Don't Order Dog_ 1(29)

Jeri winced inwardly.

“Um, probably not. I don’t think Rob would be up for it.”

“Why not?”

“I kind of told him it wasn’t working.”

“And what exactly do you mean by ‘wasn’t working’?” Allie asked as she tucked her phone back into her purse.

“I don’t know Allie… I just wasn’t feeling it.”

“When did this happen?”

“A few nights ago.”

Allie moaned as if struck by a blow. “I’m sure you’ve already added these up sweetie,” she replied, holding out her hands, “but let me just remind you of a few of Rob’s many attributes – young, very handsome, ridiculously intelligent, financially secure…”

Jeri watched sullenly as Allie ticked off the list with her fingers.

“Let’s see…. wants to have a family, free of any communicable diseases, at least as far as we know, and… did I already mention how drop-dead gorgeous Rob is?”

“Yeah, you did,” Jeri replied. “And I know the list very well. You and everyone else, including Rob, have done a damn good job of reminding me.”

Jeri glided down to the end of the counter as the heavy old entry door creaked opened and a wave of cold mountain air blew a blush-faced group of young men into Joe’s. Allie watched her friend as she worked. She smiled at the shy, evasive eyes of the men lined up along the bar who pretended not to watch Jeri until her back was turned, then gawked lustfully at her slim feminine figure. It should all be so simple she thought sadly. It should all be so simple, but it was always so fucking hard.



“Don’t think I haven’t considered it a thousand times,” Jeri said as she walked back towards her friend. She leaned against the counter and gazed wearily at Allie, a cold, pleading light in her eyes. “Do you know how badly I want to feel it? How badly I wanted Rob to be it? But I can’t just make it happen, Allie. I can’t manufacture a feeling, and I won’t stare across the table at a man who doesn’t make my heart turn into lava and tell him otherwise. Rob might have had everything on my list, but the list doesn’t mean love.”

She glanced up at the growing crowd that had settled in the bar with the fading light of day. Her eyes flickered quickly around the room before settling on the letters pinned to the wall. “You know as well as I do that the moment either one of us falls in love, that goddamn list won’t matter. We won’t care whether he’s a stock broker in New York or a construction worker in Alaska. He’ll just make us happy.” She nodded at a man waiting to order a drink and grabbed a glass from the shelf above her. “That’s the truth, Allie. The rest of this, the rest of them are nothing more than a long, painful prologue.”

Allie nodded her head as Jeri walked off to pour drinks for the new arrivals. She sat quietly for a moment, deep in thought, before glancing at the man next to her and tapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s make a toast,” she said as the man turned to her, her smile dazzling and eyes deceptively enthusiastic. “To finding the one,” she said as they raised their glasses. “May he have all of the love, most of the list, and may he not be some crazy son-of-a-bitch serial killer.”

The man laughed curiously as Allie threw back her glass and drained the blood-red wine in a single gulp.





16.




He was in paradise.

A cloudless sky stretched over him as he walked along the waterfront through the flawlessly manicured landscape. He strolled casually, following the stone-laid sidewalk that turned languidly through undulating gardens of tropical shrubs and palm trees before branching into the numbered pathways of the Bahia Redonda Marina’s endless rows of docks. A pungent smell of stagnant saltwater hung heavily in the humid air, tempered by the sweet, musky aroma of flowering gardenias. Before him, a forest of sterile white masts, yards, and rigging stood sharply in the bright morning sun. As he neared the dock gates, a waiter in a pressed white uniform promptly approached him, a silver tray of tall champagne flutes perched on one hand.

“Buenas dias, Señor,” the short, dark-skinned waiter said as he bowed curtly. “Would you care for a Mimosa?”

“Si,” he replied, shifting his backpack as the waiter handed him a crystal flute filled with champagne and fresh orange juice.

“May I assist you with anything else, Señor?” the waiter asked, standing rigidly at attention.

“Gracias, no,” he replied.

“Very well. Buenas dias.” the waiter replied politely, bowing again before disappearing down the path.

He continued walking through the massive marina, warily eyeing an erratic flock of seagulls and terns swooping and screaming overhead, until he came to dock gate #32. There, he produced a small key from the pocket of his white cotton pants and unlocked the gate. Once inside, he moved slowly down the dock, enjoying the sound of his flip flops on the sun-bleached teakwood as he scanned the names of the luxurious super-yachts that flanked him on both sides.