Second First Impressions(41)
“I’m happy to sign that,” I try to not sound too dry. “But I want a confidentiality clause.”
“I didn’t make one.”
I look at the son of Jerry Prescott. He’s currently eyes closed, blissful and chewing.
I write an amendment: All information regarding Ruthie Maree Midona’s participation in the Method will remain strictly confidential.
“We all sign. Whatever happens, I want it to stay between us. I’m also adding a clause here that says we will not discuss or participate in the Method during working hours. No resources from the office are to be used.”
Melanie replies, “Whoops, too late. I’ve stolen nine sheets of paper and half a spoonful of ink. Sorry, Teddy, I’ll pay your dad back. But the binder, I bought specially with my own money.”
“Relax, I’m not gonna tell him.” Teddy takes the pen and signs next to my amendments when it’s his turn. It’s a surprising signature, very adult-man, and would look right at home on real estate contracts. “Or am I? Maybe I’m a corporate spy, sent to investigate all the minor paper thefts going on around here.”
I’m starting to notice that he always checks to see if I laugh at his jokes. When I smile, he lounges back in his seat and eats grapes like life is grand. Melanie and I sign the document too.
“Breaker, breaker,” the walkie-talkie squawks. “Fashion Victim incoming, over.”
“I don’t mind this one,” Melanie confides in me. “She makes me feel like getting old won’t be too scary.”
“I’d better get more cheese.”
“There’s more cheese? I don’t have to hold back?” Teddy says with his mouth full and the word TAKE on his cheese-knife hand.
“That’s you holding back?”
Serious-eyed, he swallows and says, “Will you marry me, Ruthie Maree?” And I hate to admit it, but my heart hears the words, and it’s gaping-blushing-starstruck.
Melanie pretends to pack up her folder. “My work here is done. Remember, lilac bridesmaid’s dresses.”
“Even the cheese I thought would be gross isn’t gross,” he’s telling her when I go inside for more snacks. “It’s walnuts in cream cheese with honey. I’ll get a lilac tie to match you all.”
I lean on the kitchen bench to privately regroup.
“Don’t you dare try to be Ruthie’s husband,” Melanie scolds him. “We’re going to do a worksheet on it, but I already knew the moment I saw you. You’re not the right type for her.”
He smiles with wicked white teeth, judging by his tone. “I’m everybody’s type.”
“The fact that you think so just confirms you’re definitely not hers. Maybe you’re the next candidate for the Sasaki Method,” Melanie fires back at him, and I feel a moment of real, actual fear as I look in the fridge. Teddy out in the world. Teddy dating, being funny and charming. I mean, he always has been. But I know him now, and I don’t think I want him to. Oh no.
Then Melanie makes the feeling worse. “I just assumed you don’t have a girlfriend. If you do, you should be ashamed of yourself.”
“If I did, do you think I’d be curled up on a sixty-year-old mattress in the middle of nowhere? Eating”— crunch, crunch, crunch— “stolen handfuls of tortoise lettuce?”
I’m walking back out with replenishments when Renata rounds the corner with a bottle of wine in her scooter’s basket and a single empty glass in her fist. “I’m here. Open this bottle,” she tasks Teddy seamlessly.
“Hi, Fashion Victim. I think your wig’s on sideways,” Melanie says and she’s right. Renata has wispy bangs over one ear.
“At my age, sideways is good enough.” Renata edges her scooter up to the table, not planning to dismount. “This is most civilized. What have I missed?”
I reply, “You missed out on me signing a very creative waiver, and we’re about to start on Week 1 of the Sasaki Method. If Mel will actually explain what that means.”
Melanie seems to compose herself for a moment, taking a new sheet out of her secret folder. “Week 1, of an eight-week program,” she announces like an infomercial, but then falters. Renata’s presence has knocked her confidence. It’s understandable. The woman could make a billionaire CEO stare into a mirror.
“It’s okay,” I encourage her.
Melanie turns through the pages. She says quietly, “Just a reminder that I’ve never done this before.”
“Pitch it,” Renata instructs. “Sell it.” Big cracker crunch. In this moment, she’s young again, at the head of a board table as her quivering staff present a mock-up of the next HOT OR NOT magazine cover.
I say to Melanie, “Just explain it to me.”
She begins. “When I thought about Ruthie, I decided that she needs to ease into this. So with that in mind, we will do different weekly activities, with a real date with a guy being the goal at the four-week midpoint. By the end of the eight weeks, I’d like to see her happily dating a really nice guy who’s into her, and she won’t need the Method anymore. Look at my first worksheet.” We all lean over it. “Ruthie will write down all the qualities she wants in a man, the sorts of things she’d enjoy doing on dates and any deal breakers. There’s a bunch of columns and lists for her to fill out here. We know she’s good at that.”