Page 28 of Love's a Script
“What are we watching?” he asked as he followed her by sitting up in his bed.
“Nothing really.” She slid the remote across the nightstand to him. “You can change it.”
But Ruben didn’t move for the remote, and for a few minutes, they watched a couple and a wedding planner—the star of the show—tour a venue and complain about it every step of the way.
“What are they even talking about? Not chic enough?” Ruben said, gesturing at the TV. “It’s a damn castle.”
“I think they’re looking for something understated. An art gallery or an upscale restaurant, maybe.” As she suggested this, the scene cut to the pair inside a museum, gushing over it. Mary was also able to accurately predict the kinds of florals and food service style the couple ultimately chose.
“I’m impressed,” Ruben said. “I don’t know how you made sense of their confused visions.”
She shrugged. “I get a lot of practice interpreting what people say they want.”
“I’ve been wondering,” he said, “how hard is it keeping all your clients’ information straight in your head?”
“I always have access to everyone’s profiles, so I don’t have to rely on my memory. But some details stick more than others. Like, I remember your top travel destination because it diverged from the typical answers I see. I also find it easy to remember client archetypes and?—”
“Client archetypes?” Ruben asked.
“It’s how we sometimes categorize clients unofficially.”
“And what are these categories?”
“Oh, uh, they just help us understand a client and their worldview,” she said vaguely.
“Are they pejorative?”
“No,” Mary replied, regretting mentioning it at all. “They’re blunt, yes. And they can sometimes sound a bit like a psychological evaluation, but that’s why we don’t share them with clients.”
He nodded. “So what archetype do I fall under?”
“Did you not hear what I just said?”
“I did, but we both know I’m not like other clients.” He smiled mischievously, spurring warmth across Mary’s body.
“I won’t be the reason you cry yourself to sleep tonight.”
“You don’t think I can handle it?” he asked, amused.
Mary thought about it for a moment. “No, I believe you’re one of the few who could.” Ruben valued candor. It was a quality she personally and professionally admired in him. “All right, is this conversation off the record?” she asked.
“Completely,” he said. “I don’t conduct interviews while lying in bed in my pajamas.”
The reminder of the unusual situation they were in further assured Mary of her otherwise questionable choice to tell Ruben, “You’re what we call a duck.”
“A duck?” he said as he sat taller in bed, his face lighting up. “Like the bird?”
“Yeah, you’re someone who, on the surface, appears chill, even-keeled like a duck gliding across the water, but underneath, you’re always thinking and assessing like the fast-moving duck feet underwater. For matchmaking, it’s relevant because you’re the sort who could start to over-intellectualize your feelings.”
“Jesus,” Ruben said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, and how did you come to that diagnosis?”
“You’re a self-identified smartass, generally confident, but you also write the longest post-date assessments out of any of my clients past or present.”
He laughed. “Really? They’re that long?”
“Absolutely.”
Ruben’s laughter swelled, and Mary joined in.
