Free The Spellman Files by Lisa Lutz Page B

awful lot about him that way.
    I broke up with #6 the next morning. But this time I got to utter the last words: I don’t think we have enough in common.
    Lawyer #3
    Friday night, an hour before my date with the fraud defense attorney, David called me up and told me to be on my best behavior or there would be repercussions. As I raced out of my apartment to meet Hunter on the street (in an attempt to avoid any parent-lawyer introductions), my mother shouted out the window at me, “Just be yourself, honey.” Contradictions like this have made my family life so difficult.
    I knew immediately that this was not going to work out. Hunter is the kind of guy who dates women who wear high heels and a cocktail dress on a first date. I can’t even walk in heels, and I generally believe that someone has to earn the right to see my legs. Besides, I had just broken up with #6 that morning. And while I was not actively grieving over the demise of that relationship, I was still feeling the sting over how it had ended. I had no real romantic interest in Lawyer #3, but I didn’t see any point in wasting an opportunity to study the opposite sex. I decided to come up with a series of questions that would subtly weed out the potential porn addicts in my future and I practiced on Hunter.
Do you like movies?
How important is a film’s plot to you?
Approximately how many videos do you rent a month?
If stranded on a deserted island, would you rather have:
a) The Complete Works of Shakespeare
b) The Led Zeppelin boxed set
c) The entire Debbie Does oeuvre
Who’s your favorite actress?
a)Meryl Streep
b)Nicole Kidman
c)Dame Judi Dench
d)Jenna Jameson
What is your favorite genre of film?
a)Action-adventure
b)Drama
c)Romantic comedy
d)Pornography
    David phoned me the next morning with empty threats. He then called my mother to tattle on me. At breakfast, Mom railed against my lack of breeding and suggested that if I ever wanted to date a man who didn’t serve drinks for a living, I might have to take an etiquette class. My dad asked me what I ordered for dinner.

    Because of my job, not in spite of it, I have always held a solid reverence for individual privacy and tried to respect it whenever I could—or whenever it didn’t interfere with my work. I used to, that is. Before Ex #6. Before my mother invaded our privacy and told me secrets I should have figured out on my own. After him, I began questioning my own instincts, wondering whether fifteen years on the job had taught me nothing about human behavior.
    Three weeks later, Petra called me, insisting on setting me up with her newest client. For the last five years, Petra had been working as a stylist at a trendy salon on Lower Haight. It never occurred to me that going to beauty school could one day pay off with a salary in the six figures, but in Petra’s case it had. Having a way with scissors and a physique that attracted the moneyed metrosexuals of San Francisco, Petra charged over one hundred dollars a head. Her clientele was eighty percent male and no one pretended that the repeat business was purely for the cut. Her leather pants paid for themselves, she used to say. More like the leather pants paid her mortgage.
    Petra was on the prowl to find me a date—specifically, a non-porn-addicted date. That was when Petra met Zack Greenberg, a walk-in who just happened to arrive during an unusual lull in business. He was polite, soft-spoken, and conditioned his hair regularly.
    Petra, without realizing what I would do with the information, provided me with Zack’s home address and birth date. From that, I acquired a Social Security number and was able to run a credit check, criminal history (only in the state of California), and property search. On paper Zack Greenberg was clean and impressive. I pulled his birth record and ran further checks on his parents, two brothers, and one sister. Aside from his youngest brother’s Chapter 11 filing in 1996, the entire family was like a fifties