Elusive Mr. Perfect Read online

  Well, he did say he’s cerebral, and I remember reading somewhere that geniuses rarely care about their looks. Besides, if I learned nothing else from my date with Lloyd, it’s that appearances aren’t everything.

  “You must be Joelle.”

  “Good guess.” She grinned, but he didn’t return her expression.

  “Let’s go.”

  Joelle expected Dexter to give her at least a cursory glance and perhaps compliment her appearance. Instead, the command was barely out of his mouth before he turned and led her to a dependable-looking blue car with four doors, its engine still running. She was puzzled by his nonchalance but excused it as shyness. Bertha had mentioned Dexter’s love of computers. Perhaps he dealt with machines so much, he had trouble communicating well with people. Besides, there would be time to get to know each other over the evening.

  Dexter didn’t bother to open the car door for her but hurried to his side and slid behind the wheel.

  Is Dean the last man on Earth who still opens car doors for women? Shaking her head, Joelle willed thoughts of Dean out of her mind. This was no time to be thinking of anyone else. She had placed the call to Dexter’s house. She owed him a fair chance.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a female voice from the backseat. “Hello, Joelle!”

  Joelle’s head snapped in the direction of Bertha’s now-familiar voice.

  Bertha looked nothing as Joelle had imagined. Based on their earlier telephone conversation, she had visualized Bertha in a no-nonsense business suit, probably black or navy blue. Joelle’s Bertha wore precision-cut salt-and-pepper hair, blow-dried into a short and smooth ducktail. She used just enough neutral-toned makeup to remind her business colleagues that no matter how capable, she was still a woman.

  The real Bertha was no comparison to the off-putting figure of Joelle’s imaginings. In fact, this Bertha seemed to be a real human, if a bit colorful. Her hair had been dyed a brilliant orange, reminding Joelle of an October sunset of such an intense hue that one couldn’t bear to stare at it for long. Bertha’s hair was set in a short, wash-and-dry frizzy permanent. Thin but prominent eyebrows were drawn over hairless flesh in a shade of pencil that had probably been labeled “auburn” on the package, but had the effect of chestnut brown when applied. A generous coat of mint green eye shadow, along with thick false eyelashes, adorned the same hazel eyes that Dexter had apparently inherited from her. Neon pink frosted lipstick added even more color to the rainbow. Bertha’s hefty frame was clad in a short-sleeved denim camp shirt with a playing card, lottery ticket, and dice motif on the front, buttoned by large red rhinestones. Plastic earrings that mimicked bingo cards hung from her ears, nearly touching her shoulders.

  Shocked by such a contrast between the imagined and the real Bertha, Joelle thought only to utter, “Nice shirt.”

  “You like it?” Bertha looked down at it, smiling as she inspected the motif. “I got it on sale at Wal-Mart. Only seven dollars.” She lifted her forefinger in the air as though she had just thought of the most marvelous idea. “You know, I think if I get there by early tomorrow, I might be able to get you one, too. They looked like they had some really tiny sizes like you’d wear. But I can’t promise. The rack was pretty picked over yesterday.”

  “Thanks for such a kind offer, but I’d never want you to go to so much trouble.”

  “I don’t mind—”

  “It’s so sweet of you to offer,” Joelle said, and she meant it.

  “It’s no trouble.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Thanks, anyway.” Joelle turned her attention to the road. Why am I not surprised to see Bertha?

  “Hope you don’t mind that I came along for the ride,” she said, as if she were able to read Joelle’s thoughts.

  “Not at all.” Joelle’s response was more a result of reflexive manners than sincerity. “I had no idea you’re a fan of classical music.”

  “Oh, I usually listen to country, but I’m always up for something wild and adventurous.”

  Joelle couldn’t help but chuckle. She looked over at Dexter and wondered why he hadn’t spoken since he left her front porch. Perhaps saying something cute might bring him out of what seemed to be a sour mood. “So, Dexter,” she ventured, “your ad says you’re cerebral. Why don’t you say something smart?” Tilting her head, she threw him her best teasing grin.

  “Something smart.”

  Bertha laughed and Joelle joined her. “I should have seen that one coming.”

  Dexter’s lips refused to curl upward. “I take it Mother didn’t tell you she was the one who wrote the ad.”

  Joelle froze. This wasn’t good news.

  “If you’re looking to define ‘cerebral’ by me, I’d say it means ‘hasn’t played a sport since high school.’ ” He cut his gaze to her just long enough to measure her reaction. “So if you’re a member of Mensa, then you might not be too happy with me.”

  “What’s Mensa?” Bertha wanted to know.

  “It’s a society for people who do very well on IQ tests,” Dexter explained. “Very, very well.”

  “Oh.” Bertha tittered uneasily.

  “I doubt Mensa would have me,” Joelle assured. Not eager to continue their conversation in its present vein, she was thankful to see the exit for the concert site. That was one of the longest miles Joelle could remember traveling.

  Tension eased as absorption in the tasks of securing a parking place and a spot of grass to place their lawn chairs brought them together in a team effort, at least for a time. Joelle soon found herself sitting between Dexter and Bertha. Bertha continued to chat, even through the music. Dexter seemed to sulk.

  After a couple of numbers, Joelle leaned toward her male companion and said in a low voice, “Was your mother lying when she said you like classical music?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then why do you act like you’re headed for the gas chamber?” she hissed.

  Bertha interrupted before he could answer. “Are you two ready for supper? I sure am.” Not waiting for a response, she placed the basket on her ample thighs and withdrew three lunch bags, passing two to Joelle and Dexter.

  It wasn’t until she had the brown paper bag in hand that Joelle realized her usual dinner hour was long past and she was more than ready to eat. Though unpromising on the outside, the package contained pleasant culinary surprises. Joelle discovered a roast beef sandwich. The oversized sesame seed bun was piled high with rare meat and seasoned with lettuce, tomato, cheddar cheese, and horseradish sauce. As if that weren’t enough, a large navel orange, a container of premium strawberry yogurt, a bag of chips, and a bar of imported chocolate followed.

  “Wow, Bertha. This is more than I eat in two days.”

  “No wonder you’re so tiny.” Bertha waved a dismissive hand. “It won’t hurt you to enjoy a decent meal now and then.” Reaching again into the basket, Bertha handed each of them napkins, stainless steel spoons, and cans of soda.

  “Mother,” Dexter said, “ ‘decent’ is not always the same as ‘large.’ ”

  Joelle raised her eyebrows, surprised that Dexter had made an observation without prodding. All the same, she noticed he seemed to enjoy every last morsel of his supper, which was identical to hers.

  During intermission, Joelle scraped the last of her yogurt out of its plastic container, deciding to save the orange, chips, and chocolate for another time. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a woman approach Dexter’s chair and tap him on the shoulder.

  From the other direction, Joelle heard Bertha say, “What is she doing here?”

  Five

  Dexter’s eyes lit up for the first time that evening. “Anastasia! I thought you had to watch the kids tonight.” He turned to one side and leaned toward the young woman. He rested his chin on his fist, obviously eager to hear her response.

  “Genna didn’t have to work after all. She and Jacob took the kids to a movie.” Anastasia spoke with a thick accent. She squatted beside Dexter’s chair, d
raping her left arm on top of its back.

  Joelle couldn’t help but notice Anastasia’s fingernails were at least two inches in length. Each was lacquered sky blue. A tiny palm tree, leaves painted in green polish and trunk represented by bronze polish, had been meticulously painted on every nail. The effect was extraordinary, bringing to Joelle’s mind tropical beaches. Though her reality was at present a cool night, Joelle could almost feel the sun’s warmth mingling with a summer breeze. She wondered how long such artwork took to create.

  At that moment, Bertha leaned over and said in a voice audible only to Joelle, “She’s from one of those countries that used to be part of the Soviet Union. I don’t know which one. I can’t keep up with everything going on over there. Anyway, she’s what they call an au pair. I think that’s a fancy name for ‘foreign baby-sitter for rich people.’ ”

  “She seems awfully young for so much responsibility,” Joelle whispered. “Barely out of her teens.”

  “I’d guess the same thing. Don’t you think she’s much too young for Dexter?”

  Joelle hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s for me to speculate.”

  “I know you’re just being kind, Dear, but you can feel free to speak your mind with me.”

  As much as Joelle wanted to console Bertha, she had a feeling anything she said would be repeated to Dexter, so she hesitated.

  Bertha didn’t wait for a response. “I must admit, I give you points for discretion. It’s very ladylike of you not to badmouth your competition.” Bertha patted Joelle on the knee. “You’ve been so good for Dexter.”

  Joelle’s eyebrows shot up before she could contain her surprise. Dexter hadn’t paid more than the most obligatory attention to her the whole evening. She couldn’t imagine why Bertha would think she had had any effect on him at all.

  “I hope you can encourage him to stay away from that little girl. If you want to know the truth, I’m afraid her main interest in my son is his American citizenship. What if she manages to get him to marry her so she can say she belongs here, too? And if he is fool enough to make it legal, how much do you want to bet she’ll drop him like a hot potato? Probably before the ink dries on the wedding license. I’d hate to see him taken advantage of like that.” Bertha tilted her head closer. “He needs a woman. Someone like you. I really mean it when I say I hope you’ll see more of each other in the future.”

  Joelle stole a glance at Dexter and Anastasia. She was chattering in broken English about nothing, yet he never took his gaze away from her. Not that Joelle could blame him. With rich chestnut hair and smooth skin, Anastasia was attractive enough to entice any man. She had definitely bewitched Dexter.

  Don’t count on me seeing Dexter again anytime soon.

  Joelle sighed. Even if Dexter had entertained an interest in her, there hadn’t been enough sparks to encourage Joelle to cultivate anything further. Looking over at Bertha as the last musical notes of Debussy’s Le Mer floated through the cool night air, Joelle couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Dexter’s mother was kind and concerned, albeit interfering. Silently she lifted the older woman’s name to the Lord, praying that Bertha could find it in her heart to love the woman He one day planned for Dexter to marry, whether that woman were Anastasia or someone else. She added a request for her date, praying that Anastasia’s interest wasn’t mercenary but sincere.

  The concert ended and Dexter bade farewell to Anastasia without so much as introducing her to Joelle. As they rode home in silence, Joelle wondered if his oversight was a natural extension of his awkward manners, an admission that he had no interest in Joelle, or fear that Anastasia would become jealous. Not that it mattered. After this night, Joelle knew she’d never see any of them again.

  Dexter parked in front of Joelle’s house, got out of the car, and walked her to the door. After his indifference, she was surprised he made the effort. Even as she paused to say good night, Joelle sensed Bertha peering from the car, no doubt reading more into the gesture than Dexter intended.

  “Thanks for the concert and picnic dinner, Dexter,” Joelle managed, though she was eager to escape into the security of her house.

  “Sure. But I can’t take credit for the dinner. Or even the date, for that matter. Mother was the one with the concert tickets. I just went along for the ride.”

  “Then thank your mom again for me.” She extended a smile she knew was bittersweet.

  “Wait.”

  Joelle paused, surprised that Dexter had anything to say to her.

  “About tonight.” He looked down at the porch and shuffled his feet, reminding her of a maladroit adolescent.

  She struggled to rescue him from embarrassment. “No need to explain anything. I enjoyed the concert.”

  “I know, but I’m sorry my mother dragged you into the middle of all this. I mean, you seem like a nice person. She had no right to force this evening on you, especially since she knows about Anastasia.”

  “So you really are more than friends?”

  “I hope so. I just wish Mother liked her. She just doesn’t see Anastasia the way I do,” he muttered without looking up.

  “She’s only trying to do what’s best for you.”

  “In her way, I guess that’s so.” Dexter’s eyes met Joelle’s, narrowed in determination. “But if she doesn’t like my choice of women, that’s her problem, not mine. Or yours.”

  Joelle leaned against the doorknob. “But do you know why she doesn’t like Anastasia?”

  “She thinks she’s too young.” He hesitated as though he were thinking of other possibilities. “That’s all I know.”

  “She’s also worried because Anastasia is a foreigner and she might want to use you to gain U.S. citizenship.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Perhaps it is. If I were you, I’d make sure before I did anything drastic.” She looked him squarely in the face. “Normally I wouldn’t give advice to someone I just met; but like you said, I got dragged into this, and sometimes wise counsel is easier to take from a stranger.”

  “Maybe so.” He took on a thoughtful expression. “I’ll remember what you said. Thanks, Joelle.”

  As she watched Dexter walk back to the car, a thought suddenly occurred to her. Lord, maybe this date was part of Your will after all.

  Dean could hardly concentrate on the lesson Fiona was giving for Singles’ Night. Not that he needed to. He’d already heard about Jesus’ weeping over the death of Lazarus in many previous Bible lessons. The brother of Martha and Mary, Lazarus had obviously been special to Jesus. Dean wondered what Lazarus had done to endear himself to the Lord to cause Him to cry over his death. As far as he could see, the Bible offered no clues. But who can explain friendship? Not just a relationship forged over common interests and goals, but a life-sustaining connection that transcends circumstances. Dean had enjoyed only two such friendships. One was with a high school pal who had joined the military just after graduation. Through E-mail, the occasional phone call, and infrequent visits, Dean managed to keep in touch with him no matter where in the world he was stationed.

  The other friendship was with Joelle. Even now, when he was determined to stay mad at her, he couldn’t. He tried not to stare across the room at her, even though he knew she was sitting so far away only because she had been ten minutes late. If she’d been sitting beside him, avoiding eye contact would have been easy. He couldn’t look her way. Otherwise, she’d know all was forgiven before she could even apologize. And he had made up his mind that she would apologize for going against his advice, even if the wretched date hadn’t interfered with Singles’ Night. Surely she had learned her lesson by now. She would admit it. He wouldn’t forgive her until she did.

  A catch formed in his throat at a disturbing thought. What if she hasn’t learned her lesson? What if the date was so fantastic she’s made a second one? What if Joelle fell for this guy she met through a personal ad? The thought was too chilling to contemplate. He stared at his Bible, determined to put such ideas out
of his mind.

  “Good lesson, huh, Dean?” Nicole asked as everyone’s Bible closed.

  He didn’t want to admit he’d tuned out the lesson long ago. “Um, sure.”

  Nicole’s hand gently touched his shoulder. “This is such a great group of friends here. Aren’t we all lucky to have each other?”

  Dean nodded, wondering why she felt the need to make such an inane comment. He didn’t have time to ponder her motives before Fiona, who was also in charge of the night’s entertainment, announced the game.

  “Is everybody up for Twister?” An enthusiastic smile covered her face.

  A round of applause and a couple of whistles greeted the suggestion.

  “At least this game doesn’t involve sports questions.” Dean hadn’t expect Joelle to sneak up on him. He gasped in surprise. Her hot breath tickled his ear when she whispered. The breezy scent of her breath mints, mingled with her trademark perfume, wafted to his nostrils.

  Dean’s heart betrayed him by lurching. “Lucky for you,” he managed.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Although it does require one to be very agile.” Joelle gave him a good-natured poke in the ribs.

  Dean wasn’t able to respond before he was summoned to help spread out the thin plastic sheet decorated with colored dots. He didn’t relish the idea of contorting himself so he could place his hands and feet on the different dots at the whim of a spinning wheel. But to be a good sport, he had to go along.

  After only a few spins of the wheel, the singles found themselves in a tangled mess. Dean was positioned with his left hand on the same spot as Joelle’s. In turn, she had wiggled into a stance that placed her partially on top of him. He knew it wouldn’t take much for him to lose his equilibrium, but Dean was determined to stay upright—or at least as upright as he could, considering he was balanced on all fours.

  Despite his efforts, the next spin proved fatal. As Dean tried to move his right foot to a blue dot, he dropped to the floor, twisting and landing on his back. His flying limbs nudged Joelle, who fell on top of him.