Dave. “I’d like to be.” He rolled his bottle back and forth between his hands. “So what do I do, guys?”
“Get to know her better,” Kirk shrugged.
“And how am I supposed to do that? Women like that never look twice at a guy like me.”
“Well … ” mused Kirk, staring at his beer bottle as if it were a crystal ball that would reveal the mystical answer to him. “You need to find some common ground. You know, things you both like. Then go from there.”
“Yeah,” seconded Ghoulie. “Does she like the Sox? Maybe you could take her to a game. Be a great ice breaker.”
“I don’t know,” Dave said. “She doesn’t strike me as a big sports fan. Too much the glamorous type.”
“Not into masochism then,” Ghoulie noted.
“What do you know about her?” Kirk asked.
Dave shrugged. “Mostly what I got off the rumor mill,” he told them. “She just moved out from Manhattan. She’s divorced from some rich guy. She lives in Cambridge with her mother. Oh, get this — her mother is a romance writer. Can you imagine having a mother who actually writes that stuff?”
Kirk’s head snapped up. “A romance writer? You mean those books they sell at the drug store with all of the people whose clothes are falling off while they bend each other into really uncomfortable looking positions?”
Dave shrugged.
“Shelby reads those,” Ghoulie said. “She’s got a whole bookcase full of them in the bedroom.”
“She’s got you,” Kirk observed. “What does she need romance novels for?”
Ghoulie shrugged. “Damned if I know.”
Dave studied Ghoulie critically and thought maybe he could guess why Shelby liked to read romance novels.
“Have you ever read one of those things?” Kirk asked Ghoulie curiously.
Ghoulie gave him the Are you a moron? look. “Hell no. Why would I want to read something like that?”
“Women seem to like ’em,” Kirk noted. “How ’bout you?” he asked Dave. “You ever read one?”
“What do I look like to you?” he asked. “Of course I’ve never read one.”
They all paused to think while they tasted their beers.
“I don’t know, Dave,” Kirk commiserated, shaking his head. “If her mom’s a romance writer, the girl’s got to have pretty high expectations in romance department.”
“So why couldn’t Dave be romantic?” Ghoulie interjected. “You know, bring her flowers, chocolate, go for moonlight strolls on the beach — all that crap.”
Dave sighed dejectedly. “I don’t know. A girl like that probably has guys chasing after her all the time — you’d have to have something really special to attract a girl like that.”
Kirk grunted in agreement. One thing about being with the guys — you could convey a wealth of information in a single grunt and no one would accuse you of being uncommunicative. Ghoulie took another swig of beer while Kirk reached for a handful of pretzels out of the open bag on the counter.
Suddenly, Kirk’s head snapped up. “Why couldn’t you be special?”
“Huh?”
“Why couldn’t you be special? Think about it. There’s nothing actually wrong with you. You’re a decent guy. You make a good living. Why can’t you be special?”
Dave looked at him with dejection in his eyes. “I’m not special. I’m ordinary.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got an inside track — you know something about her that those other guys probably never even thought of. Her mother’s a romance writer.”
“So what?” asked Ghoulie.
“So there’s got to be more to those books than flowers and candy and moonlight strolls. Don’t you get it? Those books hold The key to her affections. They’re love’s little instruction books, the roadmap that shows the way to a lady’s heart! Don’t you see? All you have to do is read a couple of romance books and you’re in!”
Dave stared dumbfounded at his friend. It made sense. It shouldn’t have and his benumbed mind tried feebly to come up with a reason why it didn’t, but
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley