He tapped his pen on his desk.
More pen tapping.
He started jotting down notes on a piece of paper.
Suddenly J.P. jumped up from his desk, grabbed his coat from behind his door and dashed out of his office.
He yelled, “Hold my calls!” to his assistant Shelley.
“Who calls you?” she mumbled in reply. “Fool.”
J.P. came running out the front door of his office building. He turned left and took off down the street. Then he turned around and ran back to his right. Further proving that his boyscout badge for navigation was a complete fraud.
Eight blocks later…
J.P. busts in through the front door of a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant called “hole in the wall,” which J.P. found a little bit on the nose, but he dug their chicken.
“Pedro, my good man.” He shouted to the 50-something Spanish man behind the bar.
“It’s Monday. We’re closed today.”
“I know. It’s me… J.P.”
“It’s Monday. Ballroom dancing with my wife. We’re closed. Every Monday.”
“I get that. But, I want to rent the place for the night.”
“Fifteen hundred dollars.”
“Fifteen– what? Pedro…”
“That’s my price.”
“That’s crazy. You weren’t even going to be open.”
“Fifteen hundred dollars… I buy my wife a fur coat and she doesn’t make me go to ballroom dancing lessons.”
J.P. couldn’t argue with the logic.
“Fine, Pedro.” J.P. muttered, taking out his credit card.
“And you need to get your own cook.”
“Cook teaches the ballroom dancing lessons,” Pedro replied.
“Of course he does. Okay… a cook. I’m on it”
Minutes later J.P. came rushing out the front door and smacked into Rachel Ray.
“Hey! You are Rachel Ray!”
“I know,” she replied, a little dazed.
“Oh! What are you doing tonight, Ms. Ray?”
“Probably going to a chiropractor,” she replied, stretching her back.
“So sorry about that. I need a cook. For tonight. It’s my girlfriend–“
“Did you screw up?”
“I think that I did.”
“What did you do…?
“Oh, I’m J.P.”
“What did you do, J.P.?”
“Well, it seems as if it’s been a bit of a recurring theme. I’m just not making her happy enough. Not as happy as she deserves. She’s always been there for me. I want to step up tonight, you know? I want to show her that I am aware of the problem and that I am going to be working hard to fix it.”
“Damn it, J.P., I’m a romantic. Plus, my show was cancelled, so what the hell else do I have to do?”
Rachel Ray pulled out a notebook and pen and began writing a list.
“These are the ingrediants needed for my ‘Rosemary-Crusted Rack of Lamb with Roasted Fennel and Red Onion.’ Get EVERYTHING I’ve listed.”
“Okay… I had lamb on the weekend, but–“
“Are you kidding me?!”
“Lamb’s great, lamb’s great! Thank you, Rachel Ray. It’s eight o’clock. Here. Tonight. Go in and see Pedro.”
He spun Rachel Ray around and ushered her in through the door.
“And don’t mention ballrooom dancing. Trust me!”
J.P. looks at the list of ingrediants and is off again on the run.
To be continued…