The Balance Thing by Margaret Dumas Page B

guy.”
    â€œSeriously, Becks.” Her eyes lit up. “We had so much fun blading today. It was just the best time I’ve had with a guy in ages .”
    â€œDo you think he’s interested?”
    â€œI think he likes me.” She winced, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the nail file or the conversation. “But I’m not sure if he likes me likes me.”
    I wondered if women who know how to flirt also know how to talk about men without resorting to junior high school phraseology. “What kind of woman does he usually date?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s not the sort of thing Sports Illustrated usually covers.”
    â€œTry People . Better yet, Google him on my laptop.”
    â€œHave you Googled”—she looked around to make sure nobody was listening, then mouthed the words—“Sir Charles Shipley?”
    â€œNot yet. He’s only been on my radar for sixteen hours, and what with the hospital and the spa and all—”
    Vida nodded. “I understand. You’ve been busy.”
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    â€œIT’S NOT LIKE I’m some sort of troll, Max, I mean, I do take care of my personal hygiene on a regular basis.” I hadjust met Max in the hotel lobby, and he was making entirely too much fuss over my new look.
    â€œI’m sure you do, Becks, but if I can just say something?”
    â€œWhat?” I prepared for the inevitable mockery.
    He stepped back and considered me, put a thoughtful finger to his lips, and pronounced “Yowza.”
    â€œYou think?” I touched my caramel-and-honey highlighted hair, which was now “hip and swingy” instead of “hanging down pathetically.”
    â€œI think Roger is a genius and you are a goddess.”
    â€œI like the last part,” I told him. “Did you see my eyelashes? I’m wearing false eyelashes.” I closed my eyes so he could get a better look.
    â€œYeah,” Max said. “Now we just have to teach you how to use them.” He slung his arm around me and propelled me to the door. “I just hope you appreciate the sacrifices I make in the name of friendship.”
    â€œI do,” I assured him. “Teach me everything.”
    â€œYou’re in good hands, Becks. After all, if you’re going to be a princess, you might as well learn from a queen.”
    Â 
    AT FIRST I WAS HOPELESS. Max took me to a nearby bar—not a cozy, comfortable pub sort of place but a loud-music-and-hipsters bar—and made me sit at a high table out in the open instead of in a corner booth. Just instructing me on the proper way to perch on a tall stool took the better part of half an hour. Then we moved on to distance flirting.
    â€œOkay,” Max said. “Now, when I’m at the bar, I want you to look across the room and give me your best ‘I’m interested’ smile.”
    I nodded. No problem.
    He returned with two martinis and a pained look on his face.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œBecks, are you suffering from gastric problems? You can tell me, I’m a doctor.”
    â€œYou’re a dermatologist.”
    â€œTrue, but that fleeting grimace that passed across your face seems like a clear indication that you need to consult an internist.”
    â€œIt was a grimace?”
    He rolled his eyes.
    â€œHow’s this?” I produced another hopefully seductive expression.
    Max held up his hands. “You’re scaring me.”
    I had to admit, it hurt. I had assumed I’d just need to learn a few techniques, but now Max had me thinking I might inadvertently frighten small children in my attempts to attract the LOTM.
    I thought I knew what the problem was. I’d spent my entire adult life trying to be taken seriously in the business world, always worried that male colleagues would think of me as a “marketing bimbo” or “booth bunny.” So I’d made it a point to never give them any reason