LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Two

      “Put. The cameras. Down.”

      The other two members of my tight circle of friends, Tish and A.J., lower their cell phones as Rory laughs. “Aw, c’mon,” says Tish. “One for the scrapbook.”

      I put my hand in front of my face. “Yeah, right. You’d post it on social media and my boss would have a fit when it went viral.”

      Tish raises her hands, then slowly spreads them apart as she looks up at the ceiling. “I can see it now. Network info-babe revealed as frumpy cat lady. Film at eleven.”

      “Very funny. And I know A.J. would use it to blackmail me at some point in the future.”

      A.J. twirls a lock of her raven hair. “Well, I am Sicilian. But seriously, when will we ever have a chance to see you in this condition again?”

      Rory nods. “Really. It’s like spotting a unicorn.”

      I start to dish out some food onto my plate. “Oh, leave me alone. Can we just eat?”

      Tish brushes her shoulder length blonde hair behind her ears. “Okay girls, we’ve tortured her enough.”

      I smile at her, our college roommate who is the smartest of our group and was top of her class in law school. She also has the coolest office I’ve ever seen, as she rents space in the Empire State Building. Alas, her courtroom shark persona and seriously high IQ are often intimidating to men. Tish is another of those girls who would be really pretty if she tried, with huge blue eyes she hides behind thick horn-rimmed glasses and a good five-foot-eight body she keeps under wraps. But she’s all business and doesn’t spend much time on appearances, relying on very conservative outfits and hairstyles for the courtroom. She only seems to let that hair down around us. When I need someone for pure logic, she’s my first call. She’s also an incredibly loyal friend and would drop whatever she was doing if any of us needed help.

      She reaches for the pitcher of mimosas and starts to pour everyone a glass. “We do have another topic to discuss besides kittens and Madison’s current aversion to soap.”

      I glare at her. “Bite me.”

      A.J. furrows her brow. “What topic is that?”

      Tish locks eyes with me. “The little matter of Jeremy getting his exit visa. Which deserves a celebration, in my opinion.” She holds up her glass. “Cheers!”

      I roll my eyes. “I know, I know, you all didn’t like him.”

      A.J. pops an olive in her mouth. “I wouldn’t say that. I hated the sonofabitch and wanted to kick his ass.”

      “Fine, he’s gone. Just be happy I didn’t walk down the aisle with him.”

      Rory takes a bite of chicken. “You never would have exchanged vows. There would have been a chorus when the priest did that speak now or forever hold your peace thing.”

      “Right,” says Tish. “You would have had to take a number.”

      A.J. shakes her head. “It wouldn’t have gone that far. I would have had him whacked.” It should be noted that while A.J. does not have family in the Mob (at least I don’t think so), she is fond of using Sicilian stereotypes.

      A.J. runs her family’s delicatessen here on Staten Island, which is appropriate since she is obsessed with food. Though amazingly while working in a place where she’s surrounded by stuff loaded with calories, the petite woman never seems to gain an ounce. I met her as a customer and we immediately hit it off as I pointed at her nameplate and asked her what A.J. stood for. She refused to tell me so I asked her brother who also works there. Get this: Antoinette Josephine. Yikes. (You can see why she goes by A.J. as a spunky attitude doesn’t go with a name like Antoinette or her Noo Yawk accent.) She of course threatened to have me whacked should I ever speak her real name in her presence. A.J. is a spunky little thing with zero tolerance for bull, both from her dates and customers. But if you want someone in a foxhole who will take no prisoners, she’s your girl. Behind those dark eyes lies the soul of a gunslinger. But the heart is pure gold.

      I take a sip of my mimosa as I consider her offer to wish Jeremy into the cornfield. “Very funny. But there’s nothing to discuss.”

      “Sure there is,” says Rory. “We’ve got that bridesmaids dress from hell wedding next weekend and now you need a plus one. Either that or spend the day dancing with the usher you’re paired with.”

      The image makes me cringe. “Oh, crap. I forgot all about that. I’m not hanging out with the groom’s fifteen year old nephew.”

      Tish smiles at me. “Hence, we must find you a plus one. Lest you do the Bunny Hop with a pubescent kid’s hands on your ass.”

      I exhale in disgust. “Well, this will certainly be a quick rebound. I’m not wild about a blind date to a wedding, but considering the alternative I have no choice. So, who’ve you guys got?”

      A.J. perks up. “My cousin Joey—”

      “No!” Everyone shouts in unison.

      Tish shakes her head. “Once and for all, please stop trying to fix up that particular relative. He’s un-fix-up-able. We can do better.”

      A.J. folds her arms. “Fine, Miss legal eagle. Who are you bringin’ to the table?”

      “There’s a guy who just rented the office next to mine. He seems nice.”

      “What’s his name?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “What’s he do?”

      “Don’t know that either.”

      “You wanna fix her up with someone and you don’t even know his name or what he does?”

      “He smiled at me when he moved in and said hello. And he’s got a great ass.”

      A.J. rolls her eyes. “Gimme a break.” She turns to Rory. “You got anyone?”

      Rory taps her chin with one finger. “Well … there’s this guy from a commercial production house I talk to on the phone a lot but I’ve never met him. He’s funny and seems nice. And I know he’s single.”

      “How old is he?” asks A.J.

      “Don’t know.”

      “What’s he look like?”

      “Don’t know that either.”

      A.J. slowly nods. “So, let me get this straight … you guys shoot down my cousin and yet all you can come up with is a nameless guy with a great ass and a commercial producer who gives good phone but might be seventy years old, fat and bald.”

      Rory pulls out her tablet from her purse, taps it a few times. “Fine, let me go to his company website. Maybe there’s a photo.” She waits a beat, taps the screen a few more times, then smiles. “Ooooh, I think he’ll do.” She turns the tablet around so the rest of us can see.

      My eyes widen a bit as I take in the photo of a hot, dark-haired guy who looks about thirty-five. “Uh … yeah.”

      “Fuhgeddaboudit.

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