in the old days.

“I can’t believe I had to go through that.”

Olivia said, “Talking about kissing a frog before finding your prince!”

Cynthia smacked her hands together as if casting the dust of Lenny beneath her feet. “I’ll never suggest another mousey, banker type again.”

We all realized that just because women had open minds about marriage didn’t mean men’s minds had changed any. I represented just another piece of tit, ass, and cunt meat to Lenny.

Olivia broke the thawing ice, “He probably reads a lot of rape manuals on how to get a date by acting extra rough and tough to women?”

“Those things never work,” Cynthia added. “Sure I married Vic because he annoyed the hell out of me asking when I planned on going on a skiing vacation, but I’m weird.”

“You mean that alpha tactic of annoying a girl to get on her radar worked for you, Cynthia?”

“Not worked, like in some “
Fifty Shades of Gray
” frustration magic. I didn’t need someone to beat me and push me around just for me to convince myself that this man loved and needed me. I wasn’t about to try and change some man’s flaws and nightmares of the past. It worked because he already demonstrated good, soft gentlemanly qualities. He just needed to alphabetize one aspect of his approach. Stop begging me for a date and just ask me out on one.”