“When you sign up with Dates of Joy, I personally hand pick the woman of your dreams.”
“Gosh,” he said, eyes wide with wonder.
“Here. Let me show you some of your potential dates.”
And then she laid it on him. The coup de grâce. The Date Book. Larded with photos of unavailable models and actresses.
He blinked in amazement as she turned the pages.
“These girls are members of your club?”
“Absolutely,” Joy lied, smooth as velvet.
“But they’d never go out with someone like me.”
So Barry was not quite as clueless as he looked.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Joy said. “So many of my lady clients are fed up with the shallow men they meet here in Los Angeles. They don’t care about superficial things like looks and income. They’re searching for deeper qualities in a man, like warmth and sensitivity, qualities I sense you possess in spades.”
“Ya think?” Barry asked, scratching some wax out of his ear.
“Absolutely!”
“Okay, I want Albany!” Barry pointed at a picture of a spectacular redhead, the kind of vixen you see tossing her hair in a shampoo commercial. “When can I go out with her?”
“Soon, very soon,” Joy assured him. “But first,” she added, flashing him a deceptively angelic smile, “there’s a little matter of finances. Here at Dates of Joy, our fees start at ten thousand dollars a year.”
“Ten thousand dollars?” He gulped.
“It’s normally twenty-five thousand, but I’m giving you a discounted rate because I sense you’re a quality person.”
If she told one more lie, she’d turn into a congressman.
Poor Barry’s face blanched at the news of Joy’s outrageous fees, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Surely it would be a matter of milliseconds before he was bounding out the door and hurrying back to the friendly folks at Match.com.
But no, much to my consternation, he scratched some more wax out of his ear, musing, “I have a ten-thousand-dollar CD that’s coming due. It’s my entire life savings. I was going to roll it over, but maybe I could cash it in.”
“Don’t!” I wanted to cry.
“You won’t regret it,” Joy said, giving Satan a run for his money in the dirty tricks department.
“I guess I’ll just run over to the bank and get the money.”
“Why go to all the bother?” Joy cooed. “Just call them up and transfer the money to your checking account, and you can write me a check here and now.”
I could see the wheels in her devious little brain spinning. She was not about to take a chance that he’d walk out the door and change his mind on his way to the bank.
And like a dope, Barry got on the phone and closed down his CD, giving the banker at the other end of the line his Social Security number and mother’s maiden name, all of which I feared Joy was memorizing for future use.
Minutes later he was writing Joy a check for ten grand.
Tucking his check in her bosom, Joy ushered Barry out of her office with a royal “ta ta,” assuring him he’d soon be tripping the light fantastic with the woman of his dreams.
“Where the hell am I ever going to find a woman desperate enough to go out with that bozo?” she muttered the minute he was gone.
As I listened to him out in the reception area setting up an appointment with Cassie to have his picture taken for the date book, I was overcome by a sense of dread. This poor man was about to step in a bog of fiscal quicksand, and I was just sitting there doing nothing. I couldn’t let him go through with it!
When I heard him leave the office, I jumped up from my chair.
“Excuse me,” I said to Joy, who was treating herself to a Godiva. “Be right back. I’ve got to use the ladies’ room.”
Without waiting for a reply, I scooted out of the office and went racing down the corridor. Thank heavens Barry was still there, waiting for the elevator.
“Barry!” I called out.
“Yes?” He turned to look at me, beaming, no doubt, at the thought of his future date with Albany.
“If you know what’s good for you,” I whispered, “you’ll stop payment on your check.”
He blinked in confusion.
“Why would I do that?”
I wanted to tell him the truth, that Joy was a lying, cheating, amoral chocoholic whose date book was a total sham. But I had to be careful. The last thing I wanted was a slander lawsuit on my hands.
“Let’s just say it might not work out as well as you think,” I offered lamely.
“Don’t be silly. Joy said I’d meet the woman of my dreams. And Joy would never let me down. She’s great.”
“Really,” I called after him as he stepped in the elevator. “Give it some thought.”
Poor innocent lamb, I thought as the elevator door closed and he began his descent. Little did he know how far he was about to fall.
I hurried back to Joy’s office, where I found her chomping down on another Godiva.
I wondered what she’d do if I reached over and plucked one from the box.
Scenes from Apocalypse Now immediately sprang to mind.
Instead I took some Tic Tacs from my purse.
“Care for a Tic Tac?” I asked pointedly, hoping she’d get the message that sharing was a Good Thing.
“Yuck, no,” she replied, totally oblivious, and picked up where she’d left off on her ramble about her lifetime achievements.
I took out my steno pad and took desultory notes, inwardly rolling my eyes at each outrageous bit of puffery. She actually expected me to believe that she had fixed up Nelson Mandela on one of his first dates out of prison.
She was in the middle of one such colossal whopper when the door to her office opened and in walked a raven-haired hunk in tight leather pants and a silk shirt unbuttoned practically to his navel. Six-pack abs waxed to perfection peeked out from the deep V in his shirt.
All very Rodeo Drive Hit Man.
Joy’s eyes lit up at the sight of him.
“Tonio, honey!” she cried.
“Hey, babe,” he said, sauntering in, giving me an up close and personal look at his impressive tush.
If those leather pants of his were any tighter, they’d be a tourniquet.
“Who’s this?” he asked, raking me over with bedroom eyes that came complete with satin sheets and an overhead mirror.
“This is Jaine Austen,” Joy said. “The writer I told you about. Jaine, this is my boyfriend, Tonio.”
“Nice to meetcha,” Tonio said, then slithered over to Joy and, totally unabashed by my presence, bent down and planted a wet smacker on her lips.
“Miss me, babe?”
She nodded mutely, her eyes glazed over with lust.
Okay, class. Time out for discussion. What, we must ask ourselves, is wrong with this picture? What was a serious hottie like Tonio doing with the Godiva Godzilla?
I was about to find out.
“Hey, babe,” he said. “I just saw a great shirt over at Barneys, but I’m a little short on cash. Can you spot me two hundred?”
The glow in Joy’s eyes dimmed just a tad.
“Can’t you use your credit card?”
“Those idiots at Visa cut me off,” Tonio said with a careless shrug. “It’s some kinda clerical error. I’ll have it sorted out in no time.”
Joy bristled in annoyance, but then Tonio bent down and nuzzled her neck. Instantly her eyes went all soft and gooey.
With a sigh, she reached for her purse and pulled out an impressive wad of dough.
“Here,” she said, peeling off two hundred-dollar bills.
“Thanks, babe.”
Then, with a wave and a wink, Tonio was out the door.
Whaddaya know?
Looked like somebody had a boy toy. And an expensive one at that.
Chapter 4
“Jaine!” Joy was beaming at me when I showed up at her office the next day. “I’ve got the most marvelous news, and you’
ll never guess what it is.”
“You’ve decided to go straight and turn yourself in to the Better Business Bureau?”
Okay, I didn’t really say that.
“In order for you to get a better idea of how my service works,” Joy announced, “I’m going to treat you to your very own Date of Joy!”
“How nice,” I murmured.
I only hoped it wasn’t with Barry, aka Mr. Pocket Protector.
“But first you’re going to need a makeover. I can’t possibly have your picture in my date book with that godawful haircut.”
Well! Of all the nerve.
(Fatima at Supercuts, if you’re reading this, my deepest apologies.)
“Cassie!” she shrieked, summoning her purple-haired aide-de-camp. “Drop what you’re doing and give Jaine a complete makeover. Haircut and makeup. The works!”
Cassie gathered some supplies and took me to the ladies’ room across the hall to wash my hair.
“Isn’t this a public health violation?” I asked as Cassie worked up a lather with a lovely citrus-scented shampoo.
“Of course it is,” Cassie blithely replied. “But Joy thinks she can get away with anything. And you know what? Somehow she always does.”
After my shampoo, Cassie led me back to Joy’s photo studio, where she sat me down in a director’s chair and began snipping away at my curly locks.
I must confess I was a tad nervous getting a haircut from a woman with purple hair and a nose ring. But much to my surprise, she did a pretty fantastic job.
When left untamed, my hair bears a striking resemblance to Shirley Temple’s on the Good Ship Lollipop. Very Curls Gone Wild. Usually I spend ages trying to tame them into submission, but Cassie let them sprong to their hearts’ content, shaping them to perfection, giving me the kind of sophisticated do you rarely see at Supercuts.
(Oops. Sorry, Fatima.)
She showed equal skill with her makeup supplies, dabbing on this and brushing on that. When she was through, my eyes looked larger, my skin clearer, and best of all, I had actual cheekbones! Wow, if I lost a few gazillion pounds, I could practically be a stunt double for Sarah Jessica Parker!
“You’re so good at this, Cassie!” I said, unable to tear myself away from my reflection in the mirror.
“Thanks,” she said with a shy smile.
Eventually Cassie managed to wrench me from the mirror and trotted me into Joy’s office for inspection.
“What do you think?” Cassie asked, spinning me around.
“Fabulous!” Joy exclaimed. “Just fabulous!”
“Thanks, Joy. I really appreciate this.”
“It’s nothing,” Joy replied. “I’ll just deduct three hundred dollars from your paycheck.”
She was charging me? For a makeover I didn’t even ask for? What monumental chutzpah!
And speaking of chutzpah, we were about to get another dose when Travis poked his head in the door and announced, “Jaine, there’s someone here to see you.”
At which point Lance Venable, the Chutzpah King himself, came sailing into the room, all duded up in a designer suit, his blond curls moussed to perfection. And if I wasn’t mistaken, it looked like he’d popped in for a quick trip to the tanning salon.
“Jaine, honeybun!” he cried, affecting the most godawful Southern accent. “How mawvelous you look!”
“Cassie just gave me a makeover,” I said.
“A little gift from me to Jaine,” Joy had the gall to say.
Then she turned to Cassie and Travis and dismissed them with an impatient wave.
“Jaine, darlin’,” Lance drawled, still doing his Southern accent. “Ah’m afraid ah’m a wee bit early for owah lunch date.”
Needless to say, we had no lunch date. And I will not bother trying to replicate his idiotic accent beyond this point. It was bad enough having to listen to it in the first place.
“Why, I do declare!” he cried, turning to Joy. “You must be Joy Amoroso, Matchmaker Extraordinaire. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you!”
Joy preened and quickly segued into Queen Mum mode.
“How teddibly kind of you.”
Between the two of them, I felt like I was at the Boris & Natasha Royal Academy of Bad Accents.
“I thought you were pretty in your photos,” Lance was saying, “but you’re even lovelier in person.”
He stood back and looked at her, clasping his hands in admiration. “That hair! Those eyes! Anyone ever tell you, you bear a striking resemblance to Scarlett Johansson?”
My God, if he laid it on any thicker, he’d need a trowel. Could she possibly be buying any of this?
Apparently yes.
Because the next thing I knew, she was reaching for her treasured Godiva box and saying, “Care for a chocolate?”
“I really shouldn’t,” he said with a wink, “but when it comes to Godiva, I simply can’t resist.”
He plucked one from the box and took a dainty bite.
“Jaine’s told me such wonderful things about your fabulous service,” he said, “I’ve decided to give it a try.”
“Have a seat,” Joy said, gesturing to one of her rump-sprung chairs, “and tell me all about yourself.”
“To start,” Lance said, with a ridiculous little bow, “my name is Lance Vanderbilt Venable.”
Vanderbilt?? Since when?
Joy perked up, interested. “Vanderbilt? Any relation to Cornelius?”
“A wee bit, on Mumsie’s side.”
Oh, puhleese.
By now Joy was ready to dandle him on her knee and hand-feed him chocolates straight from the box.
“So where have you been all my life, Mr. Venable?” she crooned.
I tactfully refrained from pointing out that for half of it, he wasn’t even born.
Lance sat back in his chair and let the lies flow like lava.
“I grew up on our estate in Virginia, dabbled a little at the Sorbonne, came home to work on one of our oil wells, and then thought it would be a kick to move out to Los Angeles.”
Wait, I felt like saying. You left out your stint as advisor to the Pope.
“Right now I’m head shoe buyer at Neiman Marcus,” he said, giving himself a hefty promotion. “I’ve always wanted to work in fashion, and I’m having the time of my life. It turns out I just adore women and their shoes.
“Love yours, by the way,” he added. “Louboutins, aren’t they?”
She nodded.
“You have amazing taste.”
“I do, don’t I?” she preened.
By now they’d totally forgotten about me, and I stood there about as important a player in this scene as the statue of Cupid in the corner.
“And just why,” Joy asked, “would a young man of your obvious appeal need my services?”
“Oh, it’s easy for me to meet men,” Lance said. “But all too often I’ve discovered”—here he paused for a dramatic batting of the eyes—“all they’re interested in is my name and my money. I want to meet a quality man who’ll love me for myself.”
With Herculean effort, he managed to work up a runt of a teardrop, which he wiped away with a dramatic flourish.
Joy reached across the desk and took his hands in hers, no doubt getting chocolate all over them.
“You poor darling,” she clucked. “Fortunately I happen to have a small but very exclusive gay clientele, and I think I know just the man for you! Donny Johnson! Wonderful fellow. I’m not supposed to say anything, but just between you and me”—they still had no I idea I was standing there—“rumor has it Donny’s family are the Johnsons of Johnson & Johnson.”
I believed that one about as much as I believed Lance was a Vanderbilt.
“Sounds divine!” Lance gushed. “Doesn’t it, Jaine?”
At last, someone remembered I was alive.
“Yep, just divine.”
I smiled serenely, waiting to see how he was going to cough up the necessary cash to cross the finish line.
Jo
y now released his hand and segued into Business Mode.
“Membership fees start at fifty thousand dollars,” Joy blithely lied. “But because I’m so very fond of you, Lance, I’ll make it twenty-five. How would you care to pay? Cash? Check? Credit card? Stock options?”
“Oh.” Lance pursed his lips in a tiny moue of concern. “I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of money available right now. All my assets are tied up in a pesky trust fund.”
Joy’s smile was rapidly fading.
“But I should be getting it at the end of next month,” he assured her.
“Why don’t we wait until then,” Joy said, sliding the cover back on her Godiva box, “before we get started?”
Aha! I knew she wouldn’t buy it!
But I’d underestimated Lance. Just when I thought the game was over, he struck back.
“Oh, foo. I was so looking forward to getting started. I guess I’ll just have to sign up with Carson Hendrick over at the Billionaire Boys Club. He’s been positively hounding me to join.”
“Carson Hendrick?” Joy scoffed. “That hack?”
I could see Lance had got her where he wanted her. Joy was torn. On the one hand, she could sign him up now and risk getting stiffed, or she could let him go and risk seeing a competitor get all his dough.
And that’s when Lance went in for the kill.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Until my inheritance comes through, I’ll get you all the designer shoes you want with my Neiman Marcus thirty percent employee discount.”
“Thirty percent, huh?”
“It can go up as high as eighty percent during special sales events.”
That did it. She was hooked.
“Welcome, darling Lance,” she said, throwing out her arms, “to Dates of Joy! Normally I’d have Travis take your picture for our date book, but I know Donny’s going to love you. Leave your contact information with Cassie at the front desk, and I’ll have him call you.”
“Super!” Lance said, leaping up. “Can’t wait to meet him. In the meanwhile, is it all right if I steal Jaine away for lunch? I promised I’d take her for a bite at the Jonathan Club.”
“Of course, hon. Anything you say. Ta ta, darlings.”
She dismissed us with her Queen Mum wave, and Lance herded me out the door, but not before swiping another chocolate from Joy’s Godiva box.
Killing Cupid (A Jaine Austen Mystery) Page 3