“Mr. Ewing,” I say, picking my favorite Knicks player of all time.
Jennifer sighs. “Another Knicks fan, I see.”
She doesn’t sound pleased. Should I have picked something funnier? She caught me off-guard, and Patrick Ewing is the first name that popped into my head. Maybe if they were looking for brilliance, they should have given me more than five seconds to come up with an alias.
“Where are we supposed to meet?” I ask.
“The man chooses; we’re a little old-fashioned like that. Miss Bishop has expressed a preference for a cozy restaurant or a casual brunch as venues, but since your date is on Saturday night that cuts out brunch.”
If I had known I had a choice, I would’ve gone for lunch and kept the evening free to watch the game. Next time, I won’t be fooled.
“Whenever you’ve picked a location,” Jennifer continues, “make a reservation under your alias and send us the details. We’ll let Miss Bishop know the time and place. Please put some thought into the restaurant you pick, Dr. Keller. You don’t get a second chance at first impressions.”
Her condescension irks me. “This may shock you, Jennifer, but I have been on dates before.”
Either she misses the sarcasm, or she’s too professional to comment on it. “Then I’m sure Saturday will go swimmingly! We’ll be in touch soon, Dr. Keller. Have a wonderful day.”
If Garrett hadn’t sworn time and time again by their service, I would’ve already quit the agency.
***
Jennifer might not be my favorite person in the world, but she did have a point: first impressions do matter. I spend the afternoon researching potential dinner venues. I hit all the usual suspects first for reviews: The New Yorker, Zagat, and Time Out. Then, I dig a little deeper, scrolling through my Facebook and Instagram—an activity I rarely engage with—searching for pictures of curated meals and the inevitable gushing comments about the wonderful food and atmosphere.
I make a list of the five most promising spots, then check out their websites. Multiple backup options are essential. Once a restaurant becomes the craze of the New York crowds, it might be hard to find a free table with only a few days’ notice.
I call the first name on my list, Il Buco.
“Hello, Il Buco,” a female voice picks up. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, I was looking for a table to book on Saturday night.”
“Let me check real quick… How many guests?”
“Two.”
“We have a table free at six o’clock, and a couple open around ten. Would either of those times work for you, sir?”
For a moment I’m tempted to book the earlier slot; that way, I could do dinner and get home in time to still catch most of the game. But no matter how skeptical I am about this whole “matchmaking” thing, I can’t go on a date half-assed, staring at the clock to check the minutes until the game starts and I can be out of the restaurant. It’s just plain rude, and I don’t want to be that guy. Besides, Miss Bishop will be the first woman I take out after Brenda left, and if I’m jumping back on the horse, I’d better do it with proper riding boots—metaphorically speaking. Not to mention my office is at stake, and it’d be worth going on an amazing date just to see Medusa sweat a little. Will the agency have already set her up on her own blind date? Poor bastard, he has no idea what—
“Sir?” the woman on the other side of the line prompts me.
“Sorry, those are not ideal times for me. Can I think for a moment and call you back?”
“Sure, but I suggest you decide fast, because the last free tables might be gone soon.”
“I will, thank you.”
I hang up and call the second place, which, unfortunately, is booked solid for Saturday night.
The third time’s the charm, and I find a perfect eight o’clock table available to book. I make the reservation and fire a quick email to Jennifer. I can’t handle two conversations in a day with my Dating Specialist.
Her reply comes in right away.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Dinner Reservation
Wonderful choice, Dr. Keller, I’ve heard fantastic things about the Boucherie. I’m sure Miss Bishop will appreciate the care you’ve put into selecting this location.
I wish you the best of luck with your first date. You can expect to hear from me on Monday to collect your feedback on the night and receive Miss Bishop’s impressions of you.
And remember, true love is just one date away…
Yours,
Jennifer
Jennifer Harlow
Listen to Your Heart Dating Specialist since 2005
Garrett had better be right about the agency, because I’m feeling a strong urge to kick him in the butt at the moment.
Nine
Vivian
“It’s been a pleasure working with you, Mrs. Parker,” I say, as I get up to walk my client to the door. “Or should I say, Miss George?”
Her eyes light up. “Miss George, please,” she says. “I can’t wait to go back to using my maiden name.”
“Well, now that the divorce is final, we can certainly make that happen. I’ll submit the paperwork for you and send word as soon as the name change goes through.”
“Wonderful.”
We shake hands, and I walk her out of the office.
The landing is clear, with no signs of the client-poaching monster next door. I wait for Miss George to get into the elevator, then hurry back to my desk where my phone is angrily vibrating.
The number of Tegan’s school flashes onscreen, making my stomach drop in a panic. The school never calls unless something is wrong. Did Tegan get hurt? Is she sick?
Heart pounding in my chest, I pick up. “Hello?”
“Miss Hessington?”
“Yes?”
“This is Abel Wentworth, Head of School at The Ignatius College for the Talented and Gifted. I’m calling about your daughter—”
“Did something happen?” I interrupt.
