Elusive Mr. Perfect

by Murray, Tamela Hancock

  He felt just as helpless now as he did back in high school. Joelle said she felt led to find a Christian man to share her life with. Dean knew he could be that man. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to admit it to Joelle. Not only was Dean reluctant to speak up because she was so new to the faith, the real, living faith just within her grasp, but the minute he declared his love for her, a perfectly wonderful friendship could be ruined. But if he didn’t, he would never know how much more he—or, rather, both of them—could gain.

  The thought of mentioning his feelings to Joelle left him with an inexplicable feeling of nervousness. He knew he just wasn’t ready. At least not yet. His prayers didn’t give him a strong leading to share his feelings, at least not for the time being. Dean knew the time would come when the Lord, not he, saw fit.

  Clearly, Joelle wasn’t ready. Dean wondered where she had been on Friday evening when he had wanted to take her to the play. He almost wished Earl hadn’t given him those tickets. Then he never would have found out that Joelle wasn’t sitting at home, as lonely and dateless as he was.

  And he wouldn’t have resorted to calling Nicole.

  What had he been thinking? Dean mentally kicked himself for being so naïve. He thought she realized he made the offer as one Christian friend to another. That idea flew out the window from the moment he arrived at her apartment to pick her up. If he didn’t get the message from her heavy makeup and teased hair, the skintight Lycra shirt and painted-on blue jeans she wore, she made sure he couldn’t mistake the impact she was trying to make from the moment she got in his car. He remembered his nervousness when she slid toward him, positioning herself squarely in front of the radio. Warning her that they could be ticketed for her failure to wear a seat belt didn’t work. She simply dug down into the cracks of the seat and retrieved the middle lap belt, a device that was really meant for use only when the car was fully loaded with six passengers.

  During the drive, she leaned toward him, making sure her spicy cologne wafted his way. She would have been disappointed if she had known the scent only made him realize how much he preferred Joelle’s perfume. Nicole’s eagerness to carry on conversations and the light touches she’d place on his shoulders or wrists when she spoke to him weren’t unusual. They were signaling she wanted to be closer friends.

  Why hadn’t he seen that?

  In hindsight, Dean saw that Nicole flirted with everyone. She wasn’t above doing almost anything to get Zach’s attention, despite Ashlynn’s obvious interest in him. Nicole’s voice purred when she spoke to Dean, but it took on the same quality when she spoke to anyone of the male persuasion—from eighteen to eighty.

  Dean should have known Nicole wasn’t really interested in seeing the play. He wondered why she agreed to go out with him at all. She certainly hadn’t been interested in serious conversation, at least, not about anything that mattered. As they drove the fifty miles to the theater, Dean found himself wishing the drive were quicker. Her conversation tended toward secular music groups, R-rated movies, and some of the more unsavory television programs on the air—shows on premium cable channels he didn’t even subscribe to, precisely because he knew the type of lurid fare they ran.

  Nicole had been surprised that Dean had no idea what she was talking about when she broached those subjects. He was lost when she tried to explain television soap opera plots, and the names of the bands she listened to left him blank. As soon as she ran out of subjects, her frustration was evident.

  “I can’t believe it when you say you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she had said.

  “Sorry, but I don’t.” Dean had made a show of keeping his eyes on the road. He didn’t want to face her icy stare.

  “I don’t know why you think it’s such a big deal to watch TV. Everyone I know watches those shows, and everyone listens to the same music I do,” she protested.

  “Not everyone. I doubt anyone else at the singles’ group does.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  Dean wondered who among them she meant. He decided it best not to ask. “Now you know someone who doesn’t.” He smiled, hoping his levity would cheer her up.

  “I don’t believe it.” Suddenly, she cast him an understanding look. Placing a delicate manicured hand on his sleeve, she leaned close enough that he could smell the strong scent she wore. “Look, if you’re afraid I’m going to tell anyone at the singles’ group that you actually watch TV, don’t worry. I won’t. Besides, I’ve already told you I do, so we’d both be in trouble, wouldn’t we?” She sent him a sly little smile, as if they shared an intimate secret.

  Dean wasn’t sure what to say. If he protested that his lifestyle wasn’t an act that he turned off and on to please different audiences, she’d probably accuse him of being a Goody Two-shoes. If he pretended to agree, he’d be a liar. The more he thought, the longer the silence in the car lasted. Nicole had obviously figured out his answer without his saying a word. Moving toward her side of the car, she folded her arms across her chest and looked out her window.

  “You think I’m immune to temptation, don’t you?”

  She turned her face in his direction. She was wearing a sneer. “You act like it.”

  “Well, I’m not. I’ll give you one example. Not a month goes by that I don’t get offers in the mail for cable television. Not just for the good stations that show reruns, but for the ones that show what they call ‘adult’ programs, too. I have a confession to make. I should throw the ads away without even reading them, but sometimes I look at them anyway. I have to say, some of the pictures they show and the plot lines they describe are enough to make the pages sizzle.”

  Nicole let out a throaty laugh. “Then why don’t you subscribe, just to see the programs you like? You’re a big boy. It’s your right to watch whatever you want. Besides, if you don’t like a program, you can always switch the channel or discontinue the service. Since you live alone, no one will ever know.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ll know, and God will know.”

  She arched a doubtful eyebrow. “Do you really think God will send down a bolt of lightning to punish you for hearing a cuss word?”

  “No, but I don’t think Jesus would want me to live my life that way.”

  “Your conscience is overactive. It’s keeping you from living in the real world.”

  “Thank the good Lord for that!” he couldn’t resist replying.

  Nicole’s expression didn’t become more friendly, nor did she share his amusement. They spent the rest of the car ride in silence.

  True to Nicole’s observation, his conscience did become overwrought. Once again, he’d had a chance to witness. . .and once again, he had failed.

  As he thought back to that night, the telephone rang.

  “Dean?” The sexy purr was unmistakable.

  “Nicole?”

  “Surprised to hear from me, aren’t you?” She let out a melodic chuckle.

  “I must say, I am.”

  “First of all, I hope you can forgive me for last night. I didn’t mean to skip out on my promise to do the lesson.”

  “That’s okay. I muddled through. Although I must say, you missed out on some excitement with Zach’s cousins.” He went on to fill her in on the previous night’s events.

  “I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” she consoled. “I’m sure they’ll both benefit from your influence. Speaking of influence, I have a favor to ask. Can I come over?”

  Sixteen

  Several days later, Joelle sat at the computer in Dad’s home office. She typed Dean’s E-mail address and couldn’t help but think of the irony of contacting him by computer when they lived only two miles apart. There seemed to be no other choice. After several unsuccessful attempts to reach him by phone on Sunday, she had given up and driven by his house, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Worry was needless. His car was gone.

  After work on Monday, she drove by his house again, only to see that the driveway was still empty. Phone calls to his home led to nothing
but listening to his answering machine. His cell phone had been turned off. This afternoon was Tuesday, and the same pattern prevailed. E-mail seemed to be the only answer. After dashing off a quick note for him to contact her, Joelle pressed send and hoped for the best.

  She hadn’t even gotten up from her seat at the desk when the telephone rang.

  She chuckled to herself. “That was quick!” Smiling, she picked up the receiver, ready to talk to Dean. “Hello?”

  “Yes, hello.” To Joelle’s disappointment, her telephone visitor was a female. “Is this Joelle?”

  The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t pinpoint the caller’s identity. “Yes? This is she.” The hesitation in her own voice was evident.

  “This is Bertha.”

  For a split second, the name didn’t register. Then she remembered. “Bertha!” Joelle wondered what possible reason Dexter’s mother could have for calling. She only hoped it wasn’t to arrange another date with her son. Unable to think of anything better to say, she uttered, “Good to hear from you.”

  “Good to talk to you again, too.” Bertha’s voice sounded as chipper as she remembered. “Is this a good time? You’ve already eaten supper, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” She consulted the clock. The time was 5:56. “Your timing is perfect. I got up from the table not ten minutes ago,” Joelle assured her caller. Unenthusiastic about continuing with mindless chitchat, Joelle let silence permeate the line, hoping Bertha would get to the point. She didn’t mind that Bertha had called. The older woman was charming enough. Still, considering Dexter’s and Bertha’s opposite opinions about his girlfriend, Joelle knew any further involvement on her part would only place her in the middle of a family war.

  “So how are you doing?”

  “Fine, thanks.” Joelle tapped her foot.

  “Any luck with the personals ads?”

  Joelle decided on a truthful answer that she hoped gave enough information to deter Bertha’s plans for her to see Dexter again, assuming that was the reason for her call. “I met someone else.”

  “Oh.” Joelle could visualize Bertha’s crestfallen expression.

  Feeling a rush of guilt, Joelle added, “But I can’t say I’ve been swept off my feet by any of the other men I’ve met through the personals.”

  “Oh!” Her voice sounded hopeful. “In that case, I’m calling to invite you on a fabulous trip!” Bertha was saying her words at a fast clip, her excitement unmistakable. “How does Las Vegas sound?”

  “Las Vegas?” No way could Bertha have an inkling as to how significant Las Vegas was to Joelle.

  She and Dustin had talked many times of eloping to Sin City. How many times had they seen its lights on television and in the movies? Blinking and running lights that looked so fascinating on film had to be even better up close and in person. Fabulous hotels, all meant to re-create the wealthy lifestyles of times past, looked bigger and better than any place Joelle had ever seen, much less stayed at as a guest. Spinning black and red wheels, men and women card dealers dressed in black-and-white tuxedos, a sea of machines, all ready to take—and give back—money; all looked appealing to a young woman who’d seldom had reason to leave her home in the mountains.

  If the prospect of seeing such man-made wonder wasn’t enough to lure the adventurous young couple, the city’s reputedly lax attitude and promise of a wedding chapel on every corner sealed the deal. Their shared secret plans, usually whispered when Dustin knew Joelle was miffed with him, seemed at the time to draw them closer. Only recently had Joelle come to the realization that Dustin had merely dangled the prospect in front of her, stringing her along. His failure to keep his vow made Joelle feel as though she were the one who had failed. Only now could she be thankful that Dustin had never kept his promise to marry her in Las Vegas or anywhere else.

  Joelle no longer had any desire to visit the city. Especially not with Dexter and his mother.

  Bertha broke into her thoughts. “I guess you’re wondering how I could afford to offer you such a wonderful vacation. Can you believe I won it? I never win anything. I just filled out a sweepstakes form on impulse. You know, one of those solicitations that comes in the mail? I seem to have gotten on all the lists of people who like to try for prizes. Guess a little birdie at Bingo must have tipped them off.” She giggled. “Anyway, the trip is for two! Isn’t that exciting?”

  Unwilling to obligate herself to Bertha, Joelle searched for something graceful to say. “I’m flattered that you thought of me, but I would have assumed Dexter would be your first choice as a traveling companion.”

  “Oh, he’s going, too!”

  “I thought you said the trip is for two.”

  “It is! But since we’d be going for free, I can pay your way. What do you say?”

  Joelle didn’t answer right away.

  “I can’t believe you’re not jumping at a chance for a free trip to somewhere so exotic.” Bertha sounded hurt.

  “I know. It sounds lovely, but—” Joelle searched for an excuse. “I might not have the vacation time, and I don’t gamble. That’s the main attraction at Vegas, isn’t it?”

  Bertha chuckled. “For an old lady like me, maybe. But there are a lot of other things to do. You can see Hoover Dam, and there are lots of shows.” Bertha took in a breath. “Oh, I almost forgot. They included tickets to a rock concert. I’ve forgotten the names of the people who are scheduled to play. I haven’t kept up with that sort of thing since the Beatles broke up. Let me get my glasses so I can read the tickets. Hold on.”

  The receiver clunked, presumably on a table, while Bertha searched for her eyewear. Joelle heard rustling noises, then the sound of footsteps clacking this way, then that. Bertha seemed to be having trouble finding her glasses. Still sitting at the computer, Joelle was tempted to begin a game of Free Cell. She had just begun to call up the program when Bertha returned to the phone.

  “Here they are. Do you know any of these groups?” Bertha named three rock groups that had been Joelle’s favorites when her relationship with Dustin was hitting its stride.

  “Yes, I know them,” she admitted.

  “Great! Wouldn’t you like to go to the concert?”

  Joelle swallowed. She didn’t want to admit she’d always wanted to see every group Bertha named but had never gotten a chance.

  “You don’t have to tell me. I know you’d love to go.”

  “But—”

  “You don’t have to give me a firm answer right away. Why don’t you sleep on it and give me a call later in the week? It’ll be so much fun! That much I can promise.” Bertha’s delight was such that Joelle could almost hear her smile. Painful as the situation was, Joelle knew she had to be firm. “I can tell you right now, Bertha. My answer is no. I’m really sorry, but I just can’t go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Bertha mumbled something polite and quickly excused herself. Joelle felt sorry for her. As she hung up, Joelle wondered if perhaps seeing some of the shows would be nice, and to go somewhere touted in the movies would be a novelty. Most likely, she would never have another chance to visit Las Vegas, at least not in the foreseeable future. Yet even if she were an avid gambler, going on the trip would unfairly encourage Bertha, and it certainly wouldn’t be fair to keep stringing along Dexter.

  Why did the wrong men always chase her? Or at least, the wrong man’s mother? At the thought, she laughed in spite of herself. Being courted by a man’s mother on her son’s behalf was a first.

  Not that being with Dexter was worse than death itself. He seemed decent enough. Maybe he’d liven up and actually enjoy a rock concert.

  A rock concert. She sighed. A year ago, she would have packed her bags as soon as Bertha mentioned the concert. The prospect of hearing and seeing the performers extol one-night stands, whiskey, even drugs, to catchy tunes would have been too hard to resist. Self-indulgent lyrics encouraged listeners to look out for their own interests and pleasures, to credit themselve
s with any success they had in life, and to grab every carnal opportunity. Joelle knew the lifestyle they espoused wasn’t moral. It certainly wasn’t the one her parents would have chosen for her. Yet only a few months ago she would have argued that there was no harm in enjoying the tunes as long as she didn’t try to follow their suggestions too closely. The desire to stay healthy had kept Joelle from indulging as the singers suggested. So did the casual, intellectual relationship she had with the Lord at the time.

  Now she realized she had to go beyond not acting upon every suggestion. Now that she sought a personal relationship with Christ, Joelle realized how wrong it would be to attend a concert that did nothing to honor the Lord.

  Okay, maybe it is wrong, a voice inside her head argued, but no one will ever know. Well, no one except Dexter and Bertha. And who’d ask them?

  Dean would find out, her conscience argued.

  Not if you don’t tell him, the voice insisted. Besides, who cares what he thinks? He left town and didn’t even bother to leave a number with you.

  The more she considered how Dean was neglecting her, the more her ire rose. Joelle let out a ragged breath and narrowed her eyes. Unwilling to debate with herself any longer, Joelle scanned the nearby bookshelf. A few of her old compact discs were still in the place where she had abandoned them months ago. Pulling out one of her former favorites, she slipped it into the computer tower and set the audio function to play the best song. Pounding drums and wailing guitars were her reward.

  Joelle signed back on to the World Wide Web. She had to see if Dean had returned her E-mail. By the time she discovered there was still no message, the singer was boasting about his latest conquest. Somehow, the songs didn’t seem fun anymore.