Читать книгу The Wing Girl: A laugh out loud romantic comedy - Nic Tatano - Страница 8

His eyes locked on me like a laser from across the room. Tall, well built, thick black hair and dark eyes to match. Rugged face, nice smile, dimples running the length of his cheeks. Probably about my age. Dark slacks, starched white French-cuffed shirt with gold links, red tie with a perfect dimple in the knot. Shoes shining like mirrors, something my late father always told me to notice. Looks like he stepped off a wedding cake.

Another “total package” as Ariel would say. Can’t say I’d argue.

He started weaving his way through the bar traffic and headed for the chair next to me that was left purposely empty by my friends.

“Remember what we talked about, Wing Girl,” said Serena.

I nodded, downed a bit of wine, and smiled as he reached the table.

He placed his hands on the back of the empty chair, obviously waiting for permission to sit. Good. Polite. Looked right at me. Big smile. “You’re the girl on TV.”

“Woman on TV,” I said. Serena jabbed an elbow into my ribs. “Ow.”

“Right,” he said. “You did that great story the other night on the State Senator. Nice that we have people like you to keep politicians honest.”

“They’re all a bunch of scum. Next week—” I was interrupted by another elbow. “I mean, thank you, I appreciate the compliment.”

Ariel reached one long leg under the table and pushed the empty chair out a bit. “Maybe our new friend would like to join us.”

“Uh, right,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said, sitting down. “I’m Vincent Martino.”

“Belinda Carson,” I said.

“Yeah, I know.” Serena, Ariel and Roxanne introduced themselves since I’d forgotten to do it, my mind too busy going over the directives they’d given me.

Serena widened her eyes as she looked at me and gave me a gentle kick under the table. Say something. Anything. “So, uh … I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

The guy smiled. “That’s okay. Vincent.” Roxanne rolled her eyes then threw down the rest of her drink.

“Right, Vincent.” I remembered the orders I’d been given. Ask him about himself. Nothing too serious. “So, Vincent … are you married?”

“Madonne,” said Roxanne, as the man’s face tightened.

“No,” said Vincent, who looked at me as if I were a space alien. “Did you think I’m some married guy out cheating on his wife?”

“Uh, no, I was … you know … just making conversation.”

Serena snorted, stifling a laugh.

“That’s one hell of a pick-up line,” he said.

“Sorry.” My pulse spiked as the checklist in my head got jumbled. My armpits grew damp. “Do you … uh … what do you do?” I smiled and exhaled. That was pretty safe.

“I work on Wall Street.”

“So, you work with some shady characters.”

The man shook his head and turned toward Roxanne. “Geez, Rox.”

I furrowed my brow. “What’s going on?”

“Vincent’s my cousin,” said Roxanne, cocking her head toward him. “I asked him to be our test subject tonight.”

“So you weren’t really going to hit on me?” I asked.

“I did hit on you. At least I was trying to. I would have even taken you out if we’d hit it off because Rox said you’re such a great person. They weren’t going to tell you it was a set-up if things went well, but … ”

“So, Vincent,” said Serena, who took out a legal pad and put it on the table. She clicked her pen in the air. “If you wouldn’t mind giving us your first impressions for the record.”

He looked at me, his eyes seemingly asking for permission. “What the hell, go ahead,” I said.

“Would be nice if she remembered my name ten seconds after I told her,” said Vincent, who turned to face Serena. “And asking me if I’m married? Seriously? I would have beat my feet right after that one.” He turned back to me. “Listen Belinda, no offense, but Rox said you guys needed a man’s point of view on your, you know, dateability.”

I shrugged and looked down. “I’m not offended. I appreciate your input. Keep going. Fire away, I’m a big girl.”

“You sure?”

“Hey, I take on politicians all the time. I’m not afraid of anything. Don’t hold back.”

“Ohhhh-kaaaay,” he said, then exhaled and paused a moment. “Well, here goes. You’re not approachable.”

Ouch.

“People come up to me all the time.”

“Because you’re a celebrity,” said Ariel.

“I meant you’re not approachable as a potential date,” said Vincent.

“Fine,” I said, looking at Vincent, eyes narrowing into Brass Cupcake mode. “Tell me why I’m unapproachable.”

Vincent leaned forward on his forearms. Usually they lean back when the death stare makes its first appearance. Interesting. “Well, first I call you a girl and you correct me, so I think you’re some militant feminist, which I and most men hate. Then the marriage question, which was beyond weird. Along with your somewhat bizarre conversational skills, it’s the overall look. The hair in a tight bun. You’re sitting there on your hands, all hunched up. And the outfit.”

My face tightened. “What’s wrong with the outfit?”

“Rox said you’re hot and you look like a librarian. The bulky sweater, baggy pants, thick glasses. Those shoes look like you’re going hiking. You look like you want to be anywhere but here. There’s probably a serious babe under all that but I can’t be sure.”

He reached across the table toward me but I pulled back and put up a hand. “Whoa!”

“Relax, would you?” he said. Serena grabbed my hand and pulled it down.

He reached toward my face and gently removed my glasses. “Wow,” he said.

“What?” I asked, as my view of Vincent morphed into a Monet painting.

“You’ve got spectacular eyes. I mean, they’re like emeralds, such a vivid green. You could do eye makeup commercials.”

“If she actually wore makeup outside the studio,” said Roxanne, as I snatched my glasses back from him and put them on.

“Look, Belinda. Roxanne tells me you’re a beautiful girl with a big heart, but as a man looking for a date I would have no idea if any of that’s true. If you weren’t famous I doubt if any man would come up to you, and if anyone did he wouldn’t stay long.”

I bit my lower lip and felt my eyes well up. No! This wasn’t happening! A man cannot make the Brass Cupcake cry! “I’d like you to leave now,” I said softly.

“Hey, I’m sorry, that was a bit harsh, but you told me not to hold back—”

“Just! Go!”

Vincent put up his hands in surrender. He got up, kissed Roxanne on the side of the head. “Thanks, cuz,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. He shot me an apologetic look with sad eyes, but I turned away. He headed for the door.

“So,” I said, when he was out of earshot. “Whose brilliant idea was that?”

“Mea culpa,” said Serena, putting her wrists out as if she were waiting to be handcuffed. “I plead no contest.”

“And the rest of you were okay with it?”

“We thought it was a great idea,” said Ariel.

“A great idea? Having some guy insult me like that?”

“We already know you need help,” said Serena. “But we really needed a man’s opinion. Rox said she knew her cousin would help out, and you two might actually hit it off.”

“Vincent was just doin’ what I asked. You’d like him if you took the time to know him. He’s really a great guy.”

“Yeah, a regular Mr Wonderful,” I said. “He’s just so … so … ”

“Honest?” said Roxanne.

“And suppose I’d really liked him? It wasn’t real.”

“It might have been if you’d given him a chance,” said Roxanne.

“You’re a reporter,” said Serena, clicking her pen again. “Did you learn anything from that interview?”

I played with my wine glass, swirled what was left before I downed the whole thing. “Yeah, you all think I’m a total loser.”

Ariel wrapped one arm around my shoulder. “You’re a winner, Wing Girl, and tomorrow we’re going to start showing the world.”

***

Most people go to church on Sunday mornings. Since sermons have bored the hell out of me since I was a little girl and I am ruled by Catholic guilt, I donate my Sunday mornings to a good cause. I figure it’s better than sitting in a rock-hard pew like a member of the parish undead.

As mentioned before, I love cats. So I help out at the local cat rescue shelter every weekend for a few hours, play with my furry friends and deal with things like cat food and furballs.

Cats don’t judge me, especially shelter cats. They don’t have homes yet, so they appreciate any attention they can get.

And after last night, I felt the same way.

“Morning Belinda,” said a cheery Diane as I opened the door to the shelter, jingling the little brass bell hanging off the top. She’s the petite blonde middle-aged millionaire animal lover who runs the place, often working weekends since more kitties get adopted on those days.

“Hey, Diane. How’d the week go?”

“Pretty good. Two in, five out. Somebody even took that huge tabby.”

“Great,” I said, heading toward the back of the building where the kitties lived. “Jabba the Cat was eating us out of house and home.”

“Oh, hey, we’ve got a new volunteer who started today. He’s just about to leave so go introduce yourself. Name’s Scott. Cute guy, Belinda.” Her voice went up as she said my name, like a suggestion hanging in the air.

Like I’ve got a shot. I’m wearing old torn jeans, a ratty New York Giants sweatshirt with frayed cuffs, didn’t sleep a lick last night and have a full set of Samsonite under my eyes.

Not that it would make any difference if I were dressed for a ball. I’m unapproachable, remember?

I headed down the long mauve hallway to the back and heard a man’s soothing voice float around the corner.

“Oh, yeah, there it is. That’s the spot. Ooooh, you like it when I rub you like that, don’t you?”

Sounded like some dialogue from a porn movie, but I realized it was a man talking to a cat. If only one would talk to me that way. “Hey, baby, come home with me and I’ll make you purr … ”

I turned the corner into the shelter area and saw a man sprawled on the floor, scratching the belly of a purring Siamese who was obviously in cat nirvana. The man looked up at me and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hi. I see you’ve made a friend.”

“Yeah, she’s a sweet cat.” He got up off the floor, brushed off the cat hair and extended his hand. “I’m Scott.”

I shook it. “Belinda.”

He didn’t have what I call the look. The one that tells me he recognizes me from television, the one Wing Girl gets when we’re out on the town. The smile looked sincere. He was maybe five-ten, slender with broad shoulders, tousled brown hair, deep-set hazel eyes. Classic anchorman’s jaw with a little cleft in his chin, one day growth of stubble. Maybe thirty-five. More cute than handsome, but he had that boy-next-door thing going along with nice-fitting jeans, a button-down blue oxford and docksides with no socks. An old-money look, like many members of Ariel’s family.

I smiled back. “So, you’re new here.”

“Yeah, I decided it was time to give something back instead of just writing a check.”

“Most men don’t like cats.”

“My mom was a vet. She had a practice that only took cats. You could say it’s in my blood. I just like their independence. And they’re self-cleaning.”

Cute line. Cute guy. This bears investigating.

“To a point. They don’t have hands.”

“Yeah, I already did the cat boxes.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, you been volunteering here long?”

“Every Sunday for the last four years. Ten till noon.”

“I signed up for the same hours but I have a wedding to go to today, so I got here at nine and Diane sorta gave me a quick orientation. But I guess we’ll be working together.”

I nodded. “Guess so.”

He glanced at his watch, then fished his car keys out of his pocket. “Well, I gotta run and get cleaned up. See you next week.” He headed for the hallway.

“Yeah. See ya.”

So much for that.

He stopped, turned and looked at me. “Hey, maybe we could go for lunch afterward.”

I said, “That would be nice,” before I even had a chance to think about it.

He pointed at me. “Belinda, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m bad with names. Just wanted to make sure. See ya.”

I’m bad with names too. We had something in common.

But for some reason I wouldn’t forget his.

He disappeared down the hall, obviously having no idea about the superhero known as the Brass Cupcake who prowls the streets of New York making life safe for women and children while repelling the hell out of men.

Meanwhile, I just got asked out to lunch looking like absolute shit.

Now I’m totally confused.