Page 56 of The Alibi Club

Some people just have more luck than others. This was completely accepted as fact in some cultures where people consulted mediums and psychics before making any rash decisions concerning business, love, or money. If the cards or the local soothsayer spelled out something dismal, retreat until the odds were more favorable. Luck, or something like it, was arbitrarily bestowed. For further proof of this, look at who wins the lottery.

Historically, the only kind of luck Jamie had was bad. Bad timing. Bad bets. Bad picker. The fates had not aligned in her favor, which largely explained why she was on this very date to begin with, in the decade of her forties, jobless, about to be stalked by a killer, and dealing with a financial threat wrought by her own mother. Her bad luck streak had taken a downturn toward cursed.

But maybe, just maybe the universe decided to choose this moment to shine on Jamie. She had rolled the dice, and they came up with the dashing form of Cliff, who smelled like sandalwood and spices, gazed at her with intelligent eyes, and possessed the kind of energy she didn’t even know she was looking for. Jamie hoped the vibe she felt radiating off him was intended for her. It seemed like it was, but she didn’t want to read it wrong. Her prejudgment senses were kicking in and she was getting charming, smooth, confident.

Why smooth? Smooth was used in the context of con men or hustlers. Not smooth. Maybe charismatic? She was misreading something but chalked it up to the otherworldly feeling of being on a natural high.

For now, the moment seemed perfect, and she didn’t want to break the spell with too much overthinking. She simply basked in the glow of hope.

The waitress, Amber, came over with a tray of drinks. She proceeded to put down the wrong one in front of every single person. “There, that should do it.” As she walked away, she clipped the chair, tripped, and her tray skittered across the dining room. As soon as she gathered herself and tray, walking away, everyone traded drinks to get what they ordered. The only one not to receive a drink was Cliff. Jamie looked over.

“She may have forgotten mine,” he said quietly.

Just then Amber came back and slammed a bottle of beer on the table in front of Cliff. It started to fizz over the rim of the bottle. Cliff murmured, “Thanks.” He picked it up and slurped the suds before they fell on the table.

When Amber departed, Holly said, “She might be the worst waitress in the world.”

“That’s surprising,” Jamie said.

“There is a well-known shortage of servers right now,” Holly offered.

Jamie shook her head. “It’s just that I overheard the bartender and our terrible waitress talking about how big this night is for Chef Pascal.” She discreetly pointed over to the couple sitting against the far wall. “That’s Nigel Spokes. Food critic. Could make or break the place, or so I’m told.”

Everyone at the table craned their necks to take a good long look at the couple seated by the wall. The woman with Nigel momentarily stopped glaring at Nigel long enough to notice the attention. Nigel turned around and everyone instantly looked away.

“I know him. He writes for the LA Times Food section. He led me to a food truck on Flower and 4th street that served the best brussels sprouts of my life,” Rick said.

“Those were to die for,” Holly added, apparently having had them, too. Rick’s raised eyebrows implied he was impressed by Holly’s insider foodie knowledge.

“You’d think Amber would try to make a better impression,” Jamie said.

Cliff didn’t say a word and busied himself cleaning up the beer foam.

“Maybe she’s preoccupied,” Shannon offered. “I know when I was going through a breakup, I accidentally gave the wrong pharma samples away.”

“Really. How incredibly irresponsible of you. Anyone die?” Holly asked.

Shannon shot Holly a look. “It’s not like I mixed up cyanide with Advil,” Shannon said. She shrugged lightly and added, “A couple of guys who thought they were taking Viagra ended up with estrogen instead.”

Rick’s jaw dropped slightly. “That could ruin a guy’s life.” But then quickly added, “Not mine of course, I don’t need Viagra, but you know, guys who rely on that kind of thing.”

Shannon shrugged. “No, not really, a little estrogen can’t really hurt a guy. Might make him empathetic for a couple days, might find himself doing the dishes, talking about his feelings, and watching The View, but no permanent damage done.” Shannon snorted at her own joke.

Kyle joined in her laughter, and Shannon seemed to blossom in the glow of it.

Rick piped up, addressing the elephant in the restaurant. “So, here we are. Singles set up on a group blind date. Sounds like the start of a rom-com.”

“Or a horror movie.” Holly took a sip of her drink.

Just then all their phones pinged at the same time. Everyone consulted their screen to find a text from Lorna that read:

“Singles–Pro tip: Stay off your phones during a date! Put all your phones in the middle of the table. First one to grab their phone pays for a round of drinks. Also, ICEBREAKERS: Where did you grow up? Describe yourself in three words. What destination is on your bucket list? Enjoy, singles!”

Jamie shuddered at the three words to describe yourself. She didn’t want to give up her secret gift, now or ever. Besides, she found it much harder to describe herself than to describe others.

Mercifully, Rick spoke up. “I don’t think we need the icebreakers just yet, do we? We’re adults, we can create our own conversations without prompts.” He flashed his gleaming white smile, forcing his opinion on the rest of them.

Holly shrugged. Shannon sucked down the rest of her drink through the straw.