"Oh, hey, we've got a new volunteer who started today. He's just about to leave so go introduce yourself. Name's Scott. Cute guy, Belinda." Her voice went up as she said my name, like a suggestion hanging in the air.
Like I've got a shot. I'm wearing old torn jeans, a ratty New York Giants sweatshirt with frayed cuffs, didn't sleep a lick last night and have a full set of Samsonite under my eyes.
Not that it would make any difference if I were dressed for a ball. I'm unapproachable, remember?
I headed down the long mauve hallway to the back and heard a soothing man's voice float around the corner.
"Oh, yeah, there it is. That's the spot. Ooooh, you like it when I rub you like that, don't you?"
Sounds like some dialogue from a porn movie, but I realized it was a man talking to a cat. If only one would talk to me that way. "Hey, baby, come home with me and I'll make you purr..."
I turned the corner into the shelter area and saw a man sprawled on the floor, scratching the belly of a purring Siamese who was obviously in cat nirvana. The man looked up at me and smiled. "Hey."
"Hi. I see you've made a friend."
"Yeah, she's a sweet cat." He got up off the floor, brushed off the cat hair and extended his hand. "I'm Scott."
I shook it. "Belinda."
He didn't have what I call the look. The one that tells me he recognizes me from television, the one Wing Girl gets when we're out on the town. The smile looked sincere. He was maybe five-ten, slender with broad shoulders, tousled brown hair, deep-set hazel eyes. Classic anchorman's jaw with a little cleft in his chin, one day growth of stubble. Maybe thirty-five. More cute than handsome, but he's got that boy-next-door thing going along with nice-fitting jeans, a button down blue oxford and docksides with no socks. He had an old money look, like many members of Ariel's family.
I smiled back. "So, you're new here."
"Yeah, I decided it was time to give something back instead of just writing a check."
"Most men don't like cats."
"My mom was a vet. She had a practice that only took cats. You could say it's in my blood. I just like their independence. And they're self-cleaning."
Cute line. Cute guy. This bears investigating.
"To a point. They don't have hands."
"Yeah, I already did the cat boxes." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "So, you been volunteering here long?"
"Every Sunday for the last four years. Ten till noon."
"I signed up for the same hours but I have a wedding to go to today, so I got here at nine and Diane sorta gave me a quick orientation. But I guess we'll be working together."
I nodded. "Guess so."
He glanced at his watch, then fished his car keys out of his pocket. "Well, I gotta run and get cleaned up. See you next week." He headed for the hallway.
"Yeah. See ya."
So much for that.
He stopped, turned and looked at me. "Hey, maybe we could go for lunch afterward."
I said, "That would be nice," before I even had a chance to think about it.
He pointed at me. "Belinda, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"I'm bad with names. Just wanted to make sure. See ya."
I'm bad with names too. We have something in common.
But for some reason I won't forget yours.
He disappeared down the hall, obviously having no idea about the superhero known as the Brass Cupcake who prowls the streets of New York making life safe for women and children while repelling the hell out of men.
Meanwhile, I just got asked out to lunch looking like absolute shit.
Now I'm totally confused.
Copyright 2013 © N.J. Harlow / Accio Books
Fifty Shades of Thrifty (a Parody) Page 4