Free Man Camp by Adrienne Brodeur Page B

into her reading time.
    “Have you even noticed that I used the plural?” Martha asks. “Resolution
s
?”
    It takes Lucy a moment to grasp the implication. “You have a date? Mr. February? Who is it?”
    “Fred,” Martha says coyly, somehow making the single syllable sound exotic.
    Has Martha ever mentioned a Fred before? Lucy doesn’t think so.
    “It’s a blind date,” Martha says.
    “And guess who fixed them up?” Eva asks, appearing out of nowhere, both index fingers pointing toward her own round face.
    “You don’t say.” Lucy orders a glass of red wine and once Eva’s out of earshot says, “Have you lost your mind?”
    “What? Just because Eva’s gay means she doesn’t know any straight, single men?”
    “
We
don’t even know straight, single men and we’re constantly on the lookout,” Lucy reminds her. “Have you forgotten our Christmas party last year? Six couples, eleven single women, and seven gay men?”
    Martha shrugs.
    “What do you know about Eva’s taste in men?”
    “Lucy, she’s the only person who’s come up with anyone, okay? One Thursday night with Eva’s friend isn’t going to kill me.”
    “Thursday? That’s when Cooper arrives. We’re all supposed to have dinner.”
    “Well, you know I’m not going to miss seeing Cooper,” Martha says. “I’ll stop by after my date.”
    In the silence that follows, Lucy removes her barrette, which allows a shiny cascade of hair to fall forward. Martha notices some heads turn their way.
Blondes do have more fun,
she thinks and wonders why her pretty friend doesn’t make the small effort it would take to be totally stunning—a bright lipstick, a fabulous blouse, a real haircut. Always pale, Lucy looks positively washed-out tonight.
    “Is everything okay, Luce?”
    Instead of answering, Lucy says, “Do we even know how Eva knows Fred?”
    “He’s in her pottery class at the Y.”
    “Pottery class?” Lucy says, the way anyone else might say,
Strip club?
    “What’s wrong with that? I kind of like the idea of a man who’s interested in exploring his artistic side. It tells me that he’s sensual.”
    “Plus he makes a mean pinch pot,” adds Eva, brandishing a bottle of Shiraz.
    Lucy says, “Tell us more about your friend Fred.”
    Eva doesn’t know much more: He’s in his early forties, has all his hair, is divorced, and—she thinks—employed.
    Lucy frowns. “That can’t really be all you know.”
    “He shares the wheel nicely?” The bar is getting crowded and Eva doesn’t have time for the third degree. “No good deed goes unpunished,” she mutters, rushing off to serve an impatient customer.
    “For God’s sake, Luce, it’s just a date. What’s with the inquisition?”
    What
is
with the inquisition?
Lucy takes a deep breath. The image of Adam, clueless with jumper cables, flashes into her head. “I guess it just amazes me how low we set the bar for men these days. Look at you: You’re brilliant and gorgeous and talented and funny. And you’re being set up with someone whose only known strong points are that he’s divorced and not bald.”
    “Okay. What’s really going on here?” Martha asks.
    Lucy crosses her arms on the bar and sinks down, head falling forward. “The truth is I’m upset with Adam and I don’t mean to take it out on you or Fred or Eva. Things didn’t go so well at the farmhouse. Actually, it was a full-on disaster. We came back two days early.”
    “Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.” Martha puts an arm across her friend’s shoulder. “Tell me everything.”
    “Give me a few minutes, okay?” Lucy sits up and tries to regain her composure.
    “No problem.” Martha looks around; the bar is almost full now. “How about we skip the wine tonight and go for a little liquid armor?” she suggests. “I’m thinking tequila.”
    Lucy knows she’s in the hands of a skilled emotional paramedic. “Sounds perfect.”
    “Play your cards right and I’ll tell you some doozie FirstDate