Chapter 7 Folks, we have a winner!
Folks, we have a winner!
Sean
“ZACHARY TAY!” JOSIE shouts. At the same time, her hand retracts from my face, and she grabs it with her other hand and holds onto it, like it might scurry off if not properly restrained.
Now it’s my turn to freeze.
Did she just say Zachary Tay? That can’t be right. She knows it’s me. She heard my voice. Does she not know my voice?
Did she think I was Zach? Was she hoping I was Zach?
The contestants are given the green light to take off their blindfolds, and I wait to see if I can read anything in her face, but she won’t look at me. Two red spots bloom high on her cheeks.
She knew who I was. She liked it. But she threw the game anyway. She doesn’t want to win.
I shrug my shirt and jacket back on. Good luck getting my scarf tied properly without a mirror. That’s a statistical impossibility, so I stuff it into my back pocket. I rescue my glasses from my lapel and pop them back on.
Why the hell would she throw the game?
Whatever. Stay blasé, man. If she’s not interested in winning a date with me, that’s her business. I just find it interesting, that’s all.
I take my seat between Jason Connor and Andrew Valentine and wait to find out which of the beaming fanwomen I’ll be beholden to for two hours, tops. Andrew, all toothy smile, reaches over to give me a donkey bite on the thigh, but I block him with a forearm.
“Okay, well, here’s the thing,” Emmy says to the ten finalists, all standing in a line wringing their hands like Miss America hopefuls. (To be fair, we do have one Mr. America hopeful on Ramirez’s roster.) She bites her lip. “None of you got it right.”
The contestants erupt into gasps.
“I guess we’re more reliant on our sense of sight than we realize,” Terica remarks. “We hope you had fun, anyway.”
The women and the dude all look like they had fun anyway, all except Josie. She looks like she’s just been on a tour of the Amityville Horror House.
Meanwhile, Emmy and Terica are giving each other strange looks. Finally, Terica says, “I’m gonna be straight with you all. We didn’t expect it to go this way. We thought you would be able to guess who these fellas were by touch alone, but you didn’t!”
“And we now have to find a fair way to choose the winners,” Emmy confesses.
I watch Josie take a couple of tiny shuffles backward, allowing the two women on either side of her to inadvertently fill the gap.
She’s got those glasses on again, and she’s tugging the short ends of her hair forward, as if to cover her face.
I really don’t get it. I’ve seen her around with Jason and Emmy a lot.
She’s a beautiful woman—tall with an artsy-glamorous sensuality. Choppy haircut. Big, coffee-brown eyes.
That’s what she looks like normally. Right now, she looks like a cartoon character.
Emmy and Terica have called a break and are conferring like a couple of Lost Star engineers when the Groove Drive is down.
I check my watch. I’m ready for this to be over.
I want to look at my George Washington hat again.
Confirm the automatic payment went through and that it wasn’t flagged by Interpol.
There must be something I can do to speed this party along.
“Why don’t you just have us pick numbers?” I suggest.
Their heads pop up. “What was that?”
“We’ll all pick a number. First one to guess it wins.”
The guys all murmur their approval. Apparently, they’re ready for this to be over, too.
“That could work,” Emmy says. She’s always been good at reading a room.
“Why complicate things?” Terica agrees.
When they get the cameras rolling again, I offer to go first. If I can set the tone here, we can wrap this thing up.
“We’ll start with your Number Ones,” Emmy explains. “They’re the ones who ranked you at the top of their list to go on a date with. Number Sixteen, come on up here.”
A redhead in a teal mermaid dress steps forward, hardly able to contain her excitement. I smile politely.
“Pick a number from one to ten,” Emmy says.
She wriggles around nervously, hopefully. “Six!”
I make a sympathetic frowny face. “Sorry. Next!”
Terica checks her papers. “Number Forty-Nine.”
A middle-aged woman in a floral shirt and khaki capris steps forward.
She looks like she might send me home with Ziploc baggies full of pot roast and potatoes.
Normally, I wouldn’t say no to that, but I’m on a strict diet these days.
I’m up against Robert Downey, Jr. for a superhero movie role, and there’s no room for weakness.
“Two?” she guesses.
“Better luck next time.”
“Number Forty-Four, you’re up,” Emmy says.
Josie scooches forward with all the enthusiasm of a dehydrated snail. She’s still gripping the hand I held to my mouth.
See, she liked it. I know she did. So why doesn’t she want to go on a date with me?
I blink a few times at her and lift my chin. “Your number?”
“Six.”
You’ve got to be kidding! What the hell is her deal? But I control my face and remind her, “That one’s already taken.”
Her face twists as if she’s in pain. “Eiggggght?” she squeaks out.
Eight. That’s a great number. A fantastic number. I don’t see how it could possibly not be the number.
A grin spreads across my face. “Folks, we have a winner.”