This Matter Of Marriage (5 page)

“He's an accountant, so what do you expect? How'd he sound?”

Hallie giggled. “Like an accountant. He couldn't squeeze in a date with me until next Thursday night.”

“It's tax season,” Donnalee reminded her. “What do you expect?” she said again.

“I don't know. Going out with a guy named Marv doesn't exactly thrill me.”

“You might be surprised. I had a preconceived idea about Sanford, remember?”

“Do people actually call him that?”

“Apparently so. He said when he was a kid, his friends called him Sandy, but that just didn't suit him anymore. He said I could call him Sandy if it made me more comfortable. But he doesn't look like a Sandy. He looks like a Sanford. It's a perfectly respectable name, and so is Marv.”

“Marv,” Hallie repeated slowly. “You're right. It's not a bad name.”

“Not at all.” Neither of them pointed out that Hallie had gotten a date—without paying two thousand dollars for the privilege.

“How long did you two talk?”

“A minute,” Hallie murmured, “two at the most. He's on a schedule.”

Donnalee was beginning to understand her friend's qualms. “Don't be too quick to judge him. Who knows, he might turn out to be Mr. Wonderful.”

“Why am I having trouble believing that?”

February 20

H
allie was going to annihilate Rita. The instant she opened the door and met Marv, she had her doubts. For starters, he didn't look like she'd expected—or Rita had implied. Not like Sean Connery at all. More like Elmer Fudd.
And
he wore a checkered bow tie.

She wasn't the only one disappointed. Marv seemed dissatisfied, too. So much so that Hallie wondered what Rita had told him about
her.

“You must be Hallie,” Marv said, stepping inside her home. He glanced around like an appraiser, as though tallying the worth of her furniture and personal effects.

He was so short—
that
wasn't his fault, though Rita might've warned her—she was a good two inches taller without wearing her heels. But his brusque unfriendly attitude was another matter. If he'd bothered to greet her with a smile, she would have felt differently. Instead, he scrutinized her the way he had her furnishings, without emotion, without warmth.

“Would you like a glass of wine before we leave?” she asked, hoping her first impressions had been wrong, willing to give the evening a try, if for nothing more than the fact that she'd spent almost a hundred dollars on her dress. Besides, he was taking her to her favorite restaurant, one she could seldom afford on her own. Any man who invited her to dinner at the Cliffhanger was probably redeemable.

He declined her offer of wine, explaining severely, “I'm driving.”

“Coffee, then?”

“Decaffeinated, please.” He helped himself to a chair while she got their drinks. He pinched his lips in disapproval when she returned with a mug for him and a wineglass for her. If this was how the evening was going to continue, she'd need that wine. Maybe she should bring the bottle with her; a swig now and again was bound to improve her mood—if not his.

“I understand Rita's husband works with you,” she said, hoping to cut through the awkwardness and salvage this so-called date.

He nodded. “You're a friend of Rita's, correct?”

“Uh, correct.”

“You've known her how long?” he asked, removing a pad and pen from inside his suit jacket.

“Rita?” She frowned, wondering why he felt this information was important enough to warrant documentation. “Oh, for years. Actually we've known each other since college. Nine or ten years, I'd guess.”

“I see.” He entered the fact on the pad. “You're how old?”

“Twenty-nine.” Hallie took a restorative sip of her wine.

“Never been married?”

“No. What about you?” she asked, gritting her teeth. She hadn't agreed to an inquisition, and this was definitely beginning to resemble one.

He ignored her question. “You own a graphic-arts business?”

“That's right.” She felt as if she was filling out a credit application. “Look. Is there a reason for all these questions?”

“I prefer to have significant background information on any woman I date.”

“I…see.” She almost wished he'd asked how much she weighed. For once in her life, she would've been happy to tell someone.

He flipped the book closed and reached for his coffee. “Overall, I rate you at seven and a half.”

“You're rating me?” She was furious enough to throttle him, and they hadn't so much as left the house.

“I do every woman I date.” He grinned suddenly and the movement of his mouth softened his expression.

“Do that again,” Hallie said, waving her finger at him.

He frowned, destroying the effect.

“Smile,” she demanded.

He complied, then immediately lowered his gaze, and Hallie realized he was actually shy. He hid behind the questions and his ratings and obnoxious demeanor. Knowing this made her slightly more sympathetic toward him.

He helped her on with her coat and opened the car door for her. Hmm. Good manners were gentlemanly. Things seemed to be improving. They were on the freeway, with Marv driving at a predictably cautious speed, when she first heard the engine rattle.

“What was that?”

Marv scowled and pretended not to hear her or the noise.

“Sounds to me like there's something wrong with your car,” Hallie pressed.

He took his eyes off the road long enough to glare at her. “My car is in perfect running order.”

Uh-oh, the date was going downhill again. “I'm sure you take good care of your car,” she said soothingly. “But I'm telling you I hear something that doesn't sound right.” Whatever the problem, it didn't delay them. They arrived five minutes ahead of their reservation time. Hallie figured that if Marv chose to ignore signs of engine trouble, there wasn't anything she could do about it.

The Cliffhanger was perched on the side of a high bluff that overlooked Commencement Bay in Tacoma. Everything about the restaurant was first-class. Hallie smiled with pleasure.

Once they were seated, however, and the waiter had taken their order, Marv removed the pen and pad from his pocket again. He read over his notes, then said, “I have a few more questions for you.”

“More?” She didn't bother to disguise her irritation.

“I'll get through the questions as quickly as possible. I hope you don't mind, but it'll help me later when I make my decision.”

When he made his decision? Did he think she was applying for the opportunity to marry him? “Decision,” she repeated. “
What
decision?”

“Unlike others, I prefer to choose my wife based on facts rather than feelings, which I think are completely unreliable. Since marriage is a long-term contract, I believe it's necessary to gather as much information as I can. I understand that you, too, are in marriage mode, so this evening can be beneficial to us both.” He held her gaze for a moment. “I have to tell you, Hallie, you're getting good marks.” The tips of his ears turned red and he cleared his throat before saying, “You're quite…attractive, you know.”

The compliment mollified her—although she had to admit she was a little shocked by his blatant approach to this date.
And
to the matter of marriage.

“It doesn't hurt that you're in a financially superior position,” he added, ruining any advantage he'd gained.

“Financially superior?” Her? Now that was a joke if ever she'd heard one.

“You own your own business. That puts you several points ahead of the others.”

“Exactly how many others are there?”

“That's, uh, privileged information.” He smiled lamely, unfolding a computer printout. “We've finished with the preliminaries. Let's get into your family background now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Medical history, things like that.” He sounded impatient. “It's important, Hallie.”

“All right, all right,” she muttered, resigned to the fact that their dinner was going to be one long interview. Thank goodness their appetizers had just arrived. While she had the waiter's attention, she ordered a glass of wine. Marv frowned and wrote a lengthy note. “What do you want to know?”

They'd discussed heart disease, alcoholism and mental illness by the time their salads were served. Surely the entrées couldn't be far behind! But before she tasted a single bite, he was making inquiries about STDs, fertility and childhood illnesses. Hallie had finally reached her limit. This guy wasn't shy, nor was he hiding behind a pad and pen. He calculated everything down to the size of her panty hose.

“Any problems with—”

She held up both hands. “Stop!”

“Stop?”

“I'm finished answering your questions. You aren't going to find a wife by interviewing for one. I thought this was a dinner date so we could get to know each another.”

“It is,” he argued. “I'm getting to know you by asking questions. What's wrong with that?” He made another notation, writing furiously.

“What was that?” she demanded.

“Attitude. I'm beginning to have my doubts about you in that category.”

Hallie pushed aside her half-eaten salad. “
You
have your doubts. Listen, buster, I'm not answering another question. This is ridiculous—a woman wants to be wanted for who she is, not what she has to offer in the way of good genes!”

Her outburst appeared to unsettle him. “But you've rated the highest of anyone.”

It was a sad commentary on the state of her ego that she was flattered by this. “Thank you, I appreciate that, but I refuse to spend the entire evening talking about my grandmother's arthritis.” Now was as good a time as any to break the news. “I'm sorry, Marv, but I don't think this is going to work.”

“I wouldn't be so quick to say that. Although your attitude is a bit problematic, I find myself liking you. Once we know each other better, you'll value the effort I went through to gauge our compatibility.”

“I believe I've already gauged it. Unfortunately, we aren't the least bit compatible.” She tried to be gentle, to tell him in a way that left him with his pride intact. “I have my own test, so to speak, and I can tell that a relationship between us simply isn't going to work.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes.” For emphasis she nodded.

Marv didn't blink, didn't even put up a token resistance. Instead, he closed his pad, placing it inside his suit jacket, and refolded his printout. “Well, then,” he said, “I'm relieved you recognized it this soon. You've saved us both a considerable amount of time and effort.”

Hallie congratulated herself for not rolling her eyes.

Neither spoke, and before long Marv reached for his pad again. Now he seemed to be jotting down numbers—but Hallie didn't ask.

Finally he glanced up. “You might be interested in knowing that out of a possible one hundred points, you scored a seventy-six for the opening interview.”

“Really?” She'd be sure and let her next date know that.

“But I have to agree—it wouldn't work.”

Their dinner arrived, and Hallie savored the silence as much as she did the blackened salmon. Marv seemed equally engrossed in his meal; in a restaurant noted for its steak and seafood, he'd ordered liver and onions.

After declining dessert, Hallie decided to turn the conversational tables on him. “What about
your
family's medical history?” she asked. It wouldn't surprise her if there was a case or two of mental illness.

“Fit as a fiddle. I have one grandfather who lived to be ninety.”

“Longevity runs in the family, then?”

“On my maternal side. It's difficult to say about the paternal.” The waiter brought the bill and Marvin grabbed it. “Unfortunately, very little is known about my father's people.” He launched into a lengthy dissertation on what he'd managed to learn thus far. Ten minutes into it, Hallie yawned.

Marvin stopped midsentence and pulled out a pocket calculator. “Did you have three or four of the crab-stuffed mushrooms?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The appetizer,” he said, his finger poised above the calculator keypad.

“Three.”

“You're sure?”

“Was I supposed to have counted?”

“Why, yes.” He appeared surprised that she'd ask.