She turned, triumphant, the dress pristine in dry cleaner plastic dangling from her hand.
My spirits sank. “Is he at least taller than the last one?” I demanded. At five ten in heels, the last guy’s head had been about level with my chest, a fact he was quick to take advantage of. I couldn’t even recall what color his eyes were, since he’d never raised them as far as my face.
“I haven’t actually met him, but I believe he’s - tallish,” Judy hedged. Great. So he was probably a jockey.
“What does he do for a living?” I asked next. The guy before Shorty had been charming and good looking, but had confided to me that he was writing the Great American Novel and was looking for an understanding woman to support him while he finished it. He’d been working on it for three years and estimated it would only take another three to polish it up.
“Um -” Judy was getting that shifty look on her face that I dreaded. “He’s in - public relations.” So he probably handed out flyers in front of a peep show.
“Judy.” I put on my sternest look. “You’re my best friend and I know you just want me to be happy, but if I do this for you, I want your promise that this is the last, the very last blind date you’ll set me up with, got it?” She nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing. So she had probably another five guys in mind.
Bill waited at the table. He had a mop of dark hair and nervous hands. His head was bent down and I couldn’t even see his face. If he doesn’t act like he has more than two brain cells to rub together, I’ll plead a headache and go home early, I bargained with myself. I owed it to Judy to struggle through dinner, but that was it. When he stood up, I could see that he was at least six feet tall. Nice, but that wasn’t the important part. His soul was probably full of cobwebs.