Fidelity Files (25 page)

I began to pack my Marc Jacobs clutch with all the essentials: breath mints, keys, lip gloss, credit cards, cash, ID... and, finally, my personal cell phone. I stopped and stared down at my Treo, lying lifelessly on the kitchen table. I reached out to grab it and then slowly recoiled, as if the small, metallic device was threatening to scorch my skin upon contact. For some reason this moment, this seemingly insignificant decision, seemed like a major turning point in my life. I took one last glance at the phone and then triumphantly zipped up my bag and slung it over my shoulder.

It was amazing how much lighter I felt. Like I had not just
left behind a six-ounce communication device but a two-hundred -pound burden.

As I rode the elevator down to the ground floor, I started to get butterflies in my stomach. This was by no means my first first date. Technically, I go on "first dates" three or four times a week. True, they weren't exactly honest in their intentions, but I was supposed to be a pro at this... dealing with men. Getting them to like me. Playing their game. Reading their minds. But then again, that had always been Ashlyn's forte... not mine. And as the elevator doors opened menacingly, as if in slow motion, I felt like I was entering very uncharted territory.

I checked my reflection in the mirrored walls of the lobby. Sophie had done an amazing job navigating through the treacherous jungle of my closet. After only a few minutes of sifting through rows and rows of hangers, ruling out selections at record-breaking speed, she finally arrived at a pink lace camisole with a cream cardigan and a pair of skinny jeans.

Sophie had then moved into my bathroom, where she proceeded to make a complete mess of my accessories drawer and had finally topped off the ensemble with a ceramic bangle bracelet and dangling dark pink-and-nickel chandelier earrings.

I exited and immediately spotted Jamie's white Jaguar XK convertible waiting in front of my building with the top up, lights on, and the engine still running. I approached it.

The driver's-side door opened and Jamie stepped out to greet me. He looked amazing. Better than I remembered, actually. He was wearing a pair of light khaki slacks, a fitted black-knit shirt, and a black collarless jacket over it.

He kissed me tenderly on the cheek and I felt a small chill rush up my body. I cleared my throat. "So this is the Jag?"

"This is it. It's supposed to impress you. Is it working?"

I laughed and shook my head. "Not really."

"Damn. I'll have to ask for my money back," he said, walking around to the passenger side and opening the door for me. "The guy who sold it to me said it was supposed to impress all the ladies."

Jamie got in the driver's seat and pressed a button on the console. The top of the car slowly started to come down, and I felt the cool night air hit my face.

"What about now? Impressed?"

I considered. "Getting there."

"I'm five years away from forty. I figured I'd start the midlife crisis thing early with a convertible."

"Wow!" I exclaimed. "Almost forty! You're so..."

He shot me a warning glance.

"...young-looking for your age," I said with a grin.

Jamie nodded his head in gratitude. "I'll keep the windows up so it doesn't mess up your hair."

"That's very considerate of you," I joked. But in all actuality, it was a concern that had crossed my mind when the top started coming down.

"So," Jamie began while buckling his seat belt. "I figured that a girl like you probably goes on a lot of dates."

"Oh, really? And what does that mean? A girl like me?"

He adjusted the radio. "I mean, a girl as pretty as you."

I swallowed hard and looked out the window to hide the warmth I felt come over my face. "Oh. Thank you."

"So I thought tonight I should probably come up with a way to distinguish myself."

I laughed nervously, thinking about how distinguished this night had become already, and we had barely left Brentwood. "And what did you come up with?"

"Golf."

I looked at him incredulously. "Golf?"

He nodded. "Yes. Golf."

"You came up with golf?"

He smiled proudly. "Mmm-hmm. Have you ever played?"

I turned my head again. In fact, I had played golf...several times. And after a handful of lessons to get me up to "par" with the husbands I inspected
on
the golf course, I was actually fairly good at the game.

"Yeah, a few times," I said modestly. "But I didn't bring my clubs."

"That's okay, we can rent some."

"So we're going to play golf?" I asked again, still wondering when the "joke's on you" was coming.

"You like saying the word
golf,
don't you? I mean, we can do something else if you—"

"No, no! That's fine. I like...
golf
."

"Good," he said with a laugh. "Now, what's the quickest way to get back to Wilshire Boulevard from here?"

Without thinking I directed Jamie to make a right at the stop sign, then a left at the next street, a right at the next. Another left, then right, until we finally arrived on Wilshire.

Jamie waited at the stoplight and shot me a strange look.

"What?" I said, feeling self-conscious and instinctively smoothing my hair down.

"I know this isn't my 'hood' and all, but wasn't that, like, the longest possible route to Wilshire?"

I felt my stomach lurch. So much for appearing like a "normal" girl who dates all the time. I hadn't even realized that I had just taken Jamie through my six-turn safety route. Although now that my face was plastered all over the Internet, I had a hard time considering it very safe. I attempted to cover with a weak laugh. "Scenic route."

Jamie looked in the rearview mirror at the rows of apartment buildings and condos that looked pretty much exactly the same. "Well, thank you for that," he offered sincerely, with just the smallest trace of friendly sarcasm.

TEN MINUTES later we arrived at a popular nine-hole course in Rancho Park. I recognized it immediately. It had been the site of the Oliver Hender assignment. A high-up business executive who was in town from New York and wanted to fit in a quick round before his very important meeting with a group of Japanese investors.

His wife had contacted me by phone a few weeks in advance and I agreed to take on the assignment. I paid the course attendant a hefty tip to be paired-up alone with Mr. Hender. Two lonely golfers just trying to take advantage of the beautiful L.A. weather before heading off to their respective meetings. One of these golfers just happened to be a sexy young lawyer named Ashlyn who was apparently just as good on the golf course as she was in the courtroom. Oliver was extremely impressed. And with those flirtatious looks she was tossing him in between practice swings, and that tiny golfing skirt barely covering her perfectly tanned legs, how could he not take her right there? After all, it
was
a fairly slow day on the course.

I stepped out of Jamie's car and breathed in the night air. It was a beautiful evening, just around seventy degrees, barely any wind. The perfect night for a round of golf, although had I expected to be playing tonight, I might have chosen a different outfit. I could only imagine what golfing in my wedge-heeled espadrilles would be like.

Jamie popped open his trunk and began to remove a set of golf clubs.

"Wait a minute." I stopped him. "You mean I have to rent clubs and
you
get to use your own? Now that seems to put you at a very unfair advantage, doesn't it?"

He considered that, and then placed the clubs gently back into the trunk. "You're right. I should rent clubs, too. That way we'll be on an even playing field."

No such thing,
I thought.

We started walking toward the clubhouse, and Jamie glanced down at my feet. "Maybe we should rent you some shoes, too."

AFTER THE fourth hole it was pretty clear who the better golfer was between us.

"So," Jamie began as he placed the pin back into the hole on the green. "I actually chose this specific activity because I was supposed to impress you with my extraordinary golfing skills. But it doesn't seem to be quite working out the way I planned. Does it?"

I shook my head. "Not so much."

"You know," he continued as we walked back toward our awaiting cart. "I don't think you've been properly educated on the
purpose
of a first date."

"Well, then, I guess you better enlighten me."

"I'll do that," he asserted. "See, the purpose of the first date is for the
guy
. . . that would be me..."

"Right..."

"...to
impress
the girl." He emphasized the word
impress
as if I were a foreigner hearing the English word for the first time and he wanted to make sure I could properly pronounce it later. "You know, like show off his colorful feathers, bob his head up and down, play golf really well. It's all part of the ancient dating ritual."

I pretended to be extremely intrigued by his lecture as we approached the golf cart, and I sat down in the passenger seat. "I see."

Jamie got in behind the wheel and quickly marked down our strokes on the scorecard. "And the
girl
. . . that would be you...is supposed to be so taken by these impressive displays that you just can't help but..."

"But what?" I interrupted him with a playful smirk.

He shot me a knowing glance. "But swoon, of course. Fall all over yourself. Fail to find the ability to stand upright without losing your balance from all the swooning."

I laughed. "Wow, you've really thought this through, haven't you?"

Jamie pulled the cart onto the cement path. "There's nothing to think through. This is just how it works. It's the natural order of all things that you, Miss Jennifer H., are severely disturbing with your three pars and a birdie."

"Hey, I let you drive the cart, didn't I?"

He nodded. "That you did."

I grabbed the bar on the outside of the cart as Jamie made a sharp turn. "Sorry," I said. "I guess I just come from a completely different school of thought."

"And what school would that be? Please enlighten
me.
"

Well, technically, it was my own school of thought. Something along the lines of not letting yourself be
swooned
by any guy no matter how good their golf game or how bright their tail feathers. But at that moment, I suddenly couldn't remember where those rules had even come from. And I kind of liked it that way.

"Well, basically it goes something like this: Old-fashioned dating rituals are completely outdated. Girls can be better at anything... even golf."

Jamie nodded. "Well, it looks like I'll just have to rely on my charm, then. Since golf doesn't seem to be working."

I smiled. "I guess so."

He parked the golf cart in front of a small snack stand that stood off to the side of the cart path.

"What are we doing here? The fifth hole is that way," I said, pointing back the way we came. "Maybe I
should
be driving."

"Well, I
did
promise you dinner," he reminded me, motioning to the snack stand.

I laughed. "Are you serious?"

He straightened his face. "Extremely. I take my golf hot-dog breaks very seriously. As you probably know, it's customary to visit the snack stand after nine holes. But since we're on only a nine-hole course, I figure the fourth hole is probably the best place to break."

"Well, in theory, it would be after four-point-
five
holes," I pointed out.

"And here we go again with the human calculator."

I laughed. The truth was, I'd actually never made it to the ninth-hole snack stand. None of my "golfing" partners had lasted that long.

I glanced skeptically at the shack in front of me. "So . . . hot dogs?"

"Do you have anything against hot dogs? Like a personal vendetta or something? Because I bet I could get them to whip you up a grilled cheese instead."

"No. I love hot dogs."

Jamie pantomimed a notch on an invisible scoreboard. "Jamie, one... all other dates, zero."

I giggled, wishing I could ease his mind and tell him that there were no other dates to compare himself to. This was, for all intents and purposes, my first one. Although I was pretty confident that, had there been others, the scoreboard would have looked pretty much the same.

We approached the counter and ordered two hot dogs and two Cokes. Jamie paid for the food and, in return, the cashier handed over our food and drinks.

"How's that for fast service?" Jamie asked with a wink.

I headed over to the toppings bar and started to spread ketchup on my hot dog. Jamie came up beside me and pumped mustard out of the dispenser. "I'm more of a mustard kind of guy."

I made a face. "Just ketchup for me."

Jamie took a bite out of his freshly topped hot dog. "So we could essentially buy one of those twin packs of ketchup and mustard from the supermarket and never fight over who gets what."

"Unlike those Fun Packs of cereal. My half sister and I always used to fight over those."

We sat down on a nearby bench and I placed my white paper plate on my lap.

"I have to have the Apple Jacks," Jamie said, popping the top of his Coke.

"No! I get the Apple Jacks!" I insisted before taking a bite out of my hot dog, and then with a mouthful of beef and bread mumbled, "They're my favorite!"

"Well, then, this is never going to work. We might as well end it right now."

I nodded solemnly as I chewed and swallowed. "You're probably right. It's better off this way. We won't ever have to deal with the problem of who's going to eat the Smacks. They're always the last box to go."

"You're right. Well, thank God we solved that problem. You know how many uneaten boxes of Smacks we just saved ourselves?"

"Hundreds," I replied quickly.

He nodded, and we both stared out across the darkened golf course. The overhead lamps were just bright enough to light the outline of the fairway.

Jamie glanced down at my new, blindingly white golf shoes. "Those shoes look good with your outfit."