Forecast (27 page)

*

Drew watched Rowie bounce off—for that’s how she walked, with a slight bounce that he found incredibly sexy. In fact everything about her was incredibly sexy, even her cute, kinda dorky sayings.
Like a donut
! Part of him just wanted to forget everything that had happened between them and start again. “That was uncomfortable,” he mumbled.

Jack’s eyes still looked glazed. “Yes, lovely …”

“She looked … tired. Don’t you think?” Perhaps she was pining for him, and unable to sleep. Drew allowed himself a little fantasy about forgiving her and then giving her something to tire her out. Twice.

Jack gave his head a shake and pulled himself together. “Well … wow … her mother’s lovely.”

Drew stared at his friend and started to laugh. “You dirty dog, you liked her.”

“What’s not to like? She’s an attractive woman.”

They were both quiet for a moment as they watched the two women collect their tickets and disappear into the carousel. Both men suddenly felt edgy, uneasy … bereft.

“Let’s keep running,” said Drew.

Jack was already legging it.

*

Rowie and Lilia mounted their favorite horses and watched as Drew and Jack ran off.

“That was uncomfortable,” said Rowie.

“About time,” whispered Lilia vaguely.

The organ music blared and the carousel began to move. Lilia gave her horse a pat. He was white, with colorful trimmings and always seemed to be pulling at his bit.

Rowie relaxed back on her horse, a dark brown mare with a more docile nature. “We haven’t done this for ages.”

The carousel picked up speed.

“Shall we lock Gran up in a nursing home?” Rowie giggled.

Lilia hung her head backwards. “I wouldn’t be that cruel … to any nursing home. Hang your head back, Rowie!”

Rowie knew what was coming. It was a silly little tradition they’d had since she was a child. She hung her head back and waited for her mother to speak.

“Life’s like this carousel,” Lilia laughed. “Full of ups and downs while you go around in circles. Fun while it lasts, but the ride will eventually end.”

Rowie smiled. Few things remained constant, but those that did were lovely.

Rowie looked around the Shiva Cafe and regretted coming. Angel always talked her into the craziest things, but a speed dating night had to take the cake.

“Stop looking so miserable,” hissed Angel. “How often does a girl get to date twelve men at once, unless they’re a slutty cheerleader?”

“I’m not into team sports,” said Rowie. “So Shin is okay with you coming here?”

“Absolutely. He said you need to move on from Drew.”

“I have,” Rowie lied. But in her heart she knew she hadn’t … and perhaps couldn’t.

Angel linked her arm through Rowie’s. “C’mon. It’s not like you have to see any of them ever again. Try and have fun.”

Rowie grabbed a drink from a passing waitress. Angel was right. She needed to move on. Or at least try to.

“Holy hell, check out the bum on that guy,” whispered Angel.

Rowie checked it out and decided it was fairly average, but then she was way more selective than her friend. Angel’s tastes were eclectic and spanned the whole spectrum. As far as she was concerned, if a man made her laugh out loud then he was worth a shag. If asked to describe her taste in men, Angel would usually say something like, “A pulse, a sense of humor and over the legal age limit … but I’m open to offers.”

For Angel, finding the right man was the same as finding the right haircut. You experiment, try different colors and styles, until you eventually wake up with something that resembles what you had always hoped for. As with that perfect haircut, you’ll never wake up with the exact same man you went to sleep with. Something similar will usually suffice. Perfection is impossible and the older a woman gets, the less likely it is that she’ll airbrush her men. There will always be flaws. The trick is finding that someone whose flaws are least annoying. Therefore, Angel saw love as a process of elimination. And eliminate she had, right into the arms of Shin Higaki.

Rowie believed finding love took patience. And faith. With her gift, she had no choice but to believe that. Also, she’d prefer to date someone attractive … to her. Not a complete ogre. Not every girl wakes up to George Clooney. The idea was to wake up to someone who didn’t startle you. Who didn’t make you wish for sharper teeth and an edible arm? Love may be blind, Rowie thought, but I’m not.

The cafe was overflowing with women who dressed by the Coco Chanel book of rules. The men were all shuffling about pretending to be cool and uninterested. If they were so uninterested, why bother coming at all? Probably the same reason she came—because they’d run out of other options.

Sven, a tubby, balding blonde in a kaftan and Chinese slippers, called for everyone’s attention and explained the rules. “Each woman is to sit at her own table, which will be her nest for the evening, her own little Goddess cave. All you handsome Gods get to move around from table to table every five minutes. It’s all based on Tantric mating rituals I learned on a commune in Poona … without the fucking. That can happen too, but please wait until later as I don’t feel like hosing down the tables. See this big donger?” he said, referring suggestively to a large oriental bell. “When you hear it, time is up … and I don’t care if the woman you are sitting with is your future fucking wife and she is more interested in your big donger than mine. You hear it; you move it. Got it? If you click with someone, swap numbers, or arrange a date, or promise to meet later. If you hate someone then grin and bear it please. It’s only five minutes. I bet you all sat through
Titanic
and that was three hours of torture. This, in comparison, is only a little prick … or perhaps from the ladies’ perspective anyway. That’s it, so hang on to your panties and let’s get started.”

All the women rushed for a table.

“Come on Goddess, that’s your nest there,” said Angel, pointing to an empty table against the back wall.

“This is so embarrassing,” hissed Rowie, who was starting to lose her nerve.

“Oh bullshit. Just take a deep breath and go with the flow,” laughed Angel as she sauntered off, swaying her hips to a silent but catchy rhythm.

“Go with the flow, go with the flow,” Rowie repeated under her breath, like a mantra.

A waitress distributed glasses of wine, while Sven made a big deal of circling the participants with a leering smile. He made his way to the bell, lifted it and gave it a dramatic shake. A loud clang vibrated throughout the room. All the men scattered like sailors on shore leave. Rowie was startled when a brown haired guy in glasses and a suit threw himself into the seat opposite her.

“How’s it going,” he said in a business-like fashion, thrusting his hand out to shake hers, “Keith Allen, corporate lawyer.”

Rowie, who figured this was how it was done and was desperately trying to
go with the flow,
shook his hand. “Rowie Shakespeare … weatherwoman.”

“Weatherwoman, aye? So do you like your men hot … or cool?”

Oh God!
“Genuinely amusing and not prone to clichés.”

“Yeah? Interesting.” Keith yawned. It was obviously anything but.

“So, corporate law … that’s interesting,” Rowie lied.

Keith grinned, relieved the conversation was back in an area he was comfortable with: himself. He began to talk about his job, then information about his salary, which led to how his bitch of a wife had cleaned him out when they divorced.

He didn’t mention how he’d slept with his wife’s sister, which had ultimately led to the divorce. Rowie just knew that. It was times like this that Rowie’s clairvoyance came in handy. Clarity around men like Keith Allen was a blessing.

Keith stared at her for a moment, his eyes dropping to her chest. “So … what are you up to after this? We could go back to my place.” He sniggered like a schoolboy who had just seen his first copy of
Playboy
.

Rowie glanced down at her watch. Three minutes down, two to go. This had to go on record as the longest five minutes in history. She had read in
New Science Magazine
that time was speeding up. Obviously the writer of that piece had never met Keith Allen.

“You know, for a night
cap
.” He emphasized cap—although Rowie had no idea why—and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Yeah right, sounds about as appealing as a bowl of dog vomit, thought Rowie. “Well that’s really tempting, Keith, but I’m the first person you’ve met tonight and you’ve got eleven to go. I personally think you will hit it off with that girl over there.”

Keith looked at the blonde Rowie was referring to. “The one with the huge hooters?” he asked, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“That’s the one.”

“How can you be so sure?” he gulped.

“Just by the way she’s been staring at you. I don’t want to stand in the way of such attraction.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t!”

Finally Sven’s donger came between them and Keith raced towards the blonde without as much as a backward glance. In his place sat a pleasant looking guy with ginger hair and a splattering of freckles across his cheery face.

“Hi, I’m Dean. It’s always a treat to meet another redhead. It’s natural isn’t it? You can never be sure nowadays.”

Rowie nodded, relieved that he seemed nicer than the previous offering. “I’m Rowie Shakespeare, nice to meet you.”

Dean leant forward and whispered conspiratorially, “This is all a bit weird isn’t it? Who dragged you along?”

“My friend, over there,” she said, pointing to Angel.

“The living Rubens?” he grinned.

“Yep, straight off his canvas and into the lives of unsuspecting American men.

“She should carry a warning on her forehead.”

“In my experience, most men would ignore it anyway,” Rowie laughed. “So at the risk of sounding trite, what do you do, Dean?”

“I’m a photographer.”

“Sounds glamorous.”

“I’m a food photographer, so unless you find photos of fruit platters and chocolate deserts glamorous, you’d probably be disappointed.”

“Well I’m not sure about fruit platters, but I am quite obsessed with chocolate.” Rowie felt relaxed. He seemed nice.

“You’re
the
Rowie Shakespeare? I used to watch you on the news.” He seemed impressed and not the slightest bit put off by it. “I bought some of Edgar Cayce’s books at your shop once. It’s interesting stuff. So what can you tell about me?”

Rowie took a sip of her wine. “I don’t do readings after hours.”

“Why not? Man, I’d love to be able to do it. Come on, give me a prediction. Anything.”

“Sorry, I don’t like reading people when I’m out socially.”

“I can understand that, but this is different. Come on,” he pleaded. “Give me something.”

“I don’t think I should.”

Dean wasn’t quite so laid back anymore. “Come on. I’m cool with whatever you say. One little thing.”

Rowie felt like a woodpecker was hammering her at.

Dean leant back in his chair and opened his arms wide. “Hit me with whatever you’ve got.”

Without thinking, Rowie blurted, “You are a loving, intelligent man, but if you continue using cocaine you will destroy everything.”

They spent their final two minutes in silence.

Things went downhill for Rowie after Dean stormed off. Next came Dennis, a strict Catholic who asked her if she would be willing to convert if they married. She couldn’t resist telling him she was a Pagan and would practice Catholicism only if he allowed her to acknowledge the Pagan holy days as well. Dennis spent his remaining three minutes clutching the crucifix around his neck and lecturing her about heresy.

After that, she met Mark, who was married with two kids but failed to mention it; Daniel, who was gay but hadn’t yet acknowledged it; Paul, who came across as a real charmer but one glance at his aura told her he hit women; Mr. Cohen (yes, that’s how he introduced himself), who was nice enough but had a piece of spinach stuck in his teeth; and Hiro who, although sweet, was only interested in talking about Angel.

Finally Sven’s bell let out its final death peal and the torture was over.

“So how did you do?” Angel was clutching a pile of business cards.

“Oh wow, what can I say?” groaned Rowie. “Tonight really ranks up there with the final flight of the Hindenburg for a great night out. What about you?”

“Eight out of twelve cards, five offers to meet later tonight, and one proposal of marriage if I convert to Catholicism. All crap, don’t have to be psychic to know that.” She tossed all the cards but one into the trash, and waved it in Rowie’s face. “Hiro Maruyama, graphic designer, very cute. You should call him. I don’t think you’ve ever tried sushi before.”

“Well you know what they say, you should try everything once,” said Rowie.

“Yeah, except incest and folk dancing. Let’s take off shall we?” Angel gave Rowie a hug as they left. “Look at it this way, darl. You can cross twelve more men off your list. And I go home knowing the guy waiting there is definitely the one for me.”

Rowie sighed. It was typically sweet of Angel to put a positive spin on a dull night, but it just made her realize how much she missed Drew … And how that fact wasn’t going to change any time soon.

Jack paused outside the shop.
What was he doing?
It was nuts. He met some woman for all of five seconds and was suddenly compelled to chase her up again. Crazy! Or was it? Because she’d certainly made an impression when they met yesterday and invaded every thought since.

He was fairly levelheaded when it came to the fairer sex. He’d been madly in love once and married once, to two different women. The love affair had been brief and incredible, the marriage longer and costly. Since then he’d dated a number of extremely nice women, but none had ever made him feel the way Lilia did in the short time he spent with her.

Best to confront it really.

He checked his reflection in the shop window. He’d gained a few pounds recently. He’d discovered a fabulous little gourmet chocolate shop near his apartment and they sold Mozartkugeln. And his hair needed a trim. Perhaps he’d wait and drop by later.