In Stereo Where Available (8 page)

And so I told him about the cats and Pepper and the rest of the herd, even the ungrateful iguana. He listened with rapture, and asked one question after another, and an hour later, I realized I’d never even gotten myself a cup of coffee. When he asked for my phone number, I gave him my real one, with my last name written in my best schoolteacher handwriting. By the time we shook hands again, our next date was already planned: Saturday night, dinner and a movie. One with subtitles.

On Thursday I opened the door to Jerry, his hair wet-looking and neatly combed, holding a bouquet of flowers—carnations, daisies, freesia, and baby’s breath. He was wearing khaki Dockers, a blue T-shirt with a collar, and nice leather Rockport shoes. He looked like he was on his way to church. That was probably for the best, under the circumstances. My mind was already spinning with thoughts of the weekend and my upcoming date with Carter. If I’d realized how well the coffee date was going to go, I never would have invited Jerry over for
Belle of Georgia
. It almost felt unfaithful.

“Oh, thank you,” I said, taking the flowers. I stepped back, kicking Pepper out of the way. “Come on in.”

He looked around the room. “So this is your place, huh?”

“Yeah. I have a roommate, but she’s out right now.” Lauren had vanished to the library when I told her Jerry was coming by. “Let me just get these in some water.”

“Wow,” he said, looking around the living room. “You’ve got a lot of pets.”

“I know. I hope you’re not allergic.”

“No, no. I’ve got a few cats myself.”

I cut the bottoms off the flowers under running water and arranged them in a vase. One of Lauren’s many rules for dating was that men with cats were not to be trusted. I didn’t believe in her rules, exactly, but I was afraid to totally discount them. After all, I hadn’t been any luckier than she had. Maybe she was on to something.

“The dog is my sister’s,” I said. Jerry was scratching her back, crouched down and balancing unsteadily. “Do you want some popcorn?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I put the bag in the microwave and walked back out into the living room. “Have a seat.”

He tickled the parakeets’ cage, where Tristan was sticking his beak out through the wire. “Aren’t you going to do the intraductions?”

“Oh.” I nodded toward the cage. “That’s Tristan and Isolde.”

“Like the lovers?”

“Yeah. I didn’t name them. They used to belong to the music teacher at my school. They hate each other.”

He laughed. “Really?”

“Yeah. They fight all the time. The cats are sisters—Pippi and Socks. Pippi’s the one with red ears. Socks has the white paws. I got them for free.”

“You adopted two cats at the same time?”

“Well, I didn’t want them to get lonely. That’s the same reason I got the rabbit. I felt sorry for the guinea pig. I’m not getting a second iguana, though. Her name is Lucy.”

“Where did she come from?”

“My sister’s ex-boyfriend. He was going to get rid of her.”

“I used to have a snake,” he offered.

“You did? What was its name?”

“Ozzy. It was a boa constrictor.”

“Ozzy?” I smiled. “Like Ozzy Osbourne?”

“Yeah. I thought it was cool. I was a headbanger back then.”

I looked over at him to see if he was joking.
“You
were a headbanger?”

“Yeah. I had a mullet and everything. I spent every Saturday night at Hammerjacks up in Baltimore.” He reached into the guinea-pig box and let Hugo sniff him. “Those were the days.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. You don’t believe me?”

“I’m not sure.”

He pushed up his shirtsleeve. “Can you see that?”

I looked closely. Faintly on his skin there was the shadow of some kind of skull-and-sword tattoo, just under his shoulder. “Yeah, a little.”

“That one didn’t remove very well. I used to have six. Now I only have three.”

“You had them removed?”

“Yeah. They weren’t very professional-looking.”

“Where are the other three?”

He blushed. “They’re under my shirt.”

“Oh.” The microwave timer went off. “I’ll go get the popcorn.”

We settled down on the sofa with the bowl of popcorn between us. Pepper came over and plunked herself down on my lap. Jerry ran his hand over Socks, who had curled up beside him. I didn’t care what Lauren said about men and cats—a guy who was nice to my pets was a guy I would have a hard time not liking. The cats liked him, too. Socks rolled over to get her neck scratched and nearly fell off the sofa.

“This week on
Belle of Georgia
,” intoned the voice-over, “a very special first date…a candlelit evening…and an unforgettable showdown between the Rebel ladies and their Yankee sisters!”

With that, my sister’s face appeared on the screen, her blond hair flipping around her smooth spa-treated shoulders, her eyes almost lost in an angry, eyeliner-darkened squint. “You little butt-kissing lesbian bitch!” she screamed.

“Uh-oh,” I said.

“Don’t tell me that’s your sister,” said Jerry.

“That’s my sister.”

He took a handful of popcorn and shook it gradually into his mouth. “You sure you want me to stay for this?” he asked.

“Unless you’d rather not.”

“Are you kidding?” He reached for the remote between us and turned up the volume. “This I’ve got to see.”

As it turned out, it was Madison’s day to go out on a big romantic date with Rhett. They showed her getting ready in the mirrored dressing room, combing an off-center part into her long hair, penciling her eyebrows, complaining about the bad position of being chosen third when there were so many girls to come after her. “Tenth would have been better,” she said.

The scene switched to Rhett standing in the dim paisley-wallpapered hallway with an adorable blonde in a tight crimson evening gown, their bodies casting shadowy silhouettes on the red carpet as they whispered privately to each other.

“How did she get over there?” asked Jerry. “I thought she was still getting ready to go out with him.”

“That’s a different girl,” I told him. “That’s one of the Rebels. Her name is Debbie Jo.”

He looked confused. “But she looks just like her.”

“There’s about five of them who look almost exactly the same. They probably use the same color hair dye and have the same plastic surgeon.”

“Including your sister?”

“Yeah. She had her nose done in Hollywood. It’s probably a pretty popular nose.”

“Oh, okay.”

Madison’s date with Rhett was at some Moroccan restaurant that looked like a cross between a nineteenth-century brothel and an opium den. The two of them sat on red velvet pillows spread out on the floor, watching a belly dancer and scooping up their food with big pieces of bread. That was probably good for her. Madison was terrified of carbohydrates. She ate hamburgers wrapped in lettuce and considered celery sticks with peanut butter to be a dessert. The camera caught lots of footage of them making meaningful eye contact over the bread basket and, a little later, snuggling on the floor pillows as they watched the belly dancers. After a limo ride back to the plantation, Madison changed into a microscopic bikini and settled down with Rhett into the very un-Civil-War-era hot tub that was bubbling on the deck.

“They look like they’re having a good time,” said Jerry politely.

A white-jacketed waiter came by with a bottle of Moet & Chandon and poured each of them a glass. Madison was practically sitting on Rhett’s lap. By the time they cut to the next scene, she
was
sitting on his lap. Backwards.

“Uuuuuugh,” I groaned.

Jerry picked up the remote. “Want me to change channels?”

“No, no, I have to watch.” I curled up on my side, putting my face against his upper arm. “Tell me what happens.”

“I thought you said you were going to watch.”

“I can’t.”

“A bunch of other girls just showed up.”

I peeked out at the TV and saw the Rebel girls wandering onto the deck, just happening to be passing by in their bikinis at that particular moment.

“Oh, hello,” said a girl named Marci in her syrupy Mississippi voice, sticking her foot in the hot tub up to the level of her ankle bracelet. “Mind if we join you?”

Rhett smiled. “Not at all.”

It was after the commercial that Madison delivered her teaser line. She and a few of the other girls gathered in a beautifully decorated period room with textured mauve wallpaper and gold cherub statuettes on the dark, carved wood furniture. Madison and the other girls had changed back into their calico dresses and hoopskirts, their shoulders bared like the women in cameo jewelry.

“You little butt-kissing lesbian bitch!” Madison screamed, again.

Marci raised an eyebrow, her arms folded in front of her. Her petal-pink manicure fanned out across her gently toned bicep. “Honey, your being a slut doesn’t make me a lesbian,” she tossed back.

“Egad,” said Jerry.

“She’s really not like that,” I offered. “She’s just trying to get camera time.”

Madison pressed her lips together and smacked Marci openhanded across the face. There was a little gasp, and two of the other Rebel girls gathered at Marci’s shoulders, pressing in close so they’d be in the shot. Spiraling curls fell gently around their faces, their seed-pearl combs glittering in their high-piled hair.

“You sure about that?” Jerry asked.

That night the Yankees won the immunity competition. The Rebels voted off the black girl. Jerry and I saw it coming. He nodded slowly and tipped the bowl toward me, offering me the last handful of popcorn.

Lauren was beside herself with delight that my date with Carter had worked out well. That Saturday evening, as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror with the curling iron in hand, she barged in and cheerfully began her “I-told-you-so” lecture.

“Didn’t I tell you?” she enthused. “I said I had a good feeling and I was right. I
knew
it.”

“You were right,” I agreed.

“I looked him up myself. He’s as good as it gets, Fee. I’m telling you,
everybody
should go on Kismet. It’s like the eBay of dating. If you’ve got old crap you don’t want, put it up for bid! There’s somebody out there who’ll be
crazy
about it!”

I looked at her in the mirror, standing behind my shoulder. Her chunky black glasses and goofy grin made her look like Velma in
Scooby-Doo
. “You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Oh, come off it. You just don’t want to admit I was right.”

“I
already
admitted you were right. I’m trying not to set my hair on fire, and you’re distracting me.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone. I’m just relieved you’ve given up on your little Lord Byron e-mail buddy. That’s all
I’ve
got to say.”

I fluffed out my bangs. “I haven’t totally given up on him. I’ve just sort of got him on the back burner in case Carter doesn’t work out.”

She shook her head. “Listen to you. Two weeks on Kismet, and you’re juggling men. I’ve created a monster.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to keep my options open. Aren’t you going out tonight?”

“No, I’m taking the week off. Both of the good candidates turned out to be married. But I want to hear all about how it goes with Carter. Every last gory detail.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ll be the first to know.”

When Carter came to pick me up, he was in a bouncy, energetic mood. He wore a subtle variation on his outfit from the last time—brown corduroy pants that looked like they matched the previously worn blazer, an off-white shirt, and a tan Wind-breaker. But the smile on his face was ear-to-ear, and as soon as I saw him, I felt fluttery with anticipation.

“Let’s go out to Royal Jade,” he suggested.

“Royal Jade?” I repeated doubtfully. After dinner we’d planned to go out to a movie theater in downtown DC that was showing one of the Cannes Film Festival winners. “Kind of a long drive from Dupont Circle, isn’t it?”

“We’ll make it. Don’t worry.” He opened the passenger door for me. “Hop in.”

But we didn’t. As we got back in the car after dinner, Carter checked the dashboard clock, looked at me apologetically, and asked, “So what’s Plan B?”