gorgeous?”
“Aren’t what gorgeous?”
“My cuff links.”
He flicked his wrists, flashing a pair of diamond-studded links on the French cuffs of his shirt.
“Donny gave them to me! On Valentine’s night. He cooked me dinner at his place in the Hollywood Hills. Chateaubriand for two, a divine bottle of pinot noir, and chocolate mousse for dessert. He hid the cuff links in the mousse,” he said, beaming like a lovesick puppy. “Isn’t that the most romantic thing ever?”
“Not really. You could’ve broken a tooth.”
“Go ahead,” he said, patting my hand in a most patronizing manner. “Rain on my parade. I understand. You’re frustrated and unhappy because I wound up with the heir to the Johnson & Johnson fortune and your significant other is a grumpy cat.”
“Who says Donny’s the heir to the Johnson & Johnson fortune?” I sniffed. “Did he tell you that?”
“No,” Lance admitted, “but you should see his bathroom cupboard. It’s stocked to the gills with Johnson & Johnson Baby Shampoo. It makes his hair silky soft,” he added with a goofy grin.
“So the guy buys in bulk. That doesn’t make him an heir.”
“All I know is he’s been showering me with gifts. First the Rolex. Then the cuff links.”
“He does seem to have a lot of money,” I conceded.
“It’s not just about the money,” Lance said, trying his best to look like he meant it. “Donny has all sorts of sterling qualities.”
And he was off and running, singing the praises of his beloved Donny, how he was kind and caring and smart and funny, with impeccable taste in wine and clothing—and men, of course.
Eventually our food showed up, but that didn’t stop Lance. He barely touched his Mediterranean salad as he blathered on about Donny.
I was sitting there, valiantly trying to keep my eyelids propped open, when I looked up and saw a slim, trendy guy with Brad Pitt aviator glasses walk into the restaurant. Wait a minute. I knew that guy. It was Travis, Joy’s nerdy computer tech. Only he wasn’t the least bit nerdy anymore. The former IT geek was duded up in an Italian suit, his floppy locks now artfully arranged in hip spikes.
Yikes. Talk about your makeovers. The guy had done a complete fashion U-ey.
“Excuse me just a minute.” Somehow I managed to interrupt Lance, who was in the middle of describing Donny’s eyes (cerulean blue with just a hint of aquamarine, for those of you taking notes). “I see someone I know.”
“You actually know someone in this restaurant?” asked Lance, blinking in surprise.
“Yes, in fact, I do, and I’m going to say hello.”
“Okay, but don’t take too long. I still haven’t told you about Donny’s dimple.”
I just prayed it was on his face.
I made my way to Travis’s table, my L.L. Bean turtleneck and elastic waist pants attracting quite a few disapproving stares en route.
“Oh, hi, Jaine,” Travis said when he saw me coming.
Up close, I could see he’d had his teeth whitened.
“Hey, Travis. How’s it going?”
“Great. I just opened my new office. Here, have a card.”
He took out a fancy silver card case and handed me an embossed business card, which read:
TRAVIS RICHARDSON
ELITE MATCHMAKING
“You’ve opened your own matchmaking service?” I asked.
“Yes. In fact, I’m meeting a client here for lunch.”
Then he flashed me what I’d never seen at Dates of Joy: an appealing grin.
“You should drop by and see me.”
“Sure,” I nodded, still blown away by his transformation from geekster to sleekster.
After some rather wooden chat about what a shock Joy’s death had been, I made my way back to Lance, who took up where he’d left off in his paean to Donny, rambling on until the check came.
“Thanks so much, Lance,” I said as he paid the bill. “This was really very sweet of you.”
“Oh, honey, what are friends for if not to be there for you in your time of need? Which reminds me, I never did hear about your horrible
“Aren’t what gorgeous?”
“My cuff links.”
He flicked his wrists, flashing a pair of diamond-studded links on the French cuffs of his shirt.
“Donny gave them to me! On Valentine’s night. He cooked me dinner at his place in the Hollywood Hills. Chateaubriand for two, a divine bottle of pinot noir, and chocolate mousse for dessert. He hid the cuff links in the mousse,” he said, beaming like a lovesick puppy. “Isn’t that the most romantic thing ever?”
“Not really. You could’ve broken a tooth.”
“Go ahead,” he said, patting my hand in a most patronizing manner. “Rain on my parade. I understand. You’re frustrated and unhappy because I wound up with the heir to the Johnson & Johnson fortune and your significant other is a grumpy cat.”
“Who says Donny’s the heir to the Johnson & Johnson fortune?” I sniffed. “Did he tell you that?”
“No,” Lance admitted, “but you should see his bathroom cupboard. It’s stocked to the gills with Johnson & Johnson Baby Shampoo. It makes his hair silky soft,” he added with a goofy grin.
“So the guy buys in bulk. That doesn’t make him an heir.”
“All I know is he’s been showering me with gifts. First the Rolex. Then the cuff links.”
“He does seem to have a lot of money,” I conceded.
“It’s not just about the money,” Lance said, trying his best to look like he meant it. “Donny has all sorts of sterling qualities.”
And he was off and running, singing the praises of his beloved Donny, how he was kind and caring and smart and funny, with impeccable taste in wine and clothing—and men, of course.
Eventually our food showed up, but that didn’t stop Lance. He barely touched his Mediterranean salad as he blathered on about Donny.
I was sitting there, valiantly trying to keep my eyelids propped open, when I looked up and saw a slim, trendy guy with Brad Pitt aviator glasses walk into the restaurant. Wait a minute. I knew that guy. It was Travis, Joy’s nerdy computer tech. Only he wasn’t the least bit nerdy anymore. The former IT geek was duded up in an Italian suit, his floppy locks now artfully arranged in hip spikes.
Yikes. Talk about your makeovers. The guy had done a complete fashion U-ey.
“Excuse me just a minute.” Somehow I managed to interrupt Lance, who was in the middle of describing Donny’s eyes (cerulean blue with just a hint of aquamarine, for those of you taking notes). “I see someone I know.”
“You actually know someone in this restaurant?” asked Lance, blinking in surprise.
“Yes, in fact, I do, and I’m going to say hello.”
“Okay, but don’t take too long. I still haven’t told you about Donny’s dimple.”
I just prayed it was on his face.
I made my way to Travis’s table, my L.L. Bean turtleneck and elastic waist pants attracting quite a few disapproving stares en route.
“Oh, hi, Jaine,” Travis said when he saw me coming.
Up close, I could see he’d had his teeth whitened.
“Hey, Travis. How’s it going?”
“Great. I just opened my new office. Here, have a card.”
He took out a fancy silver card case and handed me an embossed business card, which read:
TRAVIS RICHARDSON
ELITE MATCHMAKING
“You’ve opened your own matchmaking service?” I asked.
“Yes. In fact, I’m meeting a client here for lunch.”
Then he flashed me what I’d never seen at Dates of Joy: an appealing grin.
“You should drop by and see me.”
“Sure,” I nodded, still blown away by his transformation from geekster to sleekster.
After some rather wooden chat about what a shock Joy’s death had been, I made my way back to Lance, who took up where he’d left off in his paean to Donny, rambling on until the check came.
“Thanks so much, Lance,” I said as he paid the bill. “This was really very sweet of you.”
“Oh, honey, what are friends for if not to be there for you in your time of need? Which reminds me, I never did hear about your horrible
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