Free Hostile Makeover by Wendy Wax Page B

me to contact my list. How can I propose a plan of attack without sampling the product?”
    “But food for the whole office?” He looked aghast, evidently trying to remember what other businesses were on that list. “You didn’t order a funeral today, did you?”
    “Don’t be silly. It’s just one lunch. And we need to know what we’re selling.” She thought about the funeral homes and bit back a smile. “Within reason.”
    “Yes, let’s begin applying some reason, shall we?” He handed her the tab. “And let’s make sure
this
”—he motioned around the room and sniffed at the accompanying smells—“comes out of your budget. I’ll expect you to fill in the appropriate paperwork.”
    This was when Luke Skyler, the creative director, said, “Falafels—they’re not just for the Middle East anymore.”
    “How about ‘Chickpeas . . . who knew!’ ”
    “We should be targeting the vegetarian market.”
    The comments and ideas began coming fast and furious. Shelley plucked the receipt out of Ross’s fingers and handed him his falafel plate in exchange. “Not a problem,” she said with a saccharine sweet smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a brainstorming session to conduct.”
     
    By the end of the day, Shelley’s stomach was full of falafels, she’d reached seventy-five percent of her client list, and her head was spinning with ideas. Her little run-in with Ross notwithstanding, she felt energized enough to run a marathon, or swim the English Channel.
    Unfortunately, she was scheduled to meet Tommy Horowitz for drinks, presumably as a precursor to attending a dinner for an important client. Not even her enhanced energy level and unaccustomed sense of well-being could whip up any enthusiasm for that.
    Two days ago she might have dwelled on this negative, but today her brain was quick to identify a specific course of action. Picking up the phone, she dialed Nina’s cell phone and caught her on her way home from work.
    It only took a minute to lay out her plan.
     
    Nina was already seated at a prime table in the front window of Epiphany when Shelley arrived. Her blond hair shimmered in the sunlight that filtered through the plate glass. Nina
was
Grace Kelly and Katharine Hepburn and Debbie and Doris, without even trying. Her white-Anglo-Saxon-Protestant nose was buried in a shiny new copy of
The Jewish Book of Why
.
    “Did you know that some Jewish men avoid marrying a woman whose first name is identical to that of their mother?” Nina’s tone was full of wonder.
    “No, I didn’t.” But then, that wasn’t surprising. Since being confirmed at the age of sixteen, Shelley only set foot in temple for the High Holidays and family bar mitzvahs and weddings. For the Schwartzes, Friday night dinners were as much about getting together with family as they were an observation of the Sabbath.
    “I hate to spoil this for you, Nina, but there’s really no reason to convert. You’re already everything every Jewish man secretly covets: the exact opposite of his mother.” Shelley took a sip of her martini. “And lots of Jewish men already marry non-Jewish women. Just ask my mother; I’m pretty sure she’s keeping statistics on the ones who got away.”
    Nina looked up from the book, which she was holding almost reverently. “I don’t know, Shel. It looks so interesting, and so . . . welcoming. I’m really getting excited about the idea.”
    “Nina, you’ve watched too many episodes of
Sex and the City.
Most of the Jewish men I know are not like the one Charlotte married.”
    “And I think you’re the one who’s not seeing things the way they really are. I’ve envied how close-knit your family is, and how everyone looks out for each other, since we were children.”
    Shelley finished her martini and ordered another. “That’s not close-knit, that’s a stranglehold.”
    Nina shrugged and smiled prettily, and then turned her attention to the man approaching their table. He had a thatch