Boyfriend by the Book: A feel good romantic comedy Read online

  I cringed. "What?" I said.

  “And we think you might have a little problem in that area. That’s all.”

  That’s all? I couldn’t believe it. They were basically saying I was incapable of finding a romantic relationship on my own. That I didn’t understand it or something. That was just insulting.

  Holding out the book towards her, I said, “Thanks but no thanks. I’m afraid I just couldn’t take this seriously.” And neither should any of you, I wanted to add, but didn’t somehow.

  All three of my friends frowned, almost in unison. “At least look at it,” Stephanie said, shoving it back in my direction. “It can’t hurt. You might even learn something from it.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I read all these books it’s talking about, and I’m nothing like their heroines. No one is. That’s why it’s called fiction.”

  “Don't say 'no' until you've at least read it,” Kristen said, abandoning her interest in the crackers and cheese. “Really, Jodi, maybe that's part of the reason you're still alone. You don’t see yourself as heroine material, so why look for a hero? You really need a confidence boost.”

  I shook my head. “We talked about this. I’m too busy for a relationship right now, remember? When I’m ready, I’ll look for one. A real one, not a — a made-up version of love.”

  “We’re worried about you," said Monique. "You’re letting your work run your life. It doesn’t take a psychologist to notice that you always choose work over everything else. Including the chance to have a relationship.”

  “So I should act like some character in a book to find true love?” I quirked an eyebrow in disdain for this notion. "Pretend to be somebody else to find Mr. Right?"

  “It’s not an act," Monique assured me. "The book helps you find out which qualities you have in common with famous book heroines. Lizzie Bennet, Scarlett O’ Hara, that chick from Wuthering Heights—”

  “Um, didn’t that character die in tragic circumstances?” I asked, snippets from college literature class coming back to me.

  “That’s not the point,” Stephanie said. “You’re supposed to focus on what makes these women heroines. Then you find some of those qualities in your own personality and nurture them. Help them shine in your relationships with other people.”

  Kristen chimed in again. “It’s not just about romance or finding a man. It’s about finding yourself. Learning to channel the qualities that make you the heroine of your own life.”

  “That’s a quote from the back of the book,” I told them, holding it up as proof. They were undeterred, though.

  “It has really good reviews,” Kristen said, as if making a pitch to a customer at the bookstore. “Thousands of people have bought this book, Jodi. It’s changing their lives.”

  “Into what? A Jane Austen novel?” I asked, reaching for the first classic author that came to mind.

  Regency manners and long flowing gowns; a couple having tea in a drawing room…the kind of thing someone would pay to experience at a fantasy hotel, probably. A snort escaped at the thought of somehow channeling that old-world charm for any part of my real life — me sweeping around the hotel in a ball gown, pointing out the elevator with a coquettish gesture from my fan. Or walking through the mall in a hoop skirt.

  “Come on, girls,” I scoffed. “This doctor is just trying to make money off people’s insecurities. Can’t you practically hear the thirty-day money-back guarantee?”

  But they couldn’t. They kept pushing me to read the book—and worse, to actually apply its advice to my life! A book on finding love through fiction stories. Fiction. I couldn’t decide if I should laugh it off or feel insulted that they wanted me to do it. Did they really believe this was a good way to find a relationship? Or that I needed one so badly I should resort to using some weird psychological trick to find it?

  Did they really think so little of my life that they wanted me to seem desperate?

  “Just give it a fair chance,” Monique insisted. “You might find it empowering. Maybe even pick up a couple of tips for meeting someone new.”

  “I meet new people every day,” I protested. “All day long. It’s part of my job.” “Yeah,” said Stephanie, scoffing. “You meet little old ladies who need their tea bags specially imported from England. Businessmen with grandkids older than you and couples splurging on their honeymoons. That’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about a connection with someone that’s not about your job for a change.”

  “That’s all we want for you, Jodi,” Monique said. “Someone to broaden your horizons. And give you something besides us—and your cat—to look forward to when you’re not at work.”

  As if on cue, my brown and white tabby, Basil, strolled through the room. I reached down and scratched his ears, stalling for time as I thought of a way to defend myself. “I meet other people,” I said. “People connected to the hotel who aren’t customers.”

  I was thinking of Levi and our friendly exchanges at the desk each week. A cute deliveryman with a winning sense of humor might not qualify as a perfect catch, but something about him was certainly attractive. He seemed like the kind of guy I would say 'yes' to, if he asked me out ... not that it had happened yet, even though I felt he was possibly interested. But using that as an excuse to keep my friends from pushing me into this psychobabble situation wasn’t something I could see myself doing.

  “Say you’ll read the book at least,” Kristen urged. “Don’t knock it ’til you try it, right?”

  I knew arguing was futile at this point. Three against one left me in no position to get the better of them.

  "All right. I'll read it. But it's going straight to the library donation pile afterwards," I said. I waited until my friends had gone home for the evening before I shoved their gift under a pile of magazines on the coffee table.

  “I don’t need a book to help me find a relationship,” I told Basil, who immediately hopped onto the coffee table for attention. Stroking his head, I smiled at the silly idea. My friends meant well, but they couldn’t actually believe this cheesy gimmick would lead to a lifetime of love for anyone. Could they?

  They’ll come around eventually. Until then, I planned to let the romance in my life—if there was any, that is—happen naturally, without any help from relationship gurus or romantic novels of the past.

  If only I had stuck to that plan.

  ~3~

  For the next few days, the book remained on my coffee table, untouched. I knew I should read at least a few chapters, just to be fair, but it was hard to make myself do it. I didn’t have time for that kind of nonsense, anyway. I was sure it must be a crock, whatever the reviews might say about it.

  “When the deliveryman comes, show him back to my office, Ms. Nichols. I need to discuss a shipping issue with him.”

  Ms. Brampton’s smile seemed tight for this request. It made me wonder if Levi was in trouble for something, although I couldn’t image anyone complaining about his job. He was always efficient and friendly, and none of the customers would have said anything negative about him, I felt certain. But I worried nonetheless.

  By the time Levi arrived, I was almost due to go on break. I helped him process the packages—only three this time—and told him about Ms. Brampton’s request. He looked surprised but followed me down the hall to her office. The door was open and she motioned for him to come inside, a shoe-box sized parcel wrapped on her desk. I was tempted to linger and see if I could find out what was going on, but just then my cell phone vibrated.

  I quickly ducked inside the break room next door—or, as it’s known at the Regent, the ‘employee’s lounge’. It was more like a library, with soft, plushy couches, wing-backed chairs, and shelves of leather-bound books on display.

  “Wow, you actually had time to answer your phone.” Monique’s voice was sarcastic when I flipped open my cell. “I usually have to leave a message anytime I call you. What happened—did you get fired or something?”


  “Very funny,” I said, glancing at the wall between the break room and manager’s office. Was everything going okay in there? I couldn’t hear anything, but Ms. Brampton seldom raised her voice. She relied on a cold stare and even colder voice to drive her point home.

  Crunching sounds over the phone told me Monique was eating her lunch. Probably in the sandwich shop at the airport terminal, where her employee’s discount got a frequent workout. “So, have you started reading the book yet?” she asked.

  Inwardly, I groaned. “Oh, um…no?” I ventured aloud.

  “Jodi, promise me you’ll read it. You have to do something. You’re going to wind up like your boss.”

  I jumped at the choice of words, since I had just been thinking of Ms. Brampton’s attitude mere seconds ago. “What does that mean?” I asked her.

  “She’s kind of a Scrooge, isn’t she? I mean, she pretty much lives at that hotel. I heard she got divorced because her work was taking up too much of her time.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” I said. There were rumors about Ms. Brampton’s former marriage, of course, but I tried not to pay much attention to them. And she wasn’t the heartless taskmaster Monique was making her sound like. She cared about her customers and was more than generous when it came to her staff. She didn't seem like she was pining away for lack of romance, anyway.

  “I’m telling you Jodi, thirty years from now you’ll be the manager of that place. You’ll be working every weekend and holiday, and booking dull senior cruises for your vacations while your friends are visiting their grandkids. It’s pretty much guaranteed.”

  “Unless I read your magical relationship guide, right?”

  “No one’s saying it’s magical. It could be like a stepping stone. You could certainly use one, given your track record with men.”

  “I think I’ll risk it,” I said, dryly.

  “Okay, fine. But don’t blame me when you’re old and still single, and the only guys you can find to date are gray haired or wearing a toupee.”

  That did it. This was not the place or time to talk about my love life—if such a place and time even existed where my friends were concerned. They had crossed the line this time, from nagging comments to nosy meddling, and pushing this book was the last straw. I didn’t appreciate being told how to act around men—something they might as well discover right now.

  “Listen, Monique,” I told her, my voice rising with irritation, “I know you’re trying to help, but it’s not anyone’s business who I’m dating or when. I don't need a book to teach me how to find the perfect relationship. I’m perfectly happy managing my love life the way it is, thank you very much. Now, I have to get back to work.” I hung up before she could challenge this—or point out that I didn’t even have a love life at this moment.

  Stepping into the hall, I took a calming breath. And came face to face with Levi, his arms cradling the package from Ms. Brampton’s desk.

  “Hey,” I said, my features relaxing at the sight of him. “How did it go?”

  He stared at me, his expression an odd one. He looked disappointed. Had Ms. Brampton chewed him out after all? I felt a twinge of sympathy.

  “Was there a problem?” I asked. I couldn't think of how to ask if everything was all right. “Did you find the answer?”

  “Yeah,” he said, after a moment. “I think I did.”

  His tone was distracted. He looked at the package in his arms. “I better get going,” he said.

  Without another word, he turned and walked away from me towards the lobby, leaving me wondering what all of this was about. And since it was none of my business, I couldn't ask.

  Ms. Brampton emerged from her office, noticing me standing there. I put on my business smile again. "Issue with the deliveries?" I asked, trying not to sound too interested in the subject.

  "Not at all," she said. "Merely taking care of Mr. Kauffman's request for additional insurance for a sensitive parcel. Now, if you have time, I'd like to discuss the welcoming procedure for the Pewter party's reception in two weeks."

  "Of course," I said. I pushed the matter of Levi and his distraction aside as I followed Ms. Brampton to the front desk.

  _________________________

  I wasn’t imagining it that Levi was upset by something that happened at work. The next few days, he was still helpful and polite — but he was also more quiet and business-like. Even his smile was different: hesitant and brief, and it never seemed to reach his eyes anymore. Something had changed, and I had no idea why.

  Perhaps management thought he was wasting too much time chatting with employees. Even Ms. Brampton might have felt it was unprofessional, the way he joked and laughed with us sometimes. But if she had a problem with my friendliness towards outside employees, she never said anything. Truthfully, she seemed nothing but happy with my work at the moment, complimenting the way I handled a difficult task for a customer who was also a friend of hers.

  So maybe it wasn’t a problem with the hotel that Levi had. Maybe it was personal.

  I puzzled over what it could be, a cup of coffee in my hands as I sat on my sofa at home. Basil jumped on the coffee table in front of me, his nose sniffing the air to see if my coffee was something he wanted.

  “I really can’t read men, can I?” I asked him. He gave me an indifferent look and hopped away again as if to prove my point. His abrupt exit dislodged a stack of books, sending them flying to the carpet below. If I could, I would have been able to figure out what happened with Levi, probably. If it was me saying the wrong thing, or something else....

  I set down my coffee cup and bent to collect the books. One of them was the book my friends had given me. Reading Relationships, the one promising success in life and love. I didn’t feel like smiling as I looked at it this time. I felt vaguely ill.

  Maybe I did lack some instincts when it came to romance. Once or twice before, I had thought Levi might be interested in something more than our friendly conversations — me, for instance. Now, he wasn’t even interested in more than a few polite remarks between us. I had completely misunderstood his intentions, it seemed. How did I get so far off base?

  I looked at the cover of Reading Relationships. It was illustrated with a cartoon silhouette of a woman reading a book. A 'thought bubble' over her head showed the different ‘heroines’ she could become—including a regency figure in a bonnet and empire-waist gown, a World War II nurse in uniform, and a Juliet-like figure on a balcony.

  It was ridiculous, of course. No one could possibly find happiness by thinking like a fictional character. I knew it was hopeless before I even turned a page. But I might as well look at it before I stuck it in the donation box in my closet. After all, I had promised my friends I would. At the very least, it couldn’t hurt anything, right?

  Wrong, Jodi. Way wrong.

  ~4~

  Your Inner Jane Eyre is:

  a) calm but outspoken

  b) practical and efficient

  c) strong-willed but polite

  d) ladylike, with an air of mystery

  It was hard not to slam the book shut, but somehow I kept reading it. I did snort aloud a few times—especially for the visualization exercises the author claimed would help me ‘channel the wisdom of Jane Eyre’, the heroine I had chosen for this completely ridiculous experiment. I was even supposed to rewrite a scene from the book with myself in the narrator’s shoes! I struggled over that one for awhile, finding myself tempted to help Mrs. Fairfax arrange the Rochester house party, before finally giving up in favor of watching the 2011 film version.

  It didn’t help, but it was a better use of my Saturday morning than pretending to take any of this seriously.

  But if I had to pick — and I didn't, of course — Jane Eyre was a good role model, I told myself. Independent and hardworking; helpful and full of compassion from her life experiences. She would have made a good concierge, perhaps. None of which, however, gave me any idea how to find a lasting relationship.

 
After lunch I drove to the Madison, an upscale mall where Stephanie worked giving out perfume samples to interested customers. I found her trolling the third floor, where designer clothing boutiques were nestled between home décor and the jewelry department. She gave me a little wave, her other hand balancing the tray that held a selection of exotic-sounding perfumes. She didn’t waste any time asking if I had started the book yet.

  “I tried reading it,” I told her. “Really, I did. But it doesn’t make any sense, Steph. It doesn’t have anything to do with real life.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” she answered. “Besides, it’s not like you’ve been doing so great on your own. Your romantic instincts are kind of nonexistent,” she added. Gently, as if to soften the blow of her words.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled.

  “I’m sorry, Jodi. But don’t you want things to be different? To find someone you really like spending time with? Someone to buy you perfume, maybe?” she added, holding up one of the bottles on the tray.

  “I don’t need a boyfriend to own perfume, Steph,” I told her. "You gave me three bottles for Christmas."

  “Of course you don’t,” she said. “But it’s just more special if someone else buys it for you. Someone who cares about you more than anyone else.”

  Someone who will choose an icky scent and I will be forced to wear it, I wanted to add, but didn't. Was someone like Stephanie was describing out there waiting for me? I felt a tug of longing at the thought, the notion of unwanted perfume banished oh so slightly for the vision of someone who would know my tastes, maybe. Who would know what flowers I liked, what dishes I liked to cook ... that romances aren't my go-to movies ....

  Stephanie sensed my weakness, apparently. “You just need some practice,” she coaxed. “Someplace for meeting potential dates. You need to get out there and give it a try, Jodi.”