The Boyfriend Bylaws (3 page)

Wiping my face dry with the back of my hand, I sniffed. “Well, if it’s so crystal clear to you, then why don’t you make all my dating decisions from now on?”

“Huh?”

“I’m obviously not doing well on my own.” Maybe she could see the signs that I seemed to be missing. “So, from now on, you make all my dating decisions. What do you say?”

The nerve of Patti not to trust my word. We’d been friends since junior high! But whatever. I raised my right hand anyway. “I do solemnly swear—”

“Get real.” She shook her head. “One look at a hottie and you’d revert.”

I paused, trying to picture the hottie, and wondering if he could be husband material. Oh, gosh. When had my falling in love gear shifted into overdrive? I needed serious help.

“I’m willing to put in the time for you to find the man of your dreams, but I’ll need some kind of collateral to guarantee you’ll stick to my guidelines.”

“Fine.” I followed her into my room. Nothing here but the dresser I’d had growing up, the mismatched nightstand with the paint peeling off, and the twenty-dollar Target bookshelf with stacks of
People
,
US
, and
Cosmopolitan
. Would Patti seriously hold my magazines ransom?

“Aha!” Patti raised a finger in the air and nodded her spiky head. “Your car.”

I gasped. Not Betty! I pictured my beloved blue VW Beetle convertible that had less than five thousand miles on it. I’d babysat through my teens, waited tables through college, and taught aerobics classes through my early twenties to save every spare penny for that car.

Betty the Beetle was the love of my life. She never let me down, took me anywhere I wanted to go with no complaints or manipulation, and never judged me. I couldn’t risk losing Betty. Come to think of it, did I really want Patti making my romance decisions? The last guy she’d dated had chanted for an hour before they went to bed.

“See, you were never going to listen to me.” Patti sounded exasperated. “So much for your word.”

Oh, great. I had already given my word. I’d be acting like my mom if I backed out. “Fine.” Stomping out to the living room, I picked up my purse. “Where are my keys?”

“Huh-uh. Not good enough.” Patti grabbed hold of my arm and whipped me around. “I want the title.”

My heart stopped and I bit my bottom lip, hoping Patti couldn’t see the fear that was surely visible all over my face. Holding the title seemed extreme. When had dating become so complicated? “It’s in the box on my bookshelf.”

My entire body went numb as Patti disappeared into my room and came back a minute later with a small pink slip.

“Sign it over to me.” She slapped it down on the coffee table along with a pen. “If you don’t follow my advice, and I mean to a T, you can kiss Betty good-bye.”

With my left hand clutching my chest, I took the pen in my right and poised it over the slip of paper. I paused, knowing Betty—my only true ally—would be safe in Patti’s hands. Well, as long as I did what she said. I’d been friends with Patti for fifteen years and I trusted her completely. She may be rough around the edges, but she had my best interest at heart—although, she wouldn’t hesitate to keep Betty if I failed to keep my end of the deal.

Holding my breath, hoping this was the correct decision, I swirled big loopy letters on the bottom line, signing my beloved Betty over to Patti Hartley.

Patti looked way too satisfied as she picked up the pink slip, folded it and pointed it at me. “You’ve got more balls than I thought, Melanie Porter.”

Balls? I didn’t want balls. Unless they were Brad’s, that is. Tall, broad-chested, gorgeous Brad. I wanted him back. I wanted Betty back, too. But, I also wanted to find my soul mate. He had to be out there somewhere. But, how was I supposed to find him now that the star of singledom was calling the shots in my love life?

Patti yawned and stretched her arms high above her head, the pink slip of paper still held securely in her right fist. “It’s late. We’ll discuss the dos and don’ts of your love life over breakfast.” She headed for her room, then stretched and yawned again like a satiated feline. “Make that over lunch.”

Helpless to do anything else, I went back to my own room, threw myself down on my bed and hugged a pillow. It smelled like Brad’s minty-scented hair gel. My nostrils burned as I remembered my plan to buy him unscented gel for his birthday. But I couldn’t buy him new gel now. He was gone, and I was alone again.

All alone.

The next day, I maneuvered Betty backward into a tight parking spot outside Cherie’s Café in Downtown Sac. After circling the block twice in search of parking, I was running late for my lunch with Patti and determined to squeeze Betty into the rinky dink space no matter what.

Turning the steering wheel in the opposite direction, I shoved the car into drive and inched forward before thrusting the gearshift back into reverse. I spun the wheel the opposite way, let my foot off the brake and rolled backward as my cell phone chirped.

While the car was still rolling, I noted the number, and answered my phone. I jerked Betty to a halt. Throwing the gearshift into park, I groaned. “Oh, great. Just what I need on top of everything else in my life.”

I pressed the green button on my cell, pulled the emergency brake into place and mustered up false enthusiasm for my stepmother. “Hi, Janet!”

Long pause. Janet likes to make people wait. It’s her thing. That way, everyone knows how important she is. It is not a good idea to speak during these times. It only serves to aggravate Janet, which would be made apparent by a longer pause and then some reference to the fact that she’d been speaking—even though she hadn’t been.

“Listen, sweetheart.” Short pause. “Your father and I would like to have you over for dinner tonight. Kaitlin has something important she’d like to share with the whole family.”

The “whole family” consisted of the four of us. Why my step-mom referred to us so formally was beyond me. And what had the magnificent Kaitlin done now? Sneezed? I, on the other hand, could be on my deathbed and would be lucky to get served a T.V. dinner. But such was life with a can-do-no-wrong stepsister. Fact was, they were family and Janet made Dad happy. “I teach class at six-thirty but can be at your house by quarter to eight.”

“Well, we were hoping to have dinner at seven.” Long pause and a sigh.

Janet knew my work schedule but consistently planned dinners during my classes, making me feel guilty for not being able to arrive on time. I put a hand over my eyes and peered through the mirrored window at Cherie’s Café to see if I could locate Patti while I waited for Janet to speak. “I just can’t get to your house any earlier,” I finally said.

Pause. “All right then. Seven-forty-five it has to be.”

Knowing Janet expected appreciation for modifying her oh-so-important schedule, I made an attempt to score some points. “Thanks for changing the time for me. I’d really hate to miss Kaitlin’s good news.”

Probably not as painful as lunch was going to be with Patti laying down the ground rules of what I could and couldn’t do with my own love life. I’d bet my vintage CD collection there’d be more couldn’ts than coulds.

I turned and looked at Betty one last time, sitting there at the curb all shiny and blue with her black top up. “Don’t worry, Betty. I’ll never let Patti get her hands on you.”

Then I reached for the entrance door and took a deep breath. I could only imagine what Patti had in store for me.

****

I found Patti right away, sat at the table and reached for my water with lemon to calm my nerves. She told me she’d ordered our usual meals, which was fine by me. Honestly, I couldn’t have cared less about food right now.

“The Boyfriend Bylaws.” Patti sounded very professional as she sat back in the booth and read the typed words off a thick linen piece of stationary. “By Patti Hartley.”

Sheer terror sliced through me and I nearly spilled my water. What did she think this was, a piece of legislation to be ratified into California law?

“Rule number one.” Patti looked at me pointedly. “No giving out your phone number until approved to do so.”

I raised my hand. “Um, can you clarify that?”

“What’s to make clear? If I don’t say yes, then you don’t give it out.” She enunciated each word as if she were talking to a particularly slow student.

I dropped my hand. Apparently Patti wasn’t an avid supporter of the “No question is a bad question” philosophy. My throat went dry. “Say I’m at the gym and a really great guy asks for my phone number. What if you’re not around? Can I give him my number, or not?”

Patti seemed to consider this as the waitress placed my pasta marinara in front of me. After due consideration, she shook her head. “It’s not a good idea to date where you work.”

Brad popped into my head and I cringed. I’d have to see him over and over again. Ugh. I bit my lip and remembered how he’d showed off to me by benching one seventy-five when I knew from previous spying that he normally benched one-fifty. Brad had no qualms about dating where he worked out.

Oh-no-oh-no-oh-no! What if he gave someone like Erica “the eye,” benched one-eighty and asked her out? Erica loved PDA. I’d be forced to watch them all lovey-dovey while they worked out. “I get your point.”

“Brad?”

I nodded.

“A shame we didn’t make this deal a couple weeks ago, eh?” Patti turned back to her neatly typed paper. “Rule number two. Must obtain permission to accept any date invitation. That one clear? Good, moving on—”

“Actually.” I raised my hand again and started to sweat. “What if I’m, say, at a bar having a really great conversation with some gorgeous guy and he asks me out to dinner?”

“You have a cell?”

“You know I do.”

“Then use it. I’ll be available twenty-four seven for consult.” Patti frowned. “Strike that. Don’t call between midnight and eight a.m. I need my sleep.”

“But how can I—”

“Your problem. Not mine,” she said, with a barely concealed smile.

I scrunched my face into a tight ball, then quickly thought better of it and relaxed my facial muscles. On top of everything else, I didn’t need squint lines.

My fake smile faded. How could I forge a lasting relationship without talking about the future? After freezing Patti’s underwear, I’d short sheet her bed.

“Four. No going to first base without authorization.”

No big. Brad had pretty much skipped first base anyway.

Patti stared at me. Then, she reached for her giant purse, pulled out a pen and scribbled on the paper. “Rule number four has been modified. No going to first base, or any other base, without authorization.”

What was Patti, a mind reader? I could kiss any chance of getting a boyfriend bye-bye with amended rule number four. “How am I supposed to find a husband when I can’t even—”

“Figure it out. Your way obviously wasn’t getting you anywhere.” Patti raised an eyebrow and then turned back to The Boyfriend Bylaws. “
Numero
five. No scribbling your first name with some guy’s last name. Ever.”

I tilted my head to the right and felt my ponytail flop over my left shoulder. “How’d you know I do that?”

“The pad by the kitchen telephone, genius. And last but not least, number six. This is the rule that I may add new rules as I deem necessary.” She handed over the dreaded paper. It was typed in various colors and fonts with several words in bold and underlined. “Here you go. Read it. Memorize it, live by it, and happy dating. No need to thank me.”

The Boyfriend Bylaws felt like lead in my hand. “What on earth makes you think I’d thank you for this?”

“I’m taking charge of your love life, disaster that it is. And doing it for free, I might add.” Patti twirled her fork in the noodles. “It was your idea, remember?”

I slumped my chin onto my fist and stared at the tomato-covered pasta in front of me. “That’s right. I’ve got balls.”

“Big ones.”

“Great. Just what I always wanted.” As Patti took energetic bites of pasta and garlic bread, I turned away from my plate and gazed around the lunchtime crowd at Cherie’s. My eyes froze on a familiar face seated at a back corner table. “Matt.”