Page 53 of Ice Ice Maybe
“First, thank you for this,” he said, gesturing toward the museum. “Well, for everything.”
“Of course …” I nodded, unsure where this was going.
“Watching my wife smile and laugh today has been bittersweet,” he continued. “Sweet, because I used to be a big fan of her passion and her zest for life. And bitter, because I realized I’d forgotten those qualities, too obsessed with other things.” He sighed heavily. “I’m afraid I killed her zest for life.”
I was shocked by this uncharacteristic display of emotion and sincerity, but finally said, “That zest is still there. It needs some coaxing to come back out again.”
“That’s where you come in,” he said firmly.
Confused, I said, “I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”
“I want to ask you for a favor," he said.
I recoiled. “No. Not another favor. No, no, no.”
“You don’t even know what it is yet,” he argued.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m already doing you a favor right now, remember? Not that I had much choice with a gun practically pointed at my head.”
“That’s not true,” he defended. “Well, not entirely.”
“Oh? So you’re telling me it’s a coincidence you fired someone for not doing you a favor while I was in your office?” I asked.
Mr. Dalton sighed. “Fine, you got me. That call was staged to encourage your cooperation.”
I stared at him, torn between admiration for his cunning and anger at being manipulated. “Wait, it wasn’t even real? You didn’t fire anyone?”
He shook his head. “No. I was talking to my assistant.”
I stared at him, not knowing what to say.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he offered. “Name your price.”
I shook my head. “I don't want your money.”
“Do it out of the kindness of your heart,” he pleaded.
I sighed, afraid to ask, but not being able to stop myself. “What kind of favor, exactly?”
He looked almost sheepish. “Well, you obviously have a way with the ladies. I was hoping you could coach me a little. Or a lot.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Pardon me?”
When he had asked me to fake-date Zena, I felt like the professional male escort inThe Wedding Date, but without the escort experience. However, his latest proposal as a coach had me feeling more like Will Smith inHitch.
He launched into an explanation of trying to make things right with Mrs. Dalton and why he thought I’d be an excellent coach, but I cut him off.
“No! You don’t need a coach,” I said firmly. “Do you remember why you fell in love with her?”
He nodded. “Of course. Many reasons.”
“Focus on that!” I said. “Appreciate her, don’t take her for granted, give her attention. She’s dying for it, and it doesn’t take money to accomplish that because you did not have a penny when she fell for you. Make her your top priority. Touch her, give her a thoughtful massage, hug her more, kiss her more. Surprise her with those things you used to do. That’s all! You don’t need a coach for that.”
Mr. Dalton clapped me on the back. “Thanks, coach.”
Zena emerged from the bathroom with her mom and asked, “Everything okay with you two?”
“Yup—just guy stuff,” I said, though Mrs. Dalton looked skeptical.
