Excerpt of Write It Up! by Elizabeth Bevarly, Tracy Kelleher, Mary Leo

WHEN SHE HEARD THE BELL RING, Julia's first instinct was
to come out of her corner swinging. Which was a perfectly
appropriate response. Because seated as she was in a bar
full of people, wearing her favorite dress fashioned of
black lace over pink charmeuse, armed with an appletini
(and not afraid to use it), she was here to meet men. And
lots of them.

Speed-dating. The words echoed in her head — though it was
Tess's voice saying them — as Julia awaited the arrival of
her first victim…ah, date, she meant, of course. Who had
come up with such a concept, anyway? Maybe she should
explore the genesis and history of the phenomenon, too, as
she researched her article for Tess magazine. See if she
could find out just where the whole idea of dating en
masse for four-minute increments had originated.

Then again, speed-dating was a good description for
Julia's own alleged love life. In the five years since
she'd graduated from college, she hadn't dated anyone for
more than a few months. Usually, the guys she went out
with disappeared after a few dates. And there had been one
or two she wished hadn't lasted more than a few minutes.

Even her college boyfriend, whom she'd dated for more than
a year, had been surprisingly easy to get over after he'd
dumped her for the captain of the gymnastics team, telling
Julia that the whole double-jointed thing was going to be
such a boon to his sex life. The joke had been on him,
though. It had been sweater-weather at the time, so it had
taken a couple of weeks for him to discover that gymnasts
have no breasts, and by that point, Julia was so over him.

Since then, however, even her breasts hadn't been enough
to keep guys around. Or maybe the scarcity of a long-term
relationship had been more due to her demand that she be
treated with respect and dignity. Hard to tell. Men never
seemed able to distinguish between honoring the breasts
and honoring the woman.

She shoved a handful of shoulder-length, medium brown hair
over one spaghetti-strapped shoulder — thankfully, the
September evening had cooperated with her wardrobe by
being balmy and dry — fluffed up her overly long bangs,
and hoped she hadn't applied her glittery eye shadow and
lip gloss too heavily. She wasn't normally one to wear a
lot of makeup, but something about tonight's event had
made her drop into a Sephora store on the way home from
work last night and spend more than she should have on
stuff she'd probably never use again.

Or maybe she'd just wanted to adopt a disguise of sorts.
The prospect of meeting so many men in one sitting had
generated a desire in her to never be recognized on the
street. It didn't matter that eight million other people
lived in New York, or that one rarely even saw one's next
door neighbors in this city. With her luck, every man she
met tonight would be standing in line in front of her at
Starbucks in the morning. Treating this like a masquerade
had seemed like a good idea.

The first man on her list, Julia saw as she glanced down
at her roster of prospective mates for the evening, was
Randy 6. Well, now. That sounded promising. It had been a
while since Julia had had any six…uh, sex. The way she was
starting to feel, the randier Randy 6 was, the better.

According to the rules of the game — which the hostess had
handed to Julia as she registered for the event, and which
Julia had researched even before she arrived — she would
have the opportunity to meet twenty-five men tonight.
Each "date" would last approximately four minutes,
starting and ending at the sound of a bell, with another
minute in between for people to move from one table to the
next. For the first half of the event — which was being
held in the Starlight Roof of the Waldorf-Astoria — the
women would be seated at tables and the men would flit
from place to place. Then there would be a short
intermission for "mingling," followed by another round
of "dating," this time with the men seated and the women
flitting. It would either be a lot of fun or phenomenally
irritating. Julia had yet to decide which.

But she got her first clue — not to mention a jolt of
disappointment — when Randy 6 sat down. He looked more
like Somethingthecat 8. And then deposited in the litter
box. Somehow, Julia managed to curb the urge to strike a
line through his name in his presence.

"So. Randy," she began after they'd introduced themselves,
already mentally counting the seconds. Just how many were
there in four minutes, anyway? She did some quick math.
Two hundred and forty? That many? She'd never
survive. "Tell me a little bit about yourself."

There. That ought to kill a few dozen seconds at least. "I
don't get out much," Randy 6 said, thereby killing roughly
two. Not to mention Julia's appetite. On the up side, her
desire for a drink was skyrocketing. "Well," she tried
again, her fingers inching toward her appletini, "you're
here now, aren't you?"

"My mother made me come," Randy 6 said. "She's over
there."

Then, to Julia's amazement, he turned in his chair and
waved at a middle-aged woman on the other side of the
room, who, like Julia, was sitting at a table speed-
dating. The woman waved back, then made a spinning motion
with her hand and mouthed something that even Julia could
read as, Turn back around and talk to her, you big jerk.

Wow. Speed-dating with one's mother. That gave new meaning
to the term "Keeping it in the family." A really icky
meaning, too.

"I see," Julia said.

Hard as it was to believe, the conversation only
deteriorated after that, and she worried that her session
with Randy 6 was going to set a precedent for the entire
evening. Sure enough, her next three dates — Ryan 4,
Ernesto 18 and Jack 24 — were only marginally more
scintillating than Randy 6. But the next two, Armand 13
and Michael 19, were relatively interesting.
Unfortunately, it was relative to Randy 6. In spite of
that, Julia made a quick, surreptitious notation in her
notebook about each of the men between rings of the bell,
as she awaited the arrival of her next victim…ah, date,
she meant, of course. For the two allegedly interesting
candidates, she wrote, respectively:

If he were the last man on earth, there might at least be
hope, if not an actual likelihood, that the human race
could continue.

Says Angelina Jolie is too good-looking, but I'm pretty
sure he's lying. Still, could just be being ironic, so
might be worth a second look.

She took a second to flip through her notes. If Armand 13
was as good as it got tonight, the survival of the human
race might be a problem. So far, Julia hadn't met anyone
she was eager to check off her list as a potential meet-
again. Which was what she was supposed to do at night's
end — identify any of the men she'd "dated" this evening
as someone she might want to see a second time.

The men had a similar list of the participating women and
were supposed to do likewise. Their hostess — in this
case, a woman who owned a Manhattan dating service — would
then compare the lists and see whose names corresponded
with whose, and anyone who showed up on both lists would
receive notification that there had been a spark of
interest on both sides and given the opportunity to make
further contact via e-mail.

So if, at the end of the night, Julia put a check mark on
her list of men's names by, say, Armand 13 — as if — and
if Armand 13 put a check mark on his list of women's names
by Julia 6 — oh, please, God, no — then they'd both be
given each other's e-mail addresses so that they might
continue with their conversation, and, ideally, a romance.
The way things were looking so far, however, Julia was
reasonably certain tonight was going to be a bust. Which
was okay. Sort of. Because she'd arranged to attend four
of these things this month in order to get as full a view
as possible for her story.

Gee, had she actually been thinking at first that it might
be fun? Julia was beginning to wonder. Had she actually
attended the story meeting with their editor in chief,
Tess Truesdale, discussing the idea — three writers, three
styles of alternative dating, no waiting — she could have
won one of the other topics. Or maybe changed Tess's mind.
Maybe —

Oh, who was she kidding? Had Julia attended the meeting,
the outcome would have been no different. She and Abby
Lewis and Samantha Porter — all in-house writers for the
magazine — would have ended up with the same assignments.
Once Tess decided to go with something, there was no
stopping her from getting it. Woe betide anyone who
thought she could change Tess's mind. No matter what went
down in Tess's office that morning, Julia would still be
sitting here, nursing her appletini, perusing her notes
about unremarkable men, and wishing she was anywhere but —

"Hi. I'm Daniel 9."

She glanced up from her notes with a glib response on her
tongue, but it dried up completely when she got a look at
her next date. Mostly because there were better things to
put on one's tongue than glibness. Like, for instance,
Daniel 9.

His sandy hair was thick and tousled, unruly and long
enough to let her know he wasn't obsessed with excessive
grooming, but clean and combed enough to make clear his
desire to look good. And, baby, did he look good, dressed
in slightly faded but form-fitting blue jeans, a white
oxford shirt open at the collar and a black blazer. His
hazel eyes, an intriguing mix of gray and blue and green,
reflected intelligence and good humor, as did the scant
smile that curled his lips. Even seated as she was, Julia
could tell he easily topped six feet, and that every last
inch of him was lean and solid.

Oh, yeah. Continuation of the species was looking better
and better. As was the species itself.

She extended her hand and hoped her palm wasn't as sweaty
as the rest of her suddenly felt. "Julia 6," she said,
introducing herself with her first name and her assigned
number, as each of the fifty participants had been
instructed to do.

Daniel 9 smiled, something that made Julia want to purr
and rub against his leg. "Six and nine," he said as he
slipped his hand into hers. "Now, why do I think those
numbers would go so well together?"

She was so besotted by his dark, velvety voice, and so
agitated by the frisson of heat that charged up her arm
when her fingers connected with his, that she didn't even
care he'd made such an adolescent remark. In fact, she was
starting to suffer from a case of overactive hormones
herself.

"Have a seat," she told him as she reluctantly released
his hand.

He sat immediately, and she made a mental note of how
obedient he was. They were off to a very good start as far
as she was concerned.

"So what brings you to tonight's event?" she asked. Daniel
9 smiled again, and Julia did her best not to swoon. "It
sounded like fun," he told her.And, to his credit, he
actually sounded as though he meant it. "I haven't dated
anyone seriously for a while, and I've been missing the
companionship." He shrugged as if that weren't a big
concern of his, but something in his eyes indicated
otherwise. "A buddy of mine heard about this thing
tonight," he concluded, "and invited me to tag along."

"And how's your evening been so far?" Julia asked. He
pretended to give that some thought. "Actually, I don't
think my evening started until I sat down at your table."

Oh, good answer, Julia thought. She was ready to start
working on that continuation of the human race right now.
She wondered if there was room for both of them under the
table.

She smiled, and he smiled back, and suddenly, two hundred
and forty seconds wasn't nearly enough. And then she
realized she was wasting them by just sitting there ogling
him. Oh, wait, no, she wasn't. There was no way a second
could be wasted, provided she was within viewing range of
Daniel 9.

"So tell me a little bit about yourself," she said.

"Well, I don't like piña coladas," he told her, "or
getting caught in the rain."

"Excellent," she concurred. "I'm not much for either
myself. So what do you like? Raindrops on roses? Bright
copper kettles?"

"I can handle those," he said, "as long as you don't make
me go bicycling through the Alps with a bunch of kids
wearing lederhosen made out of curtains."

So he was familiar with The Sound of Music, Julia thought,
putting another mental gold star by his name.

"What do you like to do in your spare time?" she asked. He
lifted a shoulder and let it drop. "I don't know how to
say it without sounding really boring," he said.

"Try me."

And, gosh, smart guy that he was, he totally picked up on
her double entendre, because his smile this time was a
little suggestive. Oh, goody.

"The usual stuff," he told her. "Movies, music, books,
eating out."