“This is a joke, right?” Terri asked from across the room.
“No, I swear to you this is real.”
“Where do these women come from?” Rachel asked.
“All over the world. According to the article, a woman flew all the way from Australia to find a husband—and she did.”
“I can’t afford to go to Ireland,” Rachel muttered.
“No, but maybe we could hold our own festival,” Terri suggested.
“You could do that,” Maryellen said, wanting to encourage the other women. She didn’t want to get involved herself, but she did hope the crew of Get Nailed would do something with the idea.
“A Marriage Fest?” Terri’s voice picked up speed with her excitement.
“Yeah, but who’d come?” Rachel asked. “I can see it now. We’d make headlines ‘cause we’re throwing a party in order to meet potential husbands, and not one man would show up.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Terri said with a discouraged sigh.
“If I want to get out of a relationship, all I have to do is mention the word marriage and the man drops me like a hot potato.” Rachel frowned as she concentrated on Maryellen’s chipped thumbnail.
“You’re right about that,” Jane, another tech, added. “Men in America have got it too good.” There was a chorus of agreement.
“I’ve given up on Prince Charming. I’d be happy to meet the guy who grooms his horse,” Rachel said.
Maryellen smiled, and so did petite, blond Jane.
“Actually, forget about the guy grooming the horse,” Rachel went on, “I’d settle for a man who knows how to change the oil in my car.”
“I dated a guy like that once,” Terri told her. “Larry’s head was constantly under the hood of a car. He was far more interested in listening to an engine purr than me. It’s too bad because he was basically a nice guy.”
“Why’d you break up?”
“He got grease on my white silk blouse.”
“You broke up with a great guy because he ruined your blouse?”
Terri nodded. “What can I say? That blouse cost me seventy bucks, and Larry didn’t seem to think it was any big deal. The way I figure it, if a guy can’t appreciate a seventy-dollar blouse, then I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“I’d like to meet a man who has his head screwed on straight when it comes to money,” Jane said. “Everyone I’ve ever dated expects me to pick up the tab because they’re constantly broke.”
“I met this rich guy once, but he was dead boring,” Jeannie said, leaping into the conversation. “We dated for three months and I broke up with him because I had more fun washing my hair.”
“I’ll take a boring guy over a user any day of the week,” Jane informed her.
“What about you, Terri?” Maryellen asked. Terri, who dressed in bold, bright colors, was tall and big-boned, with soulful dark eyes. “What kind of man interests you?”
“I want a man who appreciates good food and isn’t afraid of a woman who likes to eat,” she said without hesitating. “I’m sick of men who want skinny women. I want a man to take me to a fancy restaurant and ask me to order an appetizer and suggest I save room for dessert. Better yet, I’d like a man who did the cooking himself.” She glanced around the shop. “Does anyone know someone like that?”
A sudden silence cut off the lively conversation. “Well, actually, I do know someone who cooks,” Maryellen said slowly, thinking of Jon Bowman. “Jon’s a chef at a truly wonderful restaurant.”
“Why’d you break up with him?” Rachel asked.
“We’ve never, uh, actually dated.” Nor would they, despite her curiosity. Maryellen loved Jon’s work and he intrigued her as a person, but her interest in him wasn’t romantic. No men in her life, no matter how attractive: that was her Number One rule. “I’d be willing to introduce you, Terri, if you wanted.”
“You would?” The other woman’s voice lifted with enthusiasm.
“So what do we do next?” Rachel asked, glancing around the shop. “It looks like we’ve all dated a man who meets someone else’s criteria, which is great but isn’t helping any of us right now.”
“We could throw a party,” Jeannie said. “Sort of drag out our discards for the others to sort through.”
“A rummage sale of old lovers,” Terri suggested. Her client laughed, and the other women at the shop joined in.
“I’ll wear my black blouse,” Rachel said decisively. “I don’t care if Larry ruins that.” Then, looking at Maryellen, she added in a whisper, “I can’t afford to be picky. My car’s in sad shape.”
Jane reached for the calendar. “We could make it a Halloween party,” she announced. “What do you think?”
The immediate consensus was that a Halloween party was a good idea.
“That’ll give us a little more than two weeks to come up with some fun ideas. Let’s get this organized.”
“Yeah.”
“You bet.”
“Count me in.”
Maryellen wasn’t sure how it happened, but despite her original reluctance, she soon found herself involved.
“How are we going to get the guys to come?” Jane, the most practical of the group, asked. “I don’t think Floyd would be interested in dating me again.”
“Larry could be married for all I know.”
“Ask,” Maryellen said. “And you need to be up-front with them. Explain to the guy that you’re bringing him to the party as your guest, but he’ll be meeting other women once he gets there.”
“I’ll let Larry know that someone’s dying to meet him,” Terri said.
“Perfect!” Rachel sounded absolutely delighted.
When Maryellen left Get Nailed, her head was spinning. She really hadn’t meant to become part of this scheme, although she’d started the conversation.
She didn’t know how the others planned to handle this, but she certainly wasn’t going to wait for the last minute to mention the party to Jon. When Terri had talked about wanting to meet a man who enjoyed food, he’d come instantly to mind. In retrospect, Maryellen regretted mentioning his name. She didn’t know what had prompted her. It was probably because he’d been in her thoughts ever since their last meeting. This latest group of photographs was some of his best work to date, and she’d been almost sorry they’d sold so quickly.
Considering that she’d suggested the direct approach to the others, she felt obliged to follow her own advice. She waited a week, and then dialed the phone number listed in her Rolodex.
Jon answered on the second ring. “Hello.”
“Jon, hello, this is Maryellen Sherman.” She hesitated, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. “The manager of Harbor Street Art Gallery,” she added.
“Yes, I know.”
She’d swear he sounded amused, which only served to fluster her more.
“I’ve been invited to a Halloween party,” she said, rushing to explain the reason for her call. “Everyone’s supposed to come with a date—well,