Kristin Ashe: Disorderly Attachments Part 15

"Color codes. I borrowed some stickers from the cabinet in back. Hope you don't mind, office supplies for personal use. Red for hot. Yellow for warm. Blue for cold."

I stared at her, astounded. "What did you use for criteria?"

"Ranked the dames in six categories. Gave 'em scores of one to ten in each, high score ten. Perfect score, sixty."

"You gave equal weight to each category?"

"Think I should have calculated weighted averages?" Fran said, her brow furrowed.

"No, no." I hastily glanced at the matrix she'd drawn. "Are these the categories? Handwriting?"

"Yep. Good penmans.h.i.+p's a real turn-on!"

"Communication style?"

"She's gotta get to the point, hold my attention."

"Humor?"

"I ain't expecting a belly laugh in every sentence, but there better be a few giggles."

"a.s.sertiveness?"

"I want a gal who knows what she wants, goes for it."

"Description of self?"

"Has to be reasonably good-looking. If the adjectives make me pant, scores galore."

What's this sixth category, miscellaneous?"

"Gut feel."

"Did you grade on a curve?"

"Hilarious, Kris. Didn't have to. Most in the top echelon. Sad to say, a few didn't crack the teens, and a couple of nutcases scored zero."

"Zero," I commented mildly. "That's cold."

"How about an opening line of, 'I was and am highly desirable to h.o.m.os.e.xual men.'"

I gasped. "Yikes."

"Then there's 'I'm married with children, yet still I seek the feelings of another woman.'"

I scowled. "You're too old for those games."

"Got that right. Get a load of 'People have said I'm devastatingly beautiful. I'd like for you to meet me.' "

My eyes widened. "Scary."

"Didn't appreciate 'I'm the best friend I've ever had.' "

I smiled. "I kind of like that one."

"You wouldn't if you saw her name. Bambi. How could any woman command a gnat's worth of respect with that moniker? And what's she got against using capital letters at the beginning of sentences?"

I studied Fran. "Have you memorized these letters?"

"Practically. It's addicting, all the attention. You'll see after thirty."

I groaned loudly. "You want me to read all of them?"

"I'd welcome the feedback," Fran said, flas.h.i.+ng her most pleading smile before she moved to the couch.

I sighed. "I don't have to use the dots and scoring, do I?"

"Nah. Feel free to make up your own system."

I took a letter out of its envelope, unfolded it, smoothed it down with both hands and prepared to read. Before I could absorb the first paragraph, I had to stop. "I can't do this while you're staring at me."

"Why?" Fran said innocently.

"You're breathing too loud. I can't concentrate."

"Well, excuse me!"

"Couldn't you do something else while I read?"

"Be happy to," she said, reaching for a Curve magazine I'd left on the couch.

"Not here," I said emphatically. "Do me a favor. Go next door and pick out some flowers I can give Destiny. Tell Beth to put them on my tab."

"You in the doghouse?"

"Don't ask," I said, returning to the task at hand. "Make it a big bouquet."

Five minutes later, Fran returned with a bounce in her step and pulled up in front of my desk. After she lowered the floral arrangement, she frowned when she saw the stack of responses, already rubber-banded.

I handed her the one letter I'd separated from the rest. "Here she is."

"You can't be done," Fran said, doubt mixed with reprimand. "Took me two hours."

"I'm finished," I said firmly.

"You read all of the letters?"

"Parts of them."

"How'd you choose this one?" she said, turning the yellow paper, bending it and slapping it against her palm.

"I tried to picture you with each one. This one, from Robyn, stretched my imagination the least."

"Picture? As in bed, in kinky s.e.x positions?" Fran said playfully.

"As in a restaurant, in a conversation."

She aimed a disdainful flick at the paper. "Pages ripped out of a spiral. Smacks of careless, lazy."

"How about spontaneous, unpretentious? A nice contrast to her work as an insurance contracts a.n.a.lyst."

"Boring!" Fran exclaimed. "Worse, only two months have pa.s.sed since her breakup. I don't have time for reminiscences of lost loves."

"How about Peggy, the four-page letter written in green ink?"

Fran shook her head in disgust. "Too much, too soon."

"What about Dolly, the postcard, the one who wants you to call after midnight because she works the swing s.h.i.+ft?"

"Too little, too late."

"Obviously, we have different tastes," I said, exasperated.

"Why couldn't you choose Tess, the one with the partial photo?" she said, referring to the letter that had included a torn photo, taped facedown.

"I didn't like 'Turn this over to see the back of me and call if you'd like to see the front.'"

"I found it intriguing."

"She'd cut someone from the photo!"

"What's the harm? I've got alb.u.ms full of irregular photos myself. Some missing sides, others tops, one a middle. Ruth was everywhere, now nowhere, but it's hard to part with the good snaps."

I threw up my hands. "Out of all the responses, Tess was your favorite?"

"Should have guessed by the three red dots," Fran said curtly.

I replied carefully, "She wrote to you on Snoopy stationery."

"Whimsical touch, eh?"

"I knew a girl in high school who collected Snoopy stuff. She had a weird attachment to that dog. You'd better watch out."

"You and me, we'll have to agree to disagree," Fran said brusquely, gathering her belongings. "I've gotta run."

"Now?"

"I have to follow up. Better do it at home. The atmosphere ain't right here. Thirty'll take time. I plan to call the five high-scorers, drop the rest a line."

"You intend to answer all the letters? What will you say to the ones you turn down?"

"Something like 'I appreciate you taking the time to write, but I haven't selected you. Nothing personal.' That should do it."

"Rejection is always personal."

Fran allowed a half-smile. "Course it is, but no sense stirring up a psycho."

Chapter 15.

I saw little of Fran Green over the following two days and less of Destiny. My lover and I spoke by phone several times a day but rarely crossed paths in person.

On Friday night, however, I paid a surprise visit to the Lesbian Community Center, where Destiny was alone, hard at work, sending e-mails to patrons and asking them to match s.h.i.+rley Ba.s.sett's donation. She had dark circles under her eyes and seemed groggy but maintained she felt fine. We shared Thai food I'd picked up from Tommy's on Colfax Avenue, and at nine o'clock, I kissed her and left.

I waited outside, in front of the building, but no one came to visit, and Destiny never left.

At eleven, the lights went out, and I raced home, narrowly making it up the stairs and into bed before Destiny arrived. I pretended to be asleep. and she pretended to believe me.

Destiny worked through the weekend, and I pa.s.sed the time painting the fence in the backyard, something I'd meant to do all summer. I'd hoped manual labor would take my mind off Carolyn O'Keefe's machinations, but it had the opposite effect. With each stroke, I replayed images of her and Destiny at the Botanic Gardens, unable to dismiss the notion that they shared something special.

I recalled Carolyn pulling Destiny to her side, claiming her. Both of them greeting people with ease and grace. Two of the most powerful women in Denver, together.

I felt like aborting the handyman project after three feet but couldn't stand to leave distressed counterparts next to gleaming sections. Twice, I ran out of paint and had to run to Home Depot, and by the end, the 200-foot job had consumed all of the weekend's daylight hours and rendered me sore and cranky.

Monday morning, at the office, Fran Green forced me to endure an equally unbearable exercise.

"There has to be another way," I whined. "Why do I have to go?"

"Need your insight. Want you to see s.h.i.+rley Ba.s.sett in action, at the podium," she said, referring to the president of the Denver Women's Chamber of Commerce and her role at their upcoming luncheon on Wednesday.

"I'd rather clean the bathroom with my tongue."

"No need for histrionics," she said mildly.

"What if we run into Carolyn O'Keefe?"

"Won't. She's heading a school board committee meeting at the noon hour."

"How do you know?"

"Scoped it out on the Web. Stalker's pipeline of info, that Internet.

"Why do I need training? How hard can it be to sit at a table, make meaningless conversation and listen to dreary speakers?"