How To Catch A Man

How to Catch a Man

By Sandie Nygaaard

Copyright 2015 Sandie Nygaard

Smashwords Edition

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Prologue

How to find a man? This has been the overriding concern of young women since the dawn of time. In olden days, a girl had no choice but to marry the man her family picked out for her. What a simple, yet frightening, method. The modern woman of today gets to decide for herself whom she will marry; an improvement over the conventions of yesteryear, but a process with its own alarming aspects. A young lady with a flock of quality suitors from which to choose is in an enviable position. Not so enviable is the girl with no suitors. The one who fears she will never be asked; who time and again has stood to the side watching as joyous friends, relatives and perhaps even younger sisters took that white-laced stroll up the aisle to the waiting men of their dreams. Is she destined to live on the fringes of society, to be branded with the dreaded moniker of old maid, or spinster aunt? No, no. A thousand times no!

If you are that girl who can’t find an appropriate match, fear no longer. A trusted guide has come to your rescue. Think of me as your kindly Auntie Kay, wise in the ways of the world and dedicated to helping you find fulfillment as a woman. In this book I will show you how to catch not just any old man, but a superior specimen of the masculine gender. What I call the big fish. The kind of man who will provide for you and your children, will love and care for you, will hold you in a place of respect and admiration in his heart. A man who will honor his wedding vows. I will show you how to be the bait that attracts that one in a million man who is right for you.

Ah, but I sense your doubt. Isn’t it the cheerleaders, the homecoming queens, and the glee club presidents who get the choice picks? Again no. Trust your Auntie Kay. Some of those popular girls will make disastrous matches, and will wind up unhappy and disillusioned. Some of the shyest wallflowers will end up rich, perhaps not in money, but in the love and adoration of the men they caught.

So read on. Hang onto your hats, and grab your poles. Sharpen your hooks and shine your lures. Your Auntie Kay is going to take you on the fishing trip of your lives. I’m going to show you how to catch a man. I guarantee, you’ll be amazed at what you can reel in.

How to Catch a Man

Auntie Kay

1957

Chapter 1

Janet was late. Coffee-gulping, mind-stopping, forget-flossing, late. She glanced at her watch. 6:45. In ten minutes her bus would pull away from the curb without her, and she would be late for work. She slammed her cup on the counter and ran down the hall, grabbing a book from the shelf as she passed. If she’d been on time, she might have noticed the title, and left it, realizing that it didn’t belong. But in her rush, she didn’t look. And so Auntie Kay’s book went to work with her that day. Sometimes Janet wondered how her life would have changed if she’d put that book back on the shelf.

Bye, Mom, I’m off to work, she yelled as she passed the staircase.

Her leather business tote containing her dress shoes, purse, and lunch sat on a chair by the door. She snatched it as her mom, replied from upstairs. Have a good day, dear. See you tonight.

Janet dropped the book into her tote, then ran out the door and across the porch, jumping over the squeaky board as she’d done since she was a kid, leapt the front steps- also a habit from childhood, then, down the walk, pausing to open the gate and slam it behind her. Once on the sidewalk, she lengthened her stride and ran for real. Thank God for short skirts.

Janet ran down the street, sneakers pounding the pavement. She flew past the Nelson’s manicured lawn, past the Sorenson’s rose garden, then cut the corner through the Brown’s yard. The other side of the Brown’s lawn led her to Ninth Street. Up ahead she saw Elmer Stevens out early as usual, walking his dog. Elmer had known her forever; when she was just a gleam in her daddy’s eye, as he liked to say.

Morning Mr. Stevens, she said as she blew past him. Even though she was an adult and had every right to use his first name, she could never bring herself to actually do it. He had always been Mr. Stevens to her.

Morning, Janet. It’s good to see that you’re keeping in shape, he hollered after her.

He said that every morning.

She rounded another corner, onto Main Street, and looked over her shoulder. Holy shit! There was her bus, and it was coming fast. She took a long breath, and reached deep. Then she RAN. The low rumble of the bus motor got louder, getting closer, closer, until it overtook her and went lumbering past spewing her with exhaust. She forced her legs to move faster, abandoning all dignity, all thought except to catch that bus. It coasted to a slow stop and with a hiss, the doors opened just as Janet arrived to clamber on.

The driver grinned at her. Man, it’s amazing to see you run. I’ll bet you’re still the fastest woman in town.

The comment irritated Janet. She stood panting while she dug through her tote trying to find her bus pass. She pushed the book aside, still not noticing the title.

Forget it, the driver said. I know you’ve got a pass. Just get on.

Thanks. So much for her irritation — he didn’t deserve it anyway. He always waited when he saw her coming, even if it was just to see her run. So she smiled at him between gasps, and bumped her way to the back of the bus. Janet flopped down where she always sat by the window, and waited for her breathing to quiet while she watched the town go by. The bus lurched around a corner and turned onto the freeway where they flew past the non-carpoolers stuck in traffic. A few minutes later, the bus crested a hill, and in the distance ahead she saw the skyscrapers of Seattle, standing neat and orderly with the jagged Olympic Mountains looming behind like renegade shadows. A few more stops and another twenty minutes, and she would enter that busy world where no one knew anything about her, where she wasn’t a gleam in anyone’s eye, and where she could run for the bus without anyone watching to see if she was still fast. It was 1988, she was twenty-five and the city beckoned to her with a glittering hope for her future happiness.

Chapter 2

At exactly eight o’clock, she opened the doors to Snyder, McBain, Ellis, and Company, CPAs, and stepped onto the plush carpet of the reception area. The framed art hanging above leather overstuffed chairs and the fan of business magazines on the cherry side table, all melded to create an atmosphere of moneyed elegance that shielded waiting clients from the chaos of the backrooms.

Hi Janet, have a good weekend? Lori, the receptionist, looked up from behind a high counter. Lori wore a knit top that was a little too low cut, and stretched a little too tightly across her bust. That could be Lori’s trademark; a little too much. It also applied to the blonde color of her hair.

Fine, how about you?

Wonderful weekend.

Janet wondered if Lori had spent the weekend with Snyder. Snyder had a long repertoire of excuses that allowed him to sneak off with Lori on a regular basis. Janet sometimes wondered if Snyder’s wife really believed him, or if she went along with it just to get him out of her hair.

Janet walked past the offices of the other two partners, Mark McBain and Chuck Ellis, both rooms decorated and furnished with a cultivated sophistication that matched the reception area. Too bad the good taste in furnishings clashed so badly with its occupants. She went on past the copy room and the lunchroom to her cubicle, one of many that lined the back wall. She sat down, and changed from sneakers to her high-heeled dress shoes. It was like a ritual shedding of her old life and slipping on a new one. Goodbye sneaker-shod has-been track star, hello Janet Harris, CPA, polished and confident, standing on the first rung of the ladder of success. At least she hoped she was.

Rosemary, Janet’s ex-roommate and best friend, poked her head around the corner into Janet’s cubicle. Hey, Janet, how’s it going?

Good enough. Janet unpacked the rest of her tote; brown bag containing a sandwich, diet pop, and an apple, then the book, which she laid on her desk.

Rosemary picked it up. Hey, what’s this?

IJust a book. I’m going to donate it to the library.

You’re going to donate this? Have you read it? Rosemary held it up. How to Catch a Man was written across the cover in block letters in a style popular in the fifties. In cursive script underneath it said, written by Auntie Kay.

Where did that come from? Janet reached for the book.

Rosemary pulled it back and leafed through the pages. Listen to this. She read from the book. "In matters of the heart, popular wisdom says that a lot of fish are swimming in the sea. I quite agree. However, many are bottom fish and should be avoided. Trout are fine, but they are small and brown. Cod are large, but rather plain. The truly wise girl wants to catch a big handsome fish, and she knows she has to prepare carefully. Her lures attract with shiny bright colors, her bait is fresh and enticing , and her tackle is the finest available. The big fish is hard to catch, and she knows the competition is keen.

Whew. Isn’t that the truth? Rosemary flipped to the front. "Listen to the chapter titles. Pretty in Pink; the Feminine Wardrobe. Rosemary looked up. When’s the last time you wore pink?"

My mom wouldn’t let me leave the house in pink. She says it’s not a power color.

Tell her that’s why you don’t have a man. Rosemary looked back at the book. "Okay, here’s another one. Kitchen Cunning; a Recipe for Romance. She fanned her face with one hand. Ooo-la-la. This book is hot. All you have to do is wear pink and learn how to cook."

Give me that. Janet stood and reached for the book. Rosemary jumped off the file cabinet and pulled it away, holding it behind her back.

Janet tried to reach around her, but Rosemary stepped back into the hall, colliding with someone passing by, and in the confusion she dropped the book. It landed beside the polished tassel loafers of Evan Smith.

Hi Janet, Hi Rosemary, he said.

Oh hi, Evan, said Rosemary.

He reached down and picked up the book. Interesting title, he commented, handing the book to her.

Oh, that’s not my book. It’s Janet’s.

Janet felt her face flush. It’s not mine. It belonged to my father.

Evan smiled. I’m sure your father found it very interesting.

It really isn’t my book. I’m donating it to the library. She pulled a bag of books out from under her desk where she was storing them until she could get to the library. I’ve got a bunch of them. Look here. She held up the titles as she lifted them from the bag. "Moby Dick, A Tale of two Cities, The Scarlet Letter."

"And How to Catch a Man." Evan laughed.

Janet pulled more books out. The Storm and the Fury, Crime and Punishment, The Last of the Mohicans. Not a trashy read in the pile. She kept pawing through the books, not wanting to look up at Evan.

Hello everyone. I see there’s quite a confab going on here. The new voice forced Janet’s attention. Snyder!

Evan, I wanted to talk to you. I heard from Collins Motors last night. They were very impressed and want you to come back. I think they’re going to hire us.

That’s good news.

We need to talk. Why don’t you stop by my office? He looked down his nose at Janet. You ladies chit-chatting again? He checked his watch. Hmm. Eight-fifteen. Enough said, I imagine. Then he turned to Evan. Shall we?

Evan followed Snyder down the hall. He wasn’t laughing out loud anymore, but as he looked back over his shoulder, Janet could see the laughter in his eyes.

Well, according to Synder, I’d better get to work, Rosemary held up the book.. Hey, can I borrow this?

I guess, but why?

It’s so old-fashioned. It would be fun to read.

I don’t care. Take it. But Rosemary, why did you tell him it was my book?

I wasn’t thinking. I mean… well, it really is your book. It was kind of funny, though, Evan coming by, right when I dropped it. Rosemary started to laugh.

Janet glared at her.

Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll find a way to make it up to you. Honest. Rosemary tucked the book under her arm and pulled the corners of her mouth down with her index fingers. See how sorry I am? I have on my frowny face now. Rosemary turned and ran down the hall to her own cubicle. Janet could hear her muffled laughter as she went.

Janet leaned her elbows on her desk and lifted both palms to her cheeks hoping to cool her face. She must be beet-red. She brought a book to work almost every day, all of which she had stowed without fuss or comment beneath her desk. So why had that one flown out of her control and landed at Evan’s feet? And what was it doing on her dad’s bookshelf anyway? It couldn’t have been his. Maybe it was her mother’s. Did she read that book hoping to catch her dad? Janet smiled at the thought of her feminist mom trying to catch a man with kitchen cunning. She would be more likely to roast the man himself. Janet reached down and turned her computer on. She would have to ask her mom about the book tonight at dinner.

Janet arrived home to the combined aroma of food cooking and wet paint. She followed the food aroma through the hall, stepping past paint cans, brushes and drop cloths to the kitchen where her mother stood, looking into the oven.

Hi Mom. Did you cook dinner?

Beth, her mom, straightened. "Yes. Aren’t you proud of me?

Janet put her tote on the chair by the door. I am. It smells delish.

I took the afternoon off, and I not only cooked dinner, but I painted in the hall.

Impressive. Janet tried to keep the surprise out of her voice. Her mother never left work early, especially for anything as mundane as painting or cooking. She saw her favorite dish, chicken marsala, sitting on the table, along with a tossed salad and bowl of rice. Beth had set out her good china, and a glass of red wine stood beside each plate.

Yum, said Janet. But what’s the occasion?

I’m practicing being retired.

Is this how you’re going to live? Good china and wine every night?

Why not? Retired people can do what they like whenever they like. Tonight I feel like nice dishes, good food and red wine. As they sat down, Beth asked, So how was work today?

I found the strangest book. I took it off dad’s shelf, but it couldn’t have been one of his books. She speared a chicken breast with her fork. "It was called How to Catch a Man, and it was filled with all this goofy advice like recipes for romance, and wearing pink."

Beth put her fork down. You didn’t give it to the library, did you?

No. Not yet. Why? Do you want to keep it?

It has sentimental value. I didn’t realize it was on the shelf. I thought I had it packed away.

Sentimental value? Janet took a bite of chicken and waited for some flavor to develop.

Ummhmm. Beth had also taken a bite of chicken. She wrinkled her nose at Janet. This isn’t so good, is it?

Not like Dad used to make.

No. Not like that. The conversation died for a moment.

Janet started again. So, why does that book have sentimental value? It’s not really your kind of book.

That’s for sure. The sad thing is that here we are in the late eighties, and some women still eat that stuff up. It’s disgusting.

So, why keep it?

Oh, I knew the author, in a way.

Really? You knew Auntie Kay? Janet dished up some rice.

That was just a pseudonym. There was no Auntie Kay, just a starving author who found a way to make money. It’s pathetic, really. She wrote like an old woman, but she was young. She didn’t even believe her own advice.

So when you married dad, were guys looking for girls who could cook and who were ultra-feminine?

That’s what the establishment wanted us to believe. Fortunately your dad wanted someone different, and I guess I fit the bill.

Makes sense to me. Anyway, I gave the book to Rosemary, so I know I can get it back. Janet took a bite of rice. Yes! It tasted like rice.

So anything happen at work today? Did you do anything to impress the boss?

Janet remembered the way Snyder had looked down his nose at her. No. Not really. So what was her real name?

Who?

Auntie Kay.

Oh Auntie Kay, Auntie Kay. Hmmm. I don’t really remember. You know, if you want to get ahead in business, you’ve got to sell yourself. You should do something everyday to prove to your boss that you are the next person they should promote.

You don’t remember her name? Even though she had sentimental value to you?

Who?

Auntie Kay.

"Oh her. She doesn’t have sentimental value, the book does. Now, where did you eat lunch?

Rosemary and I took our lunches and ate in the park. It was such a nice day.

Good. I’m glad to pack you a lunch, but it’s against my better judgment. Brown bag lunches are career limiting. If you want to get ahead, never eat in the office. It would be better if you ate out every day.

It’s too expensive. I’ll never save any money if I buy lunch every day. Janet was saving to buy a condo in downtown Seattle, near her work.

It’s important to save money, but appearances are important, too. Especially if you’re looking for advancement.

I’m careful. Anyway, you don’t have to make my lunches. I can make my own.

But I want to make your lunch. It’s the least I can do to help out.

Sometimes Janet felt that nothing had changed much since fifth grade. She was living at home, riding the bus everyday, carrying her mom-prepared brown bag lunch. About the only difference was that she rode the bus to work, not school, and her dad used to make her lunches, not her mom. She couldn’t understand why her mom, after all these years, was trying to be Ms. Homemaker. Janet would rather make her own lunch anyway. Her mom, in her efficient way, prepared a week’s worth of lunches on Sunday night, and while Wednesday’s sandwich was okay, Thursday’s and Friday’s got progressively soggier.

So tell me about Auntie Kay. How come you’re keeping her book if you can’t even remember her real name?

It’s a long story. Hey, guess who came in today? Mike Jacobsen of Well Built Homes. He’s applying for a permit to build more houses and I think he’ll come to me for the financing. It would really show those yahoos in corporate what a good manager can do in a town like Cedarville. Beth smirked, and Janet smiled with her. Not so long ago, her mom had been one of those corporate yahoos herself. But a year of widowhood had hurled her mom into a mid life crisis, and one day right out of the blue, she surprised Janet by announcing her intention to retire within two years. Then she quit her head office position in favor of becoming the branch manager of the bank in Cedarville. Janet knew that for her mother, working a mere forty hours a week was practically retirement in itself.

That’s great mom. I hope it works out. But I’m really curious about Auntie Kay.

Honey, I don’t want to talk about those old times tonight. Let’s look ahead. So what will you do tomorrow to impress the boss?

Janet slumped in her chair. I don’t know. It’s impossible do something every day.

True. But you should think of small things to make yourself stand out. Anticipate the next report he’ll need and have it to him before he asks. If he had an important meeting, ask him how it went. Show an interest in the business. You can do that.

Synder would probably yell a her for being nosy if she asked about one of his meetings. But explaining that to her mom would get her nowhere. I suppose, she agreed. She finished the last of her salad and stood. I’ll help you clean up the dishes, then I think I’ll paint.

Their house was a seventy-year old craftsman and it needed tons of work. Her dad had been both the family cook and the maintenance guy, but when he died, her mom coped by becoming more of a workaholic than she had been before. While she spent long hours at the office, the paint peeled off the south wall of the garage, and the moss grew on the roof. Janet was living in Seattle, renting an apartment with Rosemary when her mom had an epiphany and decided to sell the house and retire. Beth calculated that if she got a good price for the house, she could manage it. Janet had an epiphany of her own and realized that while a rising real estate