Bet Me by Jennifer Crusie
“Uh, no,” Cal said. “I’m the old man. It’s my company.”
Min stopped patting and glared at George. “I wonder what the statistics are on the number of daughters who return home to visit after their guests are harassed by their fathers.”
“You inherited it?” George said.
“I started it,” Cal said.
“I’m guessing they’re pretty low,” Min said.
“But your old man bankrolled you,” George said.
“No, he didn’t,” Cal said. “He wanted me to go into his business, so I went outside the family for capital.”
“For crying out loud, Dad, that’s enough,” Min said, taking her hand away from Cal’s back. “Let’s talk about something else. I got a cat.”
“So it’s a start-up,” George said. “Thirty-three percent of start-ups fail in the first four years.”
“It’s sort of a mutant cat,” Min said.
“It was a start-up ten years ago,” Cal said to George. “It’s up.”
“It annoys all my friends,” Min said. “I’m thinking of calling it George.”
“Minerva,” Nanette said. “Not your loud voice.”
“Bread?” Min said, shoving the basket under Cal’s nose.
“Yes, thank you.” Cal took a roll and handed her the basket back. She took one, too, and her mother spoke again.
“Min.”
“Right,” Min said and put the roll back.
“So you own your own business,” George said, skepticism heavy in his voice.
“Yes.” Cal frowned down at Min. “Why can’t you have a roll?”
“I told you, I have this dress I have to fit into,” Min said. “It’s all right. I can eat bread again in July.”
“Min is Diana’s maid of honor next weekend,” Nanette said. “We don’t want her to get too big for the dress.”
“I’m already too big for the dress,” Min said.
“You should come,” Diana said to Cal, leaning across the table. She hadn’t touched the bread, the butter, or her beef, Cal noticed. Her water glass was getting quite a workout, though. “To the wedding. And the rehearsal dinner. Min needs a date.”
Before Cal could answer, George said, “Who are some of your clients?,” and Nanette said, “How long have you and Min been dating?,” and Min tugged on his sleeve. When he looked down at her, she said, “Do you have family?”
“Yes,” Cal said, trying to sound noncommittal about it.
“Are they this awful?” Min said.
“Minerva,” Nanette said, warning in her voice.
“Well, they do let me eat bread,” Cal said, keeping an eye on Nanette. “Other than that, pretty much.”
“I beg your pardon?” George said.
“Look, I don’t mind you grilling me about what I do for a living,” Cal said. “Your daughter’s brought me home and that has some significance. And I don’t mind your wife asking about my personal life for the same reason. But Min is an amazing woman, and so far during this meal, you’ve either ignored her or hassled her about some dumb dress. For the record, she is not too big for the dress. The dress is too small for her. She’s perfect.” Cal buttered a roll and passed it over to Min. “Eat.”
Min blinked at him and took the roll.
Cal looked past her to her mother. “I’ve never been married. I’ve never been engaged. My last relationship ended about two months ago. I met your daughter three weeks ago.” He turned back to Min’s father. “The business is in the black and has been for some time. I can give you references if you’d like to check. Should things between Min and me ever grow serious, I can support her.”
“Hey, I can support me,” Min said, still holding her roll.
“I know,” Cal said. “Your dad wants to know that I can. Eat.” Min bit into the roll, and he looked around the table. “Anything else anybody wants to know?”
Diana held up her hand.
“Yes?” Cal said.
“Are you Min’s date for the wedding?”
Min tried to swallow the bite she’d just taken.
“She hasn’t asked me.” Cal looked down at Min. “Want to go to your sister’s wedding with me?”
Min choked on her roll and he pounded her on the back.
“Of course she wants to go with you,” Nanette said, smiling for the first time. “We’d be delighted to have you. The rehearsal dinner, too.”
“Good,” Cal said, feeling progress had been made as Min gasped for air.
“This wine is excellent,” George said to him.
“Thank—uh, thanks to Greg,” Cal said. “Knows his wine.”
“Uh huh,” George said, looking at Greg, who smiled back at him feebly.
“You have a cat?” Nanette said to Min, and the evening rolled on while she harangued Min about cat diseases, and George asked questions about the seminar business, and Greg glowered, and Diana smiled, and Cal’s head pounded. He’d had worse evenings, but not many.
Then Min smiled up at him and said, “I’m sorry” so softly he almost missed it. He said, “For what? I’m having a great time,” and felt better about everything.
After dessert, which only the men ate, Min dragged Diana into the hall. “Are you out of your mind?” she whispered. “Why in the name of God did you ask that man to the wedding?”
“Why not?” Diana said. “You needed a date. He’s darling. I don’t see a problem.”
“That’s because you don’t know our history,” Min said.
“Well, at least you have a date now,” Diana said. “I think it was a pretty good idea.”
Min stabbed her finger at her. “Don’t do anything like that again. Ever. Ever.”
“Okay,” Diana said. “But you’ve still got a really hot date.”
Her really hot date came out in the hall, said a pleasant good-bye to her parents, walked her down the front steps, handed her into his car, got in the driver’s side, reached over and pulled the combs out of her hair.
“These are ugly, Minnie,” he said, and threw them out his car window into the street.
“I know,” she said, trying not to feel rescued. “Thank you.”
The next day, Min dressed very carefully for her dinner with the Morriseys, pulling out her plain black dress again, polishing her black flats, and trying to make her hair lie down. Things didn’t get better when Nanette called.
“Darling, your Calvin is lovely,” Nanette said.
“Thank you, Mother,” Min said, bracing herself for whatever was coming next.
“And Daddy checked his financials and he’s very solvent,” Nanette went on.
“He checked on a Saturday night?” Min said. “How?”
“You know your father,” Nanette said in a tone that said she wished she didn’t. “And your Calvin seems very taken with you. That was very sweet, the thing with the bread and butter. You won’t eat it again, of course, but still . . .”
“A man who will feed you is a good thing,” Min agreed.
“So don’t ruin this one,” Nanette said. “I was upset about you losing David, but that’s all right now. Just don’t lose Calvin, too.”
“Mother, I don’t want him,” Min lied.
“Of course you want him,” Nanette said. “You’ll have beautiful children.”
“I don’t want those, either,” Min said. “New subject. I’m thinking about quitting my job to become a cook.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, dear,” Nanette said. “You around food? You’d blow up like a balloon.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Min said. “I’m going to go now.”
“Go where?”
“I’m having dinner with Cal’s parents.”
“That’s nice. Who are they?”
“Jefferson and Lynne Morrisey. I don’t know—”
“You’re having dinner with Lynne Morrisey?”
“Yes,” Min said. “Because she gave birth to my date, otherwise, I wouldn’t be.”
“Min,” her mother said, her voic
“I’m so sorry,” Min said, thinking that was the first time she’d ever heard Nanette say “huge” with approval.
“No carbs, darling,” Nanette said. “And tell me everything when you get home.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Min said and hung up to go back to her hair problem.
When Cal knocked on her door, she and Elvis were contemplating a headband without much confidence.
“Do you think a headband?” she said to Cal when she opened the door.
“Christ, no,” he said, reaching down to pet the cat, who had come to purr at his feet. “Look at you, you’re in mourning again.”
“Don’t even try to talk me out of this dress,” she said.
He looked down. “At least give me your feet. How about the shoes with the black bows, the ones you wore the first night?”
“Cal,” Min said.
“It’s not a lot to ask,” he said, leaning in the doorway grinning at her. “Go change your shoes, Minnie, and then we’ll face the dragons together.”
She smiled back in spite of herself. “That charm stuff doesn’t work on me,” she told him and went to change her shoes.
Chapter Ten
When they were in the car, she said, “Okay, give me the cheat sheet for your parents.”
“There is none,” Cal said. “They will be very polite but not warm. We don’t have to chill the wine at home, the atmosphere does it for us.”
“Oh, good,” Min said, “this is exactly the time I want to hear jokes.”
But when they arrived at his parents’ home, she realized he wasn’t being funny. The house was large, one of the Prairie mansions that always looked to Min like ranch houses on steroids; the maid at the paneled door was polite, the paneled hall was cool, and when they went into what Min doubted they called the living room, Cal’s parents were downright frigid.
“We’re so pleased to have you,” Lynne Morrisey said to Min, taking her hand. She didn’t look pleased; she didn’t look anything but darkly, stunningly, expensively beautiful, as did her husband, Jefferson, and her son, Reynolds, possibly the only man on the planet who made Cal look a little plain.
“Min!” Harry said from behind her, and she turned and saw him towing Bink into the room.
“Hey, you,” she said, bending down to him. “Thanks for the dinner invitation. I was starving.”
Harry nodded and then leaned forward and whispered, “I like your shoes. The bows are neat.” He nodded at her, grinning maniacally.
“Thank you,” Min whispered back, and stole a glance at Cal. His face was expressionless, and she realized he hadn’t said a word since they’d arrived. O-kay, she thought. Welcome to hell.
She did her best to make politely chilly conversation until they were all seated and served with a series of plates beautifully presented with syrup swirls. Then she gave up and just ate.
“What is it that you do, Minerva?” Jefferson said when they’d reached the filet-and-piped-potatoes course.
Min swallowed and prayed she didn’t have anything in her teeth. “I’m an actuary.”
“I see,” he said, not impressed but not scornful, either. “Who’s your employer?”
“Alliance,” Min said, and went back to her rare beef. The food was both beautiful and excellent, she had to give the Morriseys credit for that, but it wasn’t Emilio’s. They needed a few comic ethnic photos on the wall to liven things up. Not that they’d ever admit to being ethnic. She glanced around the table. Irish, she’d bet, and not just because of the name. Dark and beautiful, all of them, in that austere, tragic way. She looked down at her lavishly presented plate. Although the potato famine was clearly behind them.
“Dobbs,” Cal’s father said, and Min realized he’d been silent for a while. “George Dobbs is a vice president there.”
“That’s my father,” Min said.
Jefferson Morrisey smiled at her. “You went to work for your father’s firm.”
“Well, it’s not as if he owns it,” Min said, positive there was a land mine somewhere in the conversation. “But he was a help in getting me the job.”
“You didn’t need any help,” Cal said, his voice flat. “You’re an actuary. You must have had forty offers.”
“There were a lot,” Min said, wondering what the hell was going on. “But there weren’t a lot of great offers. My dad helped.”
“That was very wise of you,” Lynne Morrisey said.
Min turned to meet her cold dark eyes and thought, I don’t want you approving of me, lady.
“To take the help your father offered,” Lynne went on. “Very wise.”
“Well.” Min put down her fork. “It came with no strings attached, so there wasn’t a down side.”
Across the table, Reynolds smiled and became even better looking. I don’t like you, either, Min thought. Bink sat frozen, not in terror so much as in watchfulness, and between them, Harry clutched his fork and plowed his way through his piped potatoes, keeping an eye on everybody.
“And many benefits, no doubt,” Jefferson was saying. “I’m sure your father helped you along the way.”
“She made it on her own,” Cal said, his voice still flat. “Insurance companies are not sentimental. She holds the record for promotions within her company and nobody’s saying it’s because of her father. She’s smart, she’s hardworking, and she’s excellent at what she does.”
There was something bleak and awful in his voice, out of proportion to the tension in the conversation, and Min discreetly put her hand on his back. Even through his suit coat, his muscles were so rigid that it was like patting cement. She felt him tense even tighter for a moment at her touch, and then his shoulders went down a little.
“Of course she is,” Jefferson was saying, but he was looking at his wife, a half smile on his face. “We think it’s admirable of her that she followed in her father’s footsteps.”
“My father’s not an actuary,” Min said.
“Of course not, dear,” Lynne said, a little edge to her voice. “We admire you for making the right choice and staying in your father’s business.” She smiled past Min to Cal. “Don’t you think so, Cal?”
“I don’t think Min ever makes a mistake,” Cal said. “This filet is excellent.”
“Cal didn’t go into the family business,” Reynolds said, smiling at Min, pseudo-pals, and Min thought, And you are dumb as a rock to be the one who says that out loud.
“Well, for heaven’s sake, why would he?” Min said brightly. She took her hand away from Cal’s back, thought, I’m never going to see these people again so screw ’em all.
“Why would he go into the family business?” Lynne echoed, raising one eyebrow, which annoyed Min because she was pretty sure she couldn’t do it. “Because it’s his legacy.”
“No,” Min said, and across from her, Bink’s eyes widened even farther. “It would be completely wrong for him. He’s clearly doing what he should be doing.” She turned to smile at Cal and found him staring straight ahead, at the space between Bink and Harry. Okay, he’s gone, she thought, and looked at Harry. He was still clutching his fork, checking faces. No wonder the kid threw up all the time.
Jefferson cleared his throat. “Wrong for him to go into a well-respected and established law firm? Nonsense. It’s the Morrisey tradition.”
Min blinked. “You went into your father’s business? I thought you and your partner started the firm.”
Across the table, Bink did the impossible and made her little owl face even more impassive.
“They did,” Reynolds said from across the table, indignation in his voice. “They began the tradition.”
“I don’t think you can call two generations a tradition,” Min said, trying to make her voice speculative, as if she were considering it. She looked at Harry. “You want to be a lawyer, Harry?”
Harry blinked at her. “No. I want to be an ichthyologist.”
Min blin
“Yeah.” Harry lifted his chin and grinned.
“Good for you,” Min said.
“Harrison is a child,” Lynne said. “Next week, he’ll want to be a fireman.” She smiled at Harry, almost with warmth.
“No, next week, I’ll want to be an ichthyologist,” Harry said, and finished his potatoes.
I love you, kid, Min thought.
“Harrison,” Lynne said to him. “Why don’t you have your dessert in the kitchen with Sarah?”
“Okay.” Harry scooted back his chair. “May I be excused?”
“Yes, dear,” Lynne said, and Min watched him trot out of the room, thinking, Harry, you lucky dog.
“Now,” Lynne said, turning back to the table with her lizard smile. “I apologize for interrupting you, Minerva. What were you saying?” She looked at Min as if to say, You have a chance to back down; take it.
Min smiled back at her. Bite me, lady. “I was saying that if you analyze the situation, you’ll see it was always impossible that Cal would go into the firm.”
Jefferson put down his fork.
Min picked up her wineglass. “To begin with, he’s the younger child. Older children tend to follow in the family footsteps because they’re pleasers.” She smiled across the table at Reynolds. “That’s why they’re so often successful.” She took a sip of excellent wine, while they all watched her with varying degrees of frigidity. “Also, they tend to get the lion’s share of attention and respect so their success is a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. But youngest children learn that they have to be more demanding to get attention, so they become rule breakers.”
“I suspect your psychology is less than professional,” Jefferson said, smiling at her with no warmth whatsoever.
“No, it’s pretty much a given,” Min said. “The colloquial evidence is even there. All the way back to myth and legend. After all, it’s always the youngest son who goes out to seek his fortune in fairy tales.”
“Fairy tales,” Reynolds said, chuckling like a fathead, while Bink continued her imitation of a frozen owl.
Min turned back to Jefferson. “Then consider Cal’s personality. His friends tell me that he rarely makes a bet he doesn’t win. The knee-jerk reaction to that is that he’s a gambler, but he’s not. If he were a gambler, he’d lose half the time. Instead, he calculates the odds, and only takes the risks he knows he can capitalize on.” She looked across the table at Reynolds. “As the younger son in the family firm, he’d never make it to the top. That’s such a bad risk, I doubt he ever considered joining the firm.”