Number fifteen couldn’t be any worse than the first fourteen men she’d tried.

Rachel Taylor pressed the fast-forward button on the screen, skimming past the dating service’s introductions before pausing the video at the end of the blur of pink and purple advertisement. A heavily featured, but handsome man, stared back at her from the screen. Maybe things were looking up.

“Yo, babes. I’m Vinnie Fetachelli.”

Rachel groaned then glanced to her friend to see whether her reaction to the exuberant greeting was equally disbelieving. Genie’s hand had stopped in mid-air, popcorn forgotten. When her gaze met Rachel’s, Rachel couldn’t help but grin. “Told ya, this would be better than watching The Bachelorette.”

The dark-haired, brown-eyed man on the video from the Date-Your-Mate online dating service, continued introducing himself in an abrupt, staccato voice betraying his Bronx-Italian origins.

“Yooze...,” he said, aiming his forefingers at his audience, “...should go wit me...” now pointing his thumbs at his chest, “... ’cause I know how to treat a babe right.”

“Is this guy for real?” Rachel watched dumbfounded.

“Shhh, shhh, listen,” Genie said, shoulders shaking. She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.

On the screen, Vinnie Fetachelli was looking down at a paper. “Occ-u-pa-tion...” Frowning, he glanced back up and shifted to the side in his seat. He appeared to be looking at something behind the camera. “Yo, lady. What’s that mean?”

From out of view of the camera, came a faint female voice. “Job—Mr. Fetachelli—job.”

“Oh, yeah, right, I knew dat.”

He straightened, and stared directly at them once more.

“Me and my family own a deli, called Fetachelli Deli. Family business, if ya know what I mean.” He gave them a sly smile and a wink.

Rachel snorted then surrendered to a fit of the giggles. It was nervous laughter, but it was better to laugh than to cry.

“Oh, my God. Fetachelli Deli, what a hoot.” Genie gasped, holding her sides as Vinnie looked once more at the paper.

“Hobby? I like to watch wrestling, boxing and da races. I’m not picky on da type of races. I like horse, car and dog races–-anyt’ing I can place a bet on. But don’t worry—I rarely lose. And if I did, my family’d take care of me, if ya know what I mean.”

“Oh, my God, he’s with the Mafia,” Genie exclaimed dramatically. “Rachel, what on earth did you tell them you wanted when you filled out their online quiz?”

Rachel frowned and tapped the pause button. “I simply told them I wanted someone who was healthy and...um, well...healthy.”

“That’s it?” Genie’s voice rose. “You didn’t ask the agency to match you with a compatible personality? Or to have them screened for a minimal intelligence level? Rache, you should at least have asked them to check for rap sheets. Heavens, don’t they automatically do background checks?”

Sniffing, Rachel raised her chin a notch. “I didn’t think it was important for my purpose, and frankly I didn’t think about rap sheets.”

“Not important—are you nuts? This guy could be connected, ‘if ya know what I mean’,” Genie said, mimicking Vinnie’s accent. “And you don’t think that’s important?”

Rachel took a deep breath, striving for calm. “Now, Genie, we don’t know that he’s Mafia. It’s rather nice that he has such a supportive family. You’re letting your imagination run away with you. Besides, I think he’s kind of cute.”

Pressing PLAY, Rachel ignored Genie’s exasperated glare and pretended interest in whatever gem of wisdom Vinnie mumbled as he continued his monologue.

“Expectations...”

A female voice in the background prompted him, “What do you want in a woman?”

Vinnie shrugged. “Da chick I go wit has to look good on my arm, so da other guys can see what a babe she is when I take her out.”

The computer screen turned black as the interview ended. Rachel clicked to minimize the online video and leaned forward to take two more sheets of paper from the stack sitting on the coffee table. “Here, let’s fill out these evaluation forms. After we watch all the interviews and complete the evaluations, I’ll enter the information into a spreadsheet.”

“I still can’t believe you made up an evaluation form to help you choose your date.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Rachel asked impatiently. “We have three more videos to review from the dating service. I want to be as objective about this as possible.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Genie wiped butter from the popcorn off her fingers. “Give me that paper.” Grabbing a pen, she began to mark the sheet.

Rachel tapped her own pen thoughtfully against her lip as she read through the questions. Some were straightforward questions about physical attributes like hair and eye color, that required an A through D answer. The rest were subjective, and asked for rankings between one and five. Questions like, “Does this candidate appear athletic?” or “Does the candidate give the impression of mental stability?” Rachel congratulated herself on devising a clinical and objective list of questions. They would help narrow the search for the perfect candidate considerably.

Genie slapped her form on the coffee table. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Rache” she said wonderingly. “You’re the only person I know who could reduce the characteristics of physical attraction to a multiple-choice test.”

Rachel grimaced. She knew her friend wasn’t about to let another opportunity to nag pass her by. Genie wasn’t wild about her plan. One look in Genie’s sympathetic gaze and Rachel thought, Oh boy, here it comes.

“Rachel, won’t you reconsider?” Genie pleaded. “This just doesn’t seem right. Your plan doesn’t take into consideration the human factors. I mean, just look at all the candidates we’ve gone through tonight. Tell me there’s even one guy you would feel comfortable hopping into bed with, hmmm?”

Dotting the last ‘i’ and crossing the last ‘t’ on her evaluation form, Rachel delayed answering. Instead, she picked up her planner and checked Vinnie’s name off her list then looked at her best friend. “Genie, the simple fact is, I’m determined to have a child. I’m thirty years old, and in all my time on this earth, I’ve never found a man I would like to be tied to for the rest of my life. I need a child, but I don’t necessarily want the complications of a husband.”

“But those can be the best complications in life,” Genie said softly, her brown eyes reflecting her concern.

“Maybe for women who have the time and patience. I have neither that I’m willing to lavish on a man. I want to concentrate all my attention on a baby.” Rachel searched for the next name on her list. “I’ve made up my mind. This is the only solution that makes sense for me. Shall we continue?” she asked, without looking up from her notebook. She heard Genie sigh.

“Just let me finish my evaluation of the Italian Noodle.”

“The Italian Noodle?” Rachel’s eyebrows raised, and she couldn’t resist turning to face her friend.

Genie shrugged her shoulders in silent surrender. For now, at least, the subject of the advisability of “The Plan” would wait. Thank goodness. Her friend’s resistance was beginning to wear on Rachel’s nerves.

“We have to have some way of keeping these guys straight in our minds—so Vinnie’s the Italian Noodle,” Genie said. “I’ve given them all nicknames.”

“Fine. Good idea.” Rachel exhaled in relief, glad her friend was going along with her and letting the subject of single parenthood drop for the moment.

While Genie reviewed her form, Rachel took a gulp from her wineglass and swiped the screen for the next interview. “Here we go.”

“No, wait. I’m not ready...and I’m not sure I’ll ever be,” Genie ended, mumbling under her breath. She grabbed the wine bottle in front of her and topped off both glasses on the table.

Rachel waited patiently while Genie took a deep gulp of her drink and settled back against the couch cushions. “Roll ’em, Rache. I have to admit, this is a lot more fun than watching some Barbie flirt with half a dozen men—damn unfair, that.”

Rachel tapped the screen and moved her finger to the right, zipping to the start of the next interview. A hulking specimen of a man appeared on the monitor. She sat forward, her interest captured. He looked like an actor in an ad for exercise equipment, and he definitely looked...healthy.

Wearing a muscle shirt, he stood before the camera with his hands on his slim hips, displaying bulging biceps and broad muscular shoulders. His skin was a beautifully tanned golden brown and glowed with a slight sheen as though he had just applied a layer of tanning oil. His blond hair was cut close on the sides and was spiked on top. He stared out of the screen with a stunning pair of ice blue eyes—directly at them.

“Ooh-la-la!.” Genie let out a shrill wolf whistle. “Now, we’re talking.”

Then the gorgeous hunk opened his mouth...

Genie moaned, echoing Rachel’s sharp disappointment.

“Hi, I’m Marion Hohenberger.” The man’s voice was high, squeaky and totally incongruous with his appearance.

Genie squealed then hiccoughed. “He sounds like a mouse!”

“Who would have thought such a perfect body would be stuck with such a wimpy voice?” Rachel groaned.

“Maybe, too many steroids?”

“Yup, that’s my guess.” Rachel reached for her glass, sure that a little alcohol might improve her first impression of the muscled wonder.

Genie lifted her wineglass at the same time in salute. “Here’s to Mighty Mouse.”

“I used to be a little guy...,” Marion continued.

“Yeah, right,” snorted Genie.

“...until I found the Royal Academy Health Spa. I built this physique, and now own my own franchise with the spa.”

“Hmmm, I’ll have to keep him in mind,” Rachel said thoughtfully. “I have a client who sells weight equipment. Mighty Mouse here would look dynamite in my client’s ads.”

“But that voice.” Genie’s incredulous expression caused Rachel to smile.

“You’d be amazed at what they can do to sweeten a voice in a sound studio.”

The muscleman turned to the side and curled his forearm toward his shoulder. He posed like a Mr. Universe contestant, displaying his muscles to their best advantage. “Even though I’m thirty-eight, I have the body of a twenty-five-year-old.”

“And the brain of an eight-year-old.” Genie chortled.

“Genie,” Rachel swatted at her friend. “Give the guy a chance.”

“Really, Rache, intelligence goes a long way in this world. You should have stipulated intelligence to that agency.”

“You’re letting your prejudices run away with you again. He owns his own business; he has to have some smarts.”

“I’m an entrepreneur and personal trainer,” Marion droned on.

“Surprise, surprise,” Genie continued her running commentary.

“My hobby is body building. My expectations in a woman are simple: she should be in good shape, enjoy physical exercise, and she should be a vegetarian and non-smoker.”

The image faded to black as Marion’s video ended.

Sighing, Rachel handed Genie an evaluation form and automatically began filling hers out. “Well, I only fit his last requirement, non-smoker. I wonder why they even bothered forwarding his link to me.”

Genie glanced over at Rachel, who sat on the couch in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Eyeing her as if she were a steer at a cattle auction, Genie began to list her attributes. “Oh, I don’t know. You keep yourself in pretty good shape. You have toned muscles, not weight-lifter size, but still, you’re firm. Your skin isn’t sagging anywhere that I can see, so you’re aging well for a thirty-year-old hag.”

Rachel picked up a pillow and tossed it at Genie. “Okay, okay, you can stop rubbing it in about my age. Just because you’re a twenty-nine-year-old baby, doesn’t mean you can pick on me. Remember, you’ll be thirty next year. If you don’t behave yourself, I’ll paste your birthday notice on every billboard in town.”

“I plan on being twenty-nine the rest of my life, so there.” Genie stuck out her tongue and threw the pillow back at Rachel.

“Just finish the form, while I play the next video.” Rachel swiped again, entered another name in her planner, then settled in with her glass of wine to watch the next candidate.

“How do you do? I’m Herbert Molter.”

Genie leaned forward, squinting at the monitor.

Curious about what had caught Genie’s attention, Rachel leaned closer to view the man in the center of the screen.

“Does there seem to be something funny about that man’s hair?” Genie asked.

Rachel froze the picture, and they both peered at the image on the screen to inspect his carefully groomed coif.

“He has hair plugs,” Genie crowed.

“Are you sure?” Rachel hated to admit it, but she could see the neat little rows of hair on the man’s scalp. It was as if he had a small orchard of miniature saplings sprouting from his head. But Rachel felt compelled to defend him—after all, going through a dating service to find her baby daddy had been all her idea. “He looks nice enough,” she said hesitantly.

“But could you imagine running your fingers through his hair?” Genie’s face screwed up, and she gave a delicate shudder. “Oo, I’d be afraid of uprooting them.”

“Don’t be so mean, Genie. Hair doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“I bet it does to him.”

Rachel set the video into motion and sat back on the couch staring at the screen dispiritedly. She could have done without Genie’s eagle-eye. Now that she was aware of the man’s unnatural hairline, it was all she could see. He could be the most handsome man on the planet for all she knew–-but that was lost to her now. Her gaze was glued instead to the dots of brown hair that sprung tightly from his too-perfect crown.

Genie slid another look at the man on the screen and grinned as she sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Rachel, you really are desperate, aren’t you?”

“Hush and watch.”

“I’m a utilities specialist,” Herbert said with a small smile. “I read the electric meters for the city.”

“Now, that’s exciting,” Genie’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes heavenward.

“Hobbies.” Herb puffed out his chest and preened. “I’m one of the founding members and the current membership chairperson for the local Botanical Society. I have a spectacular rose garden that was featured as the Rose Garden of the Year in the Southern Horticulturists Review.”

“Oh, whoopee.” Genie tossed her popcorn up in the air like confetti. “I’m impressed.”

“Stop that.” Rachel slapped at Genie.

“Expectations...,” Herbert paused to give the prompt some careful thought, “...my expectations are that my date be female and heterosexual. That is all.”

A match made in heaven, Rachel thought wryly. His expectations aren’t any higher than mine.

The video immediately faded to black.

There was no sound out of Genie, so Rachel looked in her direction to gauge her reaction. She was doubled over and shaking, her face pressed to a throw pillow, and she was clutching her midsection as if in pain. Suspecting that Genie was choking on her popcorn, Rachel placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Genie, are you all right?”

Genie waved a hand in the air.

“Nod if you are choking,” Rachel instructed urgently.

Genie nodded vigorously and beat her hand against the couch.

Rachel raised herself to her knees, positioning herself behind her friend and circled her midriff with her arms, placing her closed fists against her diaphragm. She jerked her arms sharply inward.

Genie exhaled noisily. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Saving your life.”

Genie sat up rubbing her tummy, then burst into a loud fit of hilarity–-this time accompanied by the usual snorts and guffaws.

By now, Rachel understood clearly she was incapacitated for another reason altogether.

Eyes streaming with tears and her face a bright red, it took Genie a full five minutes before she calmed down enough to breathe without wheezing.

“If you are quite finished...” Rachel leveled a killing glare toward Genie, then twisted, giving her full attention to the computer monitor. Realizing she was about to click on the last link, she hesitated before touching the mouse. But instead of clicking, she leaped to her feet and hurried to the kitchen, returning a moment later armed with a fresh bottle of wine. As she took her seat, Genie was blowing her nose loudly and scrubbing smeared mascara off her cheeks.

“Are you ready?” Rachel asked in clipped tones.

“Yes, oh yes. Go ahead, put it on. I could use another good laugh.” Tossing back another gulp of wine, Genie continued. “I think my favorite, so far, is the last one—Plug Man.” She dissolved into giggles again.

Rachel relaxed, and couldn’t help but smile. Genie had the gift of laughter. That’s why she valued the redhead’s friendship so much. Rachel tended to take life too seriously, while Genie thought life was one long comic relief show. Her special spin on life often helped Rachel put things into perspective. “For what it’s worth, we don’t have any more potential candidates to review.”

“No? What about this last video? I promise to try and keep an open mind.” Genie touched Rachel’s arm, giving her a steady look. “And we don’t have to make any decisions tonight.”

Blushing, Rachel reached for the remote and held it protectively against her chest. “It isn’t another man.”

Genie’s eyebrows rose. “Uh...I thought the whole point was you needed a man to get you pregnant. Is there something you want to tell your best buddy, Rache?”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Stop it, silly. It’s my video.”

Genie grinned at her embarrassment. “Start ’er up. I need to see what you’re advertising.”

Her hand hovering over the mouse, Rachel glared at her friend. “You have to promise not to laugh.”

“No can do.”

Rachel sighed. “Oh, Genie, you’re a mess. I guess there’s no use asking you not to laugh. That would be like asking a mudslide to stop mid-way down a steep slope. Oh well, what’s it going to hurt?” With a resigned shrug, Rachel punched the play button and sat next to Genie, attempting to view it with a detached eye.

“Hello. I’m Rachel Taylor.” Rachel complimented herself on her confident delivery. She also thought the leopard print chiffon scarf looked daring against the deep V of her double-breasted camel-colored coatdress.

“So far, so good. You remembered your name.” Genie grinned.

“I own an advertising firm and handle my own accounts.”

“Sounds important, maybe a little stuffy—so’s that dress.”

Rachel frowned, that was one of her favorite outfits. “Genie, I’m an executive, that’s what I do, I can’t lie about that.”

“Shhh. I want to hear what you say your hobbies are.”

“My hobbies are...,” the Rachel on the screen paused, looking a little confused by the question, “...um, reading...I belong to an investor’s club, and I enjoy organizing...things....”

Genie’s eyebrows rose with every word until they were hidden in the hair hanging over her forehead. She held her comments until the Rachel on the monitor concluded her interview.

“My expectations in a man are that he be male, healthy, and have a good genetic background, with no mental or physical health issues in his family. He should have at least a high school education, and I will require a copy of his most recent physical as proof that he is free of any infectious diseases.”

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!” Genie shook her head. “Oh, Rachel. What are you trying to catch, here? Most men would run screaming from the woman in that video.”

“Why? What’s wrong with the truth?”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that it reeks of geek! There’s none of your natural warmth and caring reflected in that video. You should be talking bed sheets, not spreadsheets.”

“Well, I wasn’t very comfortable before the camera, and they only gave me three minutes. I had to make the most of it.” Sighing, Rachel could tell her interview made a lousy first impression, but it couldn’t be helped now. “Never mind my video, we need to make a decision about the gentlemen we just watched.”

“But none of them are right for you.”

“Well, then I’ll keep looking,” Rachel said stubbornly.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I’m determined to stick to my plan and find an acceptable donor.”

“Rachel, you really need to think about this whole scheme. It just isn’t right. You must know someone. You work with a lot of guys, isn’t there one you might consider?”

A picture of a tall, lean man with laughing blue eyes, hair the color of butterscotch, and the devil’s own smile popped into Rachel’s mind, but she squelched that thought immediately. He was a client. Mixing business with her personal life would be a sure recipe for disaster. Besides, he was already taken.

Snatching her planner from the table, Rachel rose from her seat and paced the floor. “You know I’m not searching for a relationship, Genie. I’ve thought about it for an entire year. I’ve planned and researched until I know exactly what I have to do. There won’t be any strings attached to this baby. It will be all mine.”

“But Rachel, where does love and marriage fit into this?”

Rachel closed her planner with a snap. “It doesn’t.” She walked over to the window and stared out into the darkness. “I’ve always wanted to be a mother. I’ve dreamed of holding a child in my arms, someone I could love and who would love me in return, unconditionally.

Turning to Genie, she continued, “It seems that every relationship I get into, the man wants to change me into someone he wants me to be. A baby won’t do that. I happen to like who I am, and I’m sure that my child will like who I am too.”

“Alright, I understand your wanting to have a child. And since you haven’t found Mr. Right, I can see why you aren’t looking for a relationship at this late date. So, why not just go to a sperm bank?”

Rachel shuddered. “That would be my last resort. Just the thought of having some mystery man’s sperm injected into my uterus gives me the creeps.”

“Put that way...” Shrugging away her reservations, Genie watched her friend sympathetically. “I still think you’re going about this all wrong, but I’ll help you however you want me to.”

“Thanks, Genie. I need to continue my search for The Babymaker.”

Genie blinked. “The what?”

Blushing, Rachel grinned. “I can use a nickname, too. That’s what I’m calling him...whoever he is.”

“So where are you going to look next?”

“Hell, I’m an ad executive. I’ll just write my own ad for my babymaker,” she said with quiet determination.

With a resigned look on her face, Genie cringed. “Honey, I don’t have a good feeling about this.”