Selling Lies (eBook)

Chapter Two

Why Should I Trust You?

Laura waited at the Italian café Aletheia for the man her girlfriend Carter had suggested she meet. Her long blonde hair resembled the color of her golden retriever, who sat obediently beside her. She smiled at every man who walked by, just in case he was her blind date, while her golden retriever gregariously approached each man that walked within the length of his leash. He disregarded any need for selectivity.

Carter described Laura’s arranged date as “six-foot, dark hair, and with a fit but not overly muscular build” and added, “He’s not unpleasant to look at.” To relax Laura’s apprehension, Carter told Laura that she had known him since they had explored the Virginia countryside together as teenagers. “He’s in sales,” was the vague answer Carter gave when Laura asked her what he did for a living.

Laura allotted forty-five minutes for lunch. She could easily and safely walk to her office from the café, which was located on the outdoor mall in Charlottesville, Virginia. His tardiness annoyed her, though. She had noticed that he was already more than five minutes late when she saw a well-dressed and neatly groomed man looking directly at her as he approached. He matched Carter’s description.

Lacking suspicion, her golden retriever greeted him first. The man instantly knelt and greeted the joyful golden with affection, putting Laura quickly at ease. The dog’s acceptance of the stranger allowed Laura to forgive his lateness without the man requesting it.

After a rigorous petting of his new friend, the stranger confirmed he had made the correct rendezvous.

“Are you Laura?”

“Yes, are you Robert?”

“Yes, but please call me Rob. And who is this good-looking golden beside you?”

Insinuating that her dog also served as her bodyguard, albeit a very docile one, Laura replied, “This is Flirt. We are inseparable.”

Laura bent to hug Flirt, and her hair rolled across the dog’s thick, furry back. For a moment, her hair blended with Flirt’s.

Disguising his impatience, because Rob could hide his thoughts much better than Laura, Rob asked, “May I sit down with you?”

“Yes, of course, please do. Rob, sit. I’m sorry. I meant Flirt, sit.”

Laura tossed her head in obvious disgust with herself for her misspoken words. However, Rob laughed unphased at the innocent slip. He watched enviously as Laura adored her dog.

“Rob, how do you know Carter?”

“Didn’t Carter tell you? I’ve known her since we were kids. We used to ride horses together on her father’s farm in Keswick during the summer when she returned from college, or sometimes we’d hike the Appalachian Trail together north of Charlottesville.”

“That’s right. Carter did mention that. I’m not sure how I forgot.”

Rob’s repetition of Carter’s version put Laura further at ease. She would have interpreted any inconsistency as a predictor of his future likelihood of lying to her. She would have ruled Rob out immediately as a love interest had he failed that test.

Laura, now twenty-eight, always had been a dedicated student throughout college and law school, and she maintained that fastidiousness as a lawyer. Stingy with her hours, she always found time, nevertheless, to dwell on the subject of romance.

Like Carter and Rob, Laura also rode horses as a teenager and still does in the area. She wondered why Carter had never mentioned Rob as a teenage fling or crush. Rob was handsome enough, and he seemed relatively safe. Carter never missed a chance to entice a man or break a heart. Given Rob’s ability to make a good first impression, Laura assumed Carter had concealed something about him. Despite Laura’s mistrust of Carter, they remained friends, in part because they never competed against one another, especially for men. Carter had added, “You must meet this guy! I’m not sure why I never mentioned him before. He can be very charming. And besides, he’s never been married, either.”

Laura continued to cross-examine her date, but with more personal interest.

“Have you always lived in the Charlottesville area?”

“Yes, I grew up in Crozet. My father was the cook at the local pizza place, and I worked at the ski resort during the summer doing odd jobs.”

Laura searched for an even more harmless topic.

“Tell me about your mother.”

“She died when I was fifteen.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“It tore my dad up, but we got along. We became great friends.”

Laura struggled to free them from the myopic conversation she had initiated.

“Where did you go to college?”

“I didn’t go to college. Couldn’t afford it. Summer jobs turned into year-round employment after high school. In the winter, I spent most of my days on the slopes. I was a bit of a ski bum.”

Rob actually headed the ski patrol. He was anything but a ski bum.

“And I had a great workplace—the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah Valley. And you couldn’t beat the view from my office.”

Laura recalled her lunch time limit.

“I’m sorry. I’ve had you talking since we sat down. Would you like to order lunch? I know what I’m having.”

Laura reached down and poured water into Flirt’s bowl. Flirt jumped, and Laura tossed him a treat. Her golden caught the hard dog bone in midair and, with a few chomps, swallowed it.

“Good boy, Flirt! Rob, would you like something to drink, too? Maybe a glass of wine?”

Rob preferred beer, but he could adapt instantly.

“Sure, white, if you will join me. Is that alright with you?”

Laura described the qualities in a wine that mimicked those she admired in men.

“Yes, I like the Raven’s Cliff Chardonnay. It’s crisp but not too lush. Bold, but not overbearing. Honest, but mysterious. I like a little buttering up first. Sorry, I meant to say I like a little buttery finish up on my mouth.”

Realizing once again that her tongue had betrayed her inner thoughts, Laura wanted to bury her face in Flirt’s fur. She sped through her conversation this time, hoping to disguise her inadvertent slip. She diverted their attention to what she hoped was the most universally safe topic.

“Let’s order lunch. How about pizza?”

“No thanks. I had enough of that growing up. I’m the only person I know who doesn’t like pizza.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. Everyone likes pizza. Me? I craaaave pizza.”

Standing, Laura extended her hands outward and upward, imitating a local on Mulberry Street in New York City’s famed Little Italy. “Mo . . . zza . . . rel . . . la. It’s a like a baby’s milk to me.”

Using the table as her dough, Laura indulgently tossed invisible toppings evenly on an imaginary pizza.

“Tomato sauce, green peppers, red peppers, mushrooms, onions, olives, and more and more cheese. Pile them on.”

She paused for five seconds to give the pizza time to cook in the brick oven.

“Quick, now eat it hot, just after the oven has burnt the extra cheese on top to a golden brown. Delicious!

“How can you not love pizza?”

“About three dozen ways.”

“Oh, come on, please have a pizza with me.”

“No thanks. You didn’t put any meats on your pizza. What about sausage, pepperoni, hamburger, and Canadian bacon?” Rob effortlessly recited these pizza toppings as if they were brothers and sisters he grew up with in Crozet.

“I try to stay away from those. Too much fat.”

Rob doubted her discipline. “Come on, be honest. As a big pizza lover, you always left them off of your pizza?”

As if confessing a great sin, Laura lowered her head.

“Some of the time. Well, to tell you the truth, I almost never leave them off.”

She couldn’t even deceive a stranger. Laura failed totally as a liar.

“Come on, have a pizza with me, please.”

Now nauseated, Rob did not agree to meet Carter’s friend, only to get sick on pizza. To him, pizza represented the disgusting gruel that one of the many Charles Dickens characters ate when forced to as an abandoned child.

Appearing in a tomato-stained apron, the waiter interrupted their half-deliberation and half-argument.

“Good afternoon. My name is Andre. May I bring you something to drink?”

“Raven’s Cliff Chardonnay,” Laura and Rob answered simultaneously.

Rob wasn’t ready to order, but Laura was. She halted the waiter before he left.

“And we are in a bit of a hurry, and we are ready to order. I will have a peeeeeeezzz . . . pasta.”

“And your sauce, Miss?”

“Marinara, please, and Parmesan cheese on the side.”

“And what will you have, sir?”

“Chicken salad. And no sauce, pleeeeeezzz.”

Rob’s sarcastic but innocent remark was directed only at Laura. Assuming the comment was directed at him, however, Andre resentfully withdrew with a muffled huff to place the order.

Rob amused Laura with his playful tit-for-tat. She sensed Rob’s street smarts, but he was not like someone harsh and jaded who had survived a rough upbringing by their wits—like a forsaken child in a rough neighborhood. His manner was quick and smooth, more...