Page 22 of Pity Pact

“A guy I only knew for a month,” I remind him.

“It was closure, Paige. You needed that after only four weeks. I was either dating or married to Eva for four years. Don’t I deserve the same?”

I don’t respond right away, but after several moments of silence, I agree with him. “You’re right. You deserve closure, and I’ll do anything I can to help you.”

“How about if I take you to dinner instead of lunch? We could meet at the club tonight and check out the sets ahead of time while discussing our plans for tomorrow night’s mixer.”

“I’m in,” I tell him. “But it’s a school night, so it’ll have to be early.”

“How about five?”

“See you there.” As I hang up the phone, I feel a sense of righteous indignation on behalf of my new friend. Tim did not deserve to be treated like Eva treated him, and while I hope he gets his revenge, I also hope it’s not achieved at some other woman’s expense.

There’s one outfit I’m a little uncertain about wearing on national television. Standing in my closet, I pull out the strapless, black leather dress that Missy assured me would have all the men drooling. I bought it more to keep her off my back than with the intention of actually wearing it. That’s why it’s my only new purchase with the price tag still hanging off it.

After sucking in my gut enough to slide into it, I zip it up, and hide the tag in the back of the bodice. Then I pose in front of the mirror like a rock star getting ready to go on stage. While that might seem like a good thing, I have terrible stage fright and do my best to make sure I’m never the center of attention in a large group.

I flashback to my junior year talent show where I solved a particularly complicated calculous problem as my talent. I almost had a panic attack as the whiteboard was wheeled out onto thestage, but I calmed down once my brain started working on the equation. While I expected a thunderous applause once I’d finished, I was surprised to have only a few lone claps—thank you math team!—and several hecklers calling out things like, “What kind of talent is that?” and “Go home and learn to sing, brace girl!”

I take several slow breaths while trying to expunge the memory of my dorky past. Once I feel like myself again—my current self that is— I decide to wear the dress tonight to see what Tim’s reaction is. If he thinks it looks trampy, I’ll take it back to the store. If he thinks it’s a winner, I might get up the nerve to wear it to one of the mixers.

Once I’m dressed, I slide into my furry boots. Then I put my highest heels—black Betty Boop knockoffs—into a bag that I’ll carry with me. I reapply my lipstick—Luscious Mama— and grab my coat before going out into the frigid evening.

While the car warms up, I turn on an oldies station. Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock n’ Roll” blasts out of the speakers. I belt out the song at the top of my lungs, feeling courage fill every corner of my body. If Joan Jett can walk up to a total stranger and go home with him without even knowing his name, I can make small talk with some nice men. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway.

Once I get to the club, I realize I’m way overdressed for a Thursday early bird meal. Tim spots me across the room and wolf whistles so loud that the other people in the lobby turn to look. Their stares make me feel like a sex worker at a PTA meeting.

I chastise Tim as soon as he arrives at my side. “Who whistles like that in a public setting? A country club, no less!”

He looks contrite. “It came out louder than I expected.” Then he eyes me up and down. “You really went all out.” He sounds uncertain at best.

“It’s not for you,” I assure him. “I just wanted to get your opinion on this dress. I was thinking about wearing it to one of the mixers.”

“It will certainly get you a lot of attention, if that’s your goal.” Somehow, he doesn’t sound pleased.

“Isn’t that the point of going on the show?”

“I suppose.” Again, not said with a positive intonation.

“Aren’tyougoing to try to look your best to show Eva what a dummy she is?”

He nods his head.

“Then you should get a dress just like mine.” That causes him to nearly double over with laughter. My body responds by sending prickles of awareness through my nervous system. I sternly, and internally, tell myself:Don’t get ideas, Paige. This guy is still hung up on his ex-wife.He practically just told you that by confessing his reason for doing the show.

“I don’t thinkMidwestern Matchmakeris quite the right venue for me to dress in drag. Maybe if I were onMr. or Mrs.”

“I love that show!” I tell him enthusiastically. As he begins to lead the way toward the ballroom, I add, “Some of those men look better thanIcould ever hope to.”

“You look great, but you’re right, those guys really know what they’re doing.” Tim opens the grand double doors and walks through them. Then he flips some switches as a dozen or so chandeliers flicker on.

“Holy heck, would you look at this place?” The left half of the room has been left alone and looks like it always does, albeit snazzied up a bit. The right half has several small seating areas set up. I recognize from past seasons those will probably be backdrops for smaller groups.

“They did a nice job,” he agrees. Turning to me, he asks, “Do you want to see the conference room where they’ve built a dining room set?”

Disappointment washes over me. “We’re not going to film in the real dining room?”I love the real dining room.

“We still have members coming in to eat. I don’t think they’d appreciate being told they can’t talk because the cameras would pick up the noise.” I never thought of that.

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