Read Online Man Camp by Adrienne Brodeur - Free Book Online

Martha holds her own at the bar in a red silk blouse, black skirt, and sleek black boots.
    He raises an apologetic, just-one-more-minute finger and continues punching buttons.
    Martha orders a Chardonnay, which arrives in a thimble-size glass. She downs it in two swallows.
    At thirty-four, Walter has not quite grown into his body and the words
overgrown puppy
pop into Martha’s head. He has a jowly, droopy face, big ears, and rounded shoulders that hunch over a soft middle. He pads toward Martha, still clutching his BlackBerry like a favorite chew toy, and apologizes, offering his free hand to her, his left, and they endure one of those handholdy greetings usually reserved for the aged. Martha releases first.
    “It was a work thing,” he says, placing the device in his pocket and nodding as if they both understand that he had no choice. “I think I might have mentioned that I’m a producer for the
NBC Nightly News,
” he says anchorman-style, catching his reflection in the mirror behind the bar and smiling. “The news doesn’t stop just because I’m having a drink with a pretty girl.”
    His BlackBerry makes a delayed
ding-dong
powering-off sound and it occurs to Martha that he might have been playing a game.
    “I guess everyone knows how crazy the news business is,” he says.
    Martha has never been in a newsroom and braces herself for a Kurt-style onslaught of war metaphors.
    “Essentially, as the producer, I’m the critical link between world events and you, the TV viewer. I get the news out,” Walter says, glancing down the bar. He smiles at the model beside Martha, assuming she might also be listening and, consequently, be impressed. “The tricky part is to avoid getting sidelined by all the fame and power. I have to remain clearheaded and objective at all times whether I’m talking to the secretary of state or Miss America.” He interlaces his fingers except for his pointers, which he aims at Martha. “You should check out my Web site: www.walterpsherman.com . It’s got some great stuff: Walter’s World, Walter’s News, Walter’s Contact Info.” He glances to see if the model is taking notice. She’s not.
    Mental note: Delusions of grandeur.
    “Will do,” Martha promises, wondering if Walter has
ever
had a second date.
    His beeper sounds and Walter fumbles to remove it from his belt. “Excuse me,” he says, bringing the device up close to his face, where he studies its tiny screen and gravely reports seventeen missing in a plane crash in Montana, all presumed dead. He pauses for a moment, then adjusts the beeper to vibrate mode and snaps it smartly back into place on his belt. “Isn’t this a great spot?” he says, looking around, whistling as he exhales. “You’ve got to love how amazingly beautiful and stylish New York women are. I mean, there are more gorgeous women on one block in Soho than there are in the whole state of Kansas.”
    Mental note: Never assume your date will enjoy admiring women as
much as you do.
    “Are you from Kansas?” Martha asks, but Walter’s distracted by their teen-model waitress, braless in a peasant blouse, who takes them to their table, a linen-covered square crammed along the back wall less than six inches from the next table.
    “My name’s Ashley,” the girl calls out over the rhythmic beat of some too-loud electronica. “What can I get you?” She takes their drink order and bends over to hand them menus, providing an unobstructed view down her blouse. “Let me know if you need anything else!”
    “Will do, Ashley. Thanks,” says Walter. “Martha, would you mind switching seats? I prefer to observe the crowd. It’s how I stay sharp.”
    Martha feels animosity welling up inside and reminds herself to be professional.
This is not a date, it’s a job, and you’ve been
hired to help
. She switches seats and watches Walter check out the happenings at Bellisima. His nose twitches. “What made you decide to try FirstDate?” she asks.
    Walter