Before You Get To Baby...

He forgot about the beer. “Uh, sure.” Twenty-four-inch waist? That was pretty good, he thought. His own was ten inches larger. Man, he wouldn’t miss spanning Frannie’s waist with his two hands by much. Should he ever get the urge to try, that was.

“And that would be thirty-seven.”

“Thirty-seven?” Thirty-seven what? Oh, hips. That’s what they’d been talking about. Wow. He could hardly wait to hear the math on that.

“Yeah, so anyway, I divided it out and got sixty-five percent. That’s pretty good, don’t you think? You said you thought it was between sixty and seventy percent and I got dead center. But the thing is…”

Drew pulled out a pen from the checkbook in his pocket and did some quick calculations on a napkin from the napkin holder. Sixty-four-point-eight-six percent rounded off to sixty-five, all right. “Hmm? What thing?”

“Well, do you know anything about the bust?”

Staring at Frannie blankly, Drew asked, “What?”

“Didn’t it say anything in your reading about ideal bust measurements? You know, bust-to-waist or bust-to-hip ratio?”

Man, he was dying here. Sixty-five percent waist-to-hips ratio and she wanted to talk breasts?

“Uh…”

“I’m a thirty-six C. How does that sound?”

It sounded fine to him. Better than fine. How in heck could he not have noticed a C-cup right under his nose all this time? “Thirty-six? C?”

Frannie sat up straight, smoothed her hands down the sides of her chest, an act that pulled her snug knit shirt even more tautly across her breasts. “I was always under the impression that most men were interested in a woman’s chest. I mean they certainly stare at it enough. But all you’ve said so far was this waist-to-hip thing. So I was just wondering.”

Drew swallowed. Hard. When had Frannie started wearing tight tops? A man would have to be dead—or very involved in avoiding lettuce wear—what was wrong with khaki, for God’s sake?—not to notice Frannie’s chest in that shirt. “Uh—” he grabbed the first piece of trivia he could recall and was extremely grateful he could even remember his name, let alone a bit of trivia “—I think I read somewhere that average is good.”

Frannie pouted a bit at that. “Average?” Women spent an awful lot of time and effort to make an impression and appear unique. Bummer.

“Extremes of anything are bad. Somebody eight feet tall, man or woman, is going to have trouble finding a mate just like somebody who’s really, really fat or super anorexic looking. So, if you put bust size into that context I guess that would mean that like, flat as a board or—” Drew made an exaggerated gesture in front of his chest “—you know, humongo, your breasts precede you by three feet, well that wouldn’t be good. But C, well that’s right in there. At least that’s what I would assume.”

“B is average. C is better than average but still not overboard,” Frannie decided.

Drew was more than happy to accept her word for it. In fact, it was so disconcerting to think of little Frannie as even having breasts, he cast around for another topic. “Symmetry. I remember that now. Symmetry’s important. The closer you are to being perfectly symmetrical, the better looking you’re perceived.”

Frannie looked down, a V forming over her brows. “I’m symmetrical. One on each side. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

Drew got up and went to the refrigerator. He was going to need that beer after all. He couldn’t take much more of this. “I’m talking about your face, not your…you know.”

“Oh. Well, same goes. One eyebrow, one eye, half a nose, half a mouth on each side. I pass.”

“It’s the side part in your hair that throws everything off.” He came back to the table, raising a hand to wave off her objections. “Just kidding. Just kidding. Here’s the thing. We all think we’re symmetrical but if you ever took a picture of your face, cut it in half then flip-flopped the half that’s left so both sides were exactly the same and printed it out, supposedly we wouldn’t even recognize ourselves.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Drew shrugged. “Fine. I’ve got a digital camera. Come over tomorrow. I’ll take your picture and we’ll try it.”

Frannie slapped the table top. “Done. I’m absolutely positive I’m symmetrical.”

By the time Frannie and Evie left, Drew and Rick had missed the last of the ball game. It was okay by Drew as they managed to pick up the score on the late-night news—Drew’s team was still in there, and he had more important things to discuss with Rick anyway. He picked up beer bottles and carried them from the living room to the kitchen, tossing them into the recycling basket. Rick followed with the empty popcorn bowls.

“I think she’s really serious about this, Rick.”

“I keep telling you, man, you’ve got to pick your fights especially when it comes to women. So we wear green cummerbunds for a few hours, even pastel green ones. Next time you want a night out with the guys, you’ve got leverage. I wore lettuce for you, babe, that’s what you say and off you go. They can’t say anything because it’s the truth. Weddings are important to women. Don’t ask me why, they just are. To the guy, it’s a means to an end. But women are born planning the big day.” Rick shrugged. “Go figure.”

“Rick, could you stay with the program here? I’m not talking about your wedding. That was just a little detour we took because Evie and Frannie showed up at the door. If you don’t care that you’re going to look like an idiot, then neither do I. I was just taken by surprise is all. I’m talking about your sister. Frannie. Remember her? She’s coming over tomorrow so I can take her picture and put it into the computer to check on her facial symmetry. I mean she’s serious.”

Rick started the hot water after emptying the unpopped kernels into the trash and shaking out the leftover salt from the bowls they’d been forced to use once the girls had shown up. He dropped the bowls into the filling sink and added a healthy squirt of soap. “Will you quit worrying? Nobody’s going to marry Frannie. She’s a midget for one thing and for another, she still wears a retainer on her teeth at night so they don’t go crooked again. Where’s the fun French-kissing a mouth full of plastic?”

“But—”

“Quit your worrying, will you? It’s not going to happen.”

Andrew blew out a breath and went to check the living room for any more litter. He found an almost empty bag of chips and another beer bottle that had rolled under the sofa. Man, he felt like Cassandra. At least he thought it was Cassandra. One of those gods or goddesses who was always predicting gloom and doom and having nobody listen.

Rick had everything washed and upside down on the drainboard by the time Drew got back into the kitchen. He was already swabbing down the countertops although he acted as though there’d been no time lapse in their conversation. “Anyway, if you’re all that worried about Frannie, why don’t you marry her yourself? I’d trust you with her.” Rick shrugged. “I’d feel sorry for you, but I’d trust you. We’ve been brothers in all but fact for years. Might as well make it real. At least with Frannie you’d know what you were getting.”

The beer bottle dropped out of his hand. Drew winced as he heard it break. At least he’d been standing over the recycling bin when he’d dropped it. “What?” he finally gasped. “I didn’t hear what I thought I heard, did I?”

Rick threw the sponge into the sink where it landed with a sodden plop. “You heard me, all right. You’d be perfect for each other. You already know each other’s flaws. I never understood this aversion you have to marriage. What’s the big deal? The drive to create family is a basic instinct, man. Basic. Evie says so. You got something wrong with you is what.”

Drew crushed the chip bag in his hand before dropping it in the trash. He only wished it had been Rick’s head. “You’re the mental one, not me. Anyone with a brain can look around and see that the institution of marriage has severe cracks in its foundation and you’d be a fool to enter the building when it could fall down around your ears at any second. Yet there you go merrily on your way. Well, I’ll be the first one to laugh and say I told you so.”

“Evie and I are going to be very happy together,” Rick got out through gritted teeth. “I happen to believe I’ll be the one saying I told you so. Why the hell are you so cynical anyway?”

“Man, open your eyes and look around, would you? Look at my parents. Twenty-eight years, Dad goes into some kind of midlife crisis, has an affair with this woman at work—not even a particularly good-looking woman, which is what really killed Mom—and poof, the whole marriage blows up. Wife number two didn’t trust him, with reason since he’d cheated on Mom with her, so that relationship fell apart. He’s seriously talking about taking the plunge yet again with some chickee twenty years younger than he is. Think about it. I’ve got those genes in me. I could do that. Is that what you want for Frannie? Where would she be if I started cheating on her a few years down the road?”

Rick snorted. “A whole hell of a lot better off than you. Frannie doesn’t take crap from anybody, man. She’d take you for everything you had. You’d be the one doing the hurt dance, especially after I got done breaking your face.”

“Oh, and that’s supposed to reassure me?” For lack of anything better to do, he pulled the trash bag out of the cabinet, knotted it off and relined the can.

“Look, all I meant was that Frannie can take care of herself. Hell, you and I are the ones who taught her how. And you should have more faith in yourself. What are you, some victim of your genetic code? You can learn from your father’s mistakes, you don’t have to repeat them.”

“You’re right. Nobody in their right mind would cheat on Frannie. I’m still not marrying her. Remember how close I came with Jayne only to find out she was using me to get through Physics down at Purdue? And then there was Nancy. She didn’t want a BA, all she was interested in was an MRS. So long as it was with somebody she thought was going to make enough money to support her in the style she thought she deserved. Permanent relationships are not exactly my forte.”

Rick threw up his hands in exasperation. “All right, all right. I still think it’d be better for Frannie to marry somebody I know and trust since she’s so het up about this. Remember that video we rented from the place that specialized in old movies? Rosemary’s Baby? Scary stuff. What if she ended up with somebody like that? But I can’t hogtie you and force you to the altar. What about this? School will be out for the summer in a few more weeks. Offer her a summer job. She needs one anyway. Let her work in your office. That way you can keep an eye on her.”

The mere idea had Andrew reaching for another beer. It looked like he’d be walking home or camping out on Rick’s sofa. He’d had enough to make getting behind the wheel of a car iffy and it was all Frannie’s fault. “No way. You hire her.”

“I’m not the one all upset and worried over nothing like an old mother hen.”

Now his buddy had gone too far. Andrew gritted his teeth. “I am not acting like a mother hen.” For crying out loud, how had Rick managed to keep his total lack of intelligence so well hidden? All these years Drew had never even suspected how totally lacking in perception his friend was. Sure the guy had had some trouble in advance placement calculus, but a lot of guys had. Drew had never even suspected.

Drew forced his clenched fists to relax. The temptation to use them on Rick was incredibly strong. One of them had to be mature here, however, and by obvious default, the task was falling to him. “Listen, Rick, this idea of yours is a good one. You could get her a job at that snooty highbrow law firm of yours. She’d be safe enough there. Bunch of white-collared highly educated mostly married geeks. Can’t even understand them when they start in on that legalese mumbo jumbo. What could happen?”

Rick sat down at the kitchen table and ran his hand through his hair. “Let’s see. Where do I begin? Winkley, one of the senior partners, just had divorce papers served on him. Fourth wife. Obviously never played baseball as a kid or he’d have realized three strikes is all you need to be out. Anyway, word is she’s claiming physical abuse. Frannie’s tough, but she’s also kind of naive, you know? Winkley’d eat her for breakfast. Then I’d have to punch him out. He’s a partner, so I’d lose my job. And it’s a law firm, so he’d also sue my ass.”

“Four? You’re kidding.”

“Kid you not. And Forter’s into women’s underwear. Caught sight of them in the john last week. All satiny with lace. Frannie doesn’t need anybody whose underwear is prettier than hers.”

“Jeez louise.”

Rick nodded wisely. “Yeah. Sick.”

“She can’t work there. God only knows what else is going on you haven’t uncovered yet.”

“No place for a second-grade school teacher,” Rick agreed. “Want me to microwave another batch of popcorn?” he asked, drumming his hands on the table.

Drew waved the offer away. “Nah, I’m okay.”

Drew leaned against the counter silently for a moment thinking hard, then gave up. It was obvious Rick wasn’t going to take his concerns seriously. It was up to Drew to save Frannie from herself. If Drew hired her for the summer, sure she’d go home covered with dirt at the end of the day, but at least it was real dirt rather than the metaphorical variety. And as far as Drew knew, not a single guy in his group was into women’s underwear.

Chapter Three

“Wow. That’s amazing.”

Actually, it was. “Yeah.”

“Who’d have thought?”

Not him, that was for sure.

“So, does this mean neither one of us are likely to ever get married?”

Drew scratched his head as he studied the digital composites in front of him. “Yours isn’t as bad as mine,” he felt compelled to point out.

Frannie pointed to Drew’s picture. “I never realized quite how crooked your nose was. I mean, I always knew it took a bit of a turn, but…”

“Never mind, Frannie, I get the idea,” Drew said. So his nose took a slight left hook halfway down his face, she didn’t have to rub it in, did she?

“It’s just that you assume your face is the same on both sides, you know? But look. I wouldn’t even recognize myself as me from this.” She pointed to the image where Drew had taken one side of her face and, using its mirror image, made a whole. “Pretty amazing.”

Yes it was. Pretty. And amazing. Drew traced the image with his forefinger. And not all that far off. He’d have recognized her from the shot. He took another look at his own composite and grimaced. Talk about unsymmetrical. Maybe he’d be the one who never got married. Maybe the women who’d pursued him had been more impressed by the uniform he’d worn and hadn’t gotten around to taking a good look at his face. Who understood women, after all? He should feel relieved. Heck, he did feel relieved. Absolutely he did. Then Drew took another look at Frannie with her hair all loose and curling around her face and the dimple she swore she didn’t have peeking out at him.

“Hell,” he said.

“Don’t take it so seriously,” Frannie advised. “I’ll just have to work a little harder at this than I thought, that’s all. Besides, if you’d just let me take an extra minute to comb my hair the way I wanted to I probably wouldn’t look like such a wild woman in the pictures. But no, you’re always in such a rush. Anyway, it’s my problem, not yours.”

Drew turned away to put the digital camera back in its box. He cleared his throat. “So,” he began, “speaking of your, uh, problem, have you taken a job for the summer yet?”

“Not yet,” Frannie responded thoughtfully but with a small smile. “But I’ve got some good prospects.”

Drew turned back. Hope that he wouldn’t have to have her around driving him insane all summer warred with the fear that anything Frannie had come up with was bound to be crazy. Possibly dangerous as well. The woman worked with seven-and-eight-year-olds for a living, for crying out loud. What did she know about protecting herself from the wolves and weasels of the world? “Oh yeah? What kind of prospects?”

“Well, for one, you know that billboard you see off on the right side of the road just before you get downtown?”

Drew thought for a minute. “The one advertising the Venetian Festival? Frannie, that’s an old advertisement. Venetian Nights are over.”

“No,” Frannie said, her exasperation evident. “Why would I be interested in that one?”

With Frannie, who knew? Her brain was, to be kind, different, but Drew was just bright enough to keep that tidbit to himself. Come on, now, who picked their future spouse by shopping billboards?

“I’m talking about the one for the dentist.”

Drew wracked his brain. “The we’re-there-’cuz-we-care-How’s-your-bite one?” he asked carefully. It was a totally dippy ad. He sank down into his computer chair, bracing himself.

“Yeah. What about it?”

Frannie leaned forward eagerly in the chair she’d taken. “So I know we haven’t done the symmetry test or anything, but he was kind of cute, don’t you think?”

Now she thought he went around checking out guys? He didn’t think so. He did remember the hygienist on the far left had been kind of fat, but that was about it. “I really couldn’t say, but I don’t like the way this conversation is headed. You’re after the dentist, right? With nothing more to go on than a four-foot-wide billboard smile. Frannie, he could be married. He could be a pervert. He could be into women’s underwear, for crying out loud, like this guy Rick knows.”

Frannie sat forward in her chair, fascinated. “Rick has a friend who wears ladies’ lingerie? Who? Tell me it’s Bill McCain. I always thought he was kind of strange.”

“Never mind. My lips are sealed.”

Frannie laughed and shrugged. She’d get it out of Rick later. “Anyway, I’ve got an appointment for an interview set up for this week. If he’s wearing a wedding ring or has family pictures on his desk, I’ll know not to waste my time there and politely turn the job down.”

“And if he’s single, you take the job and he turns out to be an idiot, then what?”

She moved her shoulder in a gesture of dismissal. “Nobody said this was going to be easy. I can’t really expect to hit it right on the first try, after all. But if I don’t try at all…And, I’ll have made more money than teaching summer school. I need a break from the kids anyway. This’ll be good for me.”

Aha! Drew jumped on that. “You want to get away from children? I thought the whole point of this operation was to get you with child.”

“It is. I do want babies of my own. But I want them one at a time. Twenty-five at once can get to be a bit much. Especially when it’s raining and they’ve had indoor recess three days in a row.”

Drew shuddered. It didn’t bear thinking about.

“Anyway, I’ve also been going through the phone book looking at dentists’ advertisements. You wouldn’t believe how many ads have pictures. I thought I’d call some of the better-looking ones to see about setting up interviews.”

Drew simply stared. My God, the woman was a menace. Rick was wrong, Frannie was a danger to herself and everyone else, but by the time Rick realized it, it would be too late. Frannie could find herself engaged to a silk-panty-wearing weirdo. Women and their stupid biological clocks. Like the world would really suffer if a few of those alarms were left to ring until the battery wore out.

Well, it looked like it was up to him to take charge here. Which was, no doubt, exactly what Rick had hoped for, darn his hide.

He sighed. “Listen, Frannie, since you’re so determined to go through with this, I’ll tell you what. I’ve got some nice guys working for me. Guys who’ll play straight with you.” God help them. “I always put on some seasonal help. You might want to consider coming with me for the summer instead of the dentist.”

Frannie eyed him uncertainly. Something was wrong. This was too easy. She might have to rethink this whole thing. Did she want a guy who was so easily led? “You really want me to work for you this summer?”

Drew feigned nonchalance. “It could work for both of us. You could meet some of my engineers. They’re good guys.” Not that any of them would look too hot blown up larger than life on a billboard, but Frannie didn’t need to know that. “And you could genuinely be of help. Looks like I’m going to have a lot of wetlands to put in. Couple of sewage-processing plants and a pig farm for sure want their yucky stuff naturally purified. Maybe a couple of septic fields as well.”

Frannie’s nose crinkled. “Pigs? Sewage?”

“Hey, I’m an environmental engineer. This is what I do. The stuff’s got to go somewhere. You flush the john and it doesn’t just magically disappear. Pigs don’t just turn into bacon, you know. There’s a lot of by-product while they’re growing into pork roasts. Didn’t you just do Earth Week with your second-graders? Didn’t I come in and talk to them about the importance of wetlands in recycling wastes? I’m one of the good guys, lady, and I’m giving you a chance to be on my team for the summer.” Digging in muck ought to keep her out of trouble. And eau de swine was particularly hard to get rid of. Wouldn’t be too many guys come sniffing around once Frannie started smelling like a sow, now would there? “Come on. Let’s go into the kitchen, see what we can dig up. I’m hungry.”

Damn shame about her smelling like a pig, though, Drew thought as Frannie breezed by him. She sure smelled good right now. Like chocolate and vanilla with a smidge of some kind of flower mixed in. Lilac or something. Weird combination if you stopped and thought about it. But on Frannie, it worked. Frannie was like that, Drew mused. What would be strange for somebody else was just right for her. Bizarre.

“You got any brownie mix?” she asked. “I could whip some up.”

Drew sighed with anticipated pleasure. “Yeah, I’ve got a box.” Frannie made some darn fine brownies. Drew had never quite been able to pull the skill together. The edges were burnt or the center was gooey. Something always went wrong. “I’ve also got lasagna noodles and ricotta. Maybe you could make a pan of that too?”

She snorted. “Sure, why not? I get to make everything. What’s in it for me, buster?”

“I don’t have your touch,” Drew defended as they entered the kitchen. “And I’m going to make something. I’ll make…”

“What? Exactly what will you make?”

“Salad,” Drew proclaimed triumphantly. “I’ll make some salad.”

She didn’t look all that impressed.

“And garlic bread.” He upped the offer.

“You’re also doing the dishes.”

He sighed, but nodded acquiescence. It was still a good deal and probably the best he’d get. Frannie was nobody’s pushover. No doubt came from being the only girl in a household filled with older brothers.

Thirty minutes later Frannie was layering a main dish of spinach lasagna. A pan of brownies was on top of the refrigerator, cooling, hopefully out of range of a certain twenty-nine-year-old with sticky fingers still unable to delay gratification.

Damn, those brownies smelled good. The smell of hot chocolate literally hung in the air in a rich perfume. Drew inhaled deeply, then moved to get the milk from the refrigerator. He pulled a hotpad from a nearby drawer.

“They’re for dessert,” Frannie said when she saw what he was doing.

“Some now, some later,” Drew said.

“You have to eat the good stuff first,” Frannie insisted.

“I’m not one of your second-graders, Frannie,” Drew shot back. “I think I can take a little personal responsibility for my own well-being.”

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