Too Good to Be True(35)

I paused. “Ah. And how exactly do you entertain?”

He grinned. “Like this!” he said, leaning back. Then, with a flourish and a sudden, sharp flick of his hands, he set the table on fire.

Later, after the firefighters had put out the flames and deemed it safe to return to the restaurant, a large portion of which was covered in the foamy fire retardant that had doused the “entertainment,” Jeff turned beseechingly to me. “Doesn’t anyone love magic anymore?” he asked, looking at me, as confused as a kicked puppy.

“You have the right to remain silent,” a police officer duly recited.

“I didn’t mean the fire to be so big,” Jeff informed the cop, who didn’t seem to care much.

“So you’re a magician?” I asked, fiddling with the burnt end of a lock of my hair, which had been slightly singed.

“It’s my dream,” he said as the officer cuffed him. “Magic is my life.”

“Ah,” I said. “Best of luck with that.”

Was it me, or did a lot of men leave in handcuffs when I was around? First Callahan O’ Shea, now Jeff. I had to hand it to Callahan—he looked a lot better in restraints than poor Jeff, who resembled a crated ferret. Yes, when it came to handcuffs, Callahan O’ Shea was—I stopped that train of thought. I had another date. Leon the teacher was next in line, so on I went, glad that the firefighters of Farmington were so efficient that I wasn’t even late.

Leon was much more promising. Balding in that attractive Ed Harris way, wonderful sparkling blue eyes and a boyish laugh, he seemed delighted in me, which of course I found very appealing. We talked for a half hour or so, filling each other in on our teaching jobs, bemoaning helicopter parents and extolling the bright minds of children.

“So, Grace, let me ask you something,” he said, pushing our potato skins aside to touch my hand, making me glad I’d splurged on a manicure/pedicure this week. His face grew serious. “What would you say is the most important thing in your life?”

“My family,” I answered. “We’re very close. I have two sisters, one older, one—”

“I see. What else, Grace? What would come next?”

“Um, well…my students, I guess. I really love them, and I want so much for them to be excited about history.

They—”

“Uh-huh. Anything else, Grace?”

“Well,” I said, a bit miffed at being cut off twice now, “sure. I mean, I volunteer with a senior citizen group, we do ballroom dancing with my friend Julian, who’s a dance teacher. Sometimes I read to some of them, the ones who can’t read for themselves.”

“Are you religious?” Leon asked.

I paused. I was definitely one of those who’d classify herself as spiritual rather than religious. “Sort of. Yes, I mean. I go to church, oh, maybe once a month or so, and I—”

“I’m wondering what your feelings are on God.”

I blinked. “God?” Leon nodded. “Um, well God is…well, He’s great.” I imagined God rolling His eyes at me.

Come on, Grace. I said, “Let there be light,” and bada-bing! There was light! Can’t you do better than “He’s great,” for God’s sake? Get it? For God’s sake? (I always imagined God had a great sense of humor. He’d have to, right?) Leon’s bright (fanatical?) blue eyes narrowed. “Yes, He is great. Are you a Christian? Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?”

“Well…sure.” Granted, I couldn’t ever remember anyone in my family (Mayflower descendants, remember?) ever using the term personal savior…We were Congregationalists, and things tended to stay a little more philosophical. “Jesus is also so…good.” And now I had Jesus, raising His head as He hung on the Cross. Wow.

Thanks, Grace. This is what I get for dying up here?

“Jesus is my wingman,” Leon said proudly. “Grace, I’d like to take you to my church so you can experience the true meaning of holiness.”

Check, please! “Actually, Leon, I have a church,” I said. “It’s very nice. I can’t say I’m interested in going anywhere else.”

The fanatical blue eyes narrowed. “I don’t get the impression you’ve truly embraced God, Grace.” He frowned.

Okay. Enough was enough. “Well, Leon, let’s be honest. You’ve known me forty-two minutes. How the hell would you know?”

At the H-E-double hockey sticks word, Leon reared back. “Blasphemer!” he hissed. “I’m sorry, Grace! We do not have a future together! You’re going straight to you-know-where.” He stood up abruptly.

“Judge not,” I reminded him. “Nice meeting you, and good luck with finding someone,” I said. I was pretty sure God would be proud. Not just a quote from the Good Book, but turning the other cheek and everything.

Safely in my car, I saw with dismay that it was only eight o’clock. Only eight, and already I’d been in a fire and condemned to hell…and still no boyfriend. I sighed.

Well. I knew a good cure for loneliness, and its name was Golden Meadows. Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in Room 403.

“Her white satin chemise slid to the floor in a seductive whisper.” I paused, glanced at my one-person audience, then continued. “His eyes grew cobalt with desire, his loins burning at the sight of her creamy décolletage. ‘I am yours, my lord,’ she said, her lips ripe with sultry promise. Reaching for her breast, his mind raced… Okay, that’s a dangling participle if I ever heard one. His mind did not, I assure you, reach for her breast.”