by T Gephart
The mix of feelings that I was experiencing for him was new and exciting. They confused me slightly, not being able to package them up neatly, but I knew my days were better with him in them; even it was just phone calls.
It was official— apart from being sexy and so incredibly funny— Troy Harris was also very sweet and sincere. It was so unexpected. One more thing to add to the list of his perfections; I’d stalled greatly on his imperfections after those original two. Hated coffee and the R2D2 in the kitchen (in case anyone needed a refresher) and even now, those two didn’t seem so bad. The no coffee thing could actually be a positive. I would never have to compete with him for the last cup.
Saturday’s call had been a little bit different. Rather than wait until later in the day, I instead gave him a five a.m. wake up call and played Britney Spear’s “Oops!...I Did It Again” at ear-splitting decibels through the phone. Even though I had also been affected by the sleep deprivation, it had been worth it to hear the expletives that spewed from Troy’s mouth while he tried to work out what was going on. It had taken me at least ten minutes before I had been able to catch my breath. Tears streamed down my cheeks, I had been laughing so hard.
After Troy warned me that we were now at war, the conversation took a more serious turn.
“So, are you dating anyone?” The words leapt out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them.
“Not really, Jase and I hung out with a couple of girls on Wednesday but nothing really serious.”
“Oh, okay,” I managed to say without choking. My voice almost sounded normal, indifferent. There, something to be proud of.
The thought of him with someone else made my blood run cold. Did I want to know any of this? I should have stopped, but of course I didn’t. I had to dig a little bit deeper, maybe torment myself a little more. It would have been too much to ask to just end the call on a happy note.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” It wasn’t any of my business and I had no right to ask.
I heard a small sign. “It wasn’t important. It wasn’t some hot date or anything. What about you? You dating?”
What about me? I hadn’t even looked at a guy since I’d slept with Troy, not seriously anyway. I mean, I’d appreciated the guy in his underwear on the billboard in Time’s Square, but it would have been rude if I hadn’t. The poor guy was in his underwear, demanding attention.
“Me? Sure, there’s this guy I’ve kind of been interested in. Who knows, we might even go out tonight.”
“Really? Well that’s good.”
What did that mean? He wanted me to date? Why couldn’t he be jealous? Not that I was jealous. Nooo, of course I wasn’t. I was just curious. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Not sure yet. I’ll probably go out.”
It was his non-committal reply and lack of jealousy that was responsible for my next move. Rational Megs would have never suggested what I was about to suggest. A time machine would have been good. So I could’ve either gone back and kicked myself for being so stupid or clamp my hand across my mouth so the words didn’t come out.
“Well, you know what would be fun,” I said. The world moved in slow motion as I finished the last part. “We should go on a double date.”
It was like a car crash. The minute it left my mouth, I regretted it and prayed that Troy would shoot down the idea. Who even suggests something like that? You didn’t have to look too far to get your answer. This was by far my dumbest idea.
“Sure.” His words had sealed my fate.
****
Panic set in as the reality hit me. I needed a date, like now. That guy I had kind of been interested in—Fictional. Non-existent. It was something to say so I didn’t sound like a pathetic loser who had been sitting at home waiting for someone who wasn’t interested in her. Yeah, all right. I’ll admit. Me being cool with Troy and I not dating wasn’t entirely the truth. I was fine with it as long as he wasn’t dating someone else. Now I was not only going to have to be okay with it but watch it, all night long. Damn it.
So was there dial-a-date service? I sure as hell could use that right now. Trust me, at this point hiring an escort was not off the table. I had no shame and I would rather turn up with Juan Pablo on my dime, than show up alone.
It also didn’t help that I was working against the clock. Assuming I could find someone who would be bearable, what would be the chances they were available on a Saturday night?
I could do this. It was one night. It would be fine. Troy and I were fine, now. I could even look at him and not need to stick panty liners under my armpits to stem the ridiculous amount of perspiration he seemed to induce. See? Totally, fucking, fine.
Was it too late to fake an illness? Something contagious but not so grotesque he would never want to see me again. I paced nervously around my living room. Fuck. I was in deep shit. Think. I willed myself to come up with some master plan but nothing happened, other than giving myself a headache and the possibility of an angina attack from the stress.
The walls were closing in on me as the first two hours ticked over with not even a possible name of a willing victim I could ask. I pulled on my runners and left my apartment for the solace of Jilly Beans, my lack of caffeine adding to my distress.
It was there while I ordered my extra large, extra hot latte with an extra coffee shot from hot coffee guy that inspiration struck me. Or was it desperation? Which ever it was, I was thankful. And if I didn’t think it would have earned me some seriously judgmental stares, I would have gotten on my knees and praised God.
“Hi.” I handed over a twenty-dollar bill and gave my best flirty smile.
“Hi,” hot coffee guy responded. His cute smile teased beneath his neatly manicured beard.
“I’ve been watching you for a while…” What the fuck was I saying? I’ve been watching you for a while? I sounded like a freaking stalker. Had I suddenly lost the ability to flirt?
“I meant, I’ve been coming here for a while and I’ve noticed you.” Not much better but we were going to work with it. “And…” I continued hoping that at some point the seductress in me would kick in. “I was wondering if you had any plans for this evening?” Not my best work and probably too direct, but I was on the clock.
“Are you asking me out?” Hot coffee guy leaned against the counter, amused.
Look buddy, this isn’t a sideshow. It’s a yes or a no. “Well, sure. I mean, if you want to. I understand if you have plans. It’s short notice.”
“Do you even know my name?” He raised his eyebrow as his grin widened.
“Um…” I looked down at his apron hoping to find a name badge but was disappointed when my search came up empty.
“I’m sure I’ll find out, if you go out with me tonight.” Lame. Why didn’t I just hang a sign around my neck that read desperado? I swear I had better moves than that.
Thankfully hot coffee dude had a good sense of humor and didn’t laugh his ass off at my feeble attempt. After he whipped up my order, he took a break and sat with me while I enjoyed my coffee. His name was actually Callum and he was incredibly sweet. The thirty-three-year-old New Jersey native took the trip across state lines with dreams of opening his own retro-style coffee house. I didn’t want to crush his spirit by pointing out his business venture was probably better suited to New Jersey than New York, so instead I smiled and promised to be one of their first customers when he opened. That wasn’t a hard promise to make, regardless of my feelings for Callum, my love for the liquid God of caffeinated goodness would stand the test of time.
So with my coffee all consumed and Callum’s break over, we exchanged numbers with a promise from me that I would text details sometime that day for our hot date that evening.
It was with this new found relief that I floated back to my apartment. I had a date, he was cute and he wasn’t on an hourly rate. So many positives, I could barely contain my excitement. I texted Troy and told him that Project Double Date was a go and because I had been cocky, told him to
name the time and pick the place. Clearly I hadn’t learnt from my earlier overconfident idiocy.
Callum—like most residents of NYC —didn’t own a car, so we decided it would make more sense to meet at Jilly Beans and split a cab to our destination. Troy had picked a club—standard— in midtown and silently I was glad it was somewhere noisy that lacked intimacy.
We stepped out of the shiny yellow cab sometime around nine. It was a Saturday night and the streets were filled with excited locals and tourists ready to party away the weekend in the city that never slept. Smoke bellowed from a grate in the ground; the heat of the day not willing to give anyone a reprieve.
I’d worn a short black backless dress that teased at my upper thigh—no bra. I knew it was sexy but if I had any doubts, they had been put to rest by Callum’s eyes almost bugging out of this head. My strappy Manolo’s —the ones I had purchased while trying to manage my Troy obsession— were the perfect compliment. Callum had dressed nice too, black skinny jeans, black pointy-toed shoes and a blue and red checkered button down shirt, rolled at his biceps. I still hadn’t decided whom I was trying to impress.
There was a short line, but Troy had informed me that my name with a plus one would be left on the list to ensure I would be allowed entry quickly and with no trouble. Sure enough, after the mention of my name, the rope was lowered and we were ushered inside. No cover charge was demanded, nor were our IDs checked, such was the power of celebrity.
The inside of the club was like a hundred others in the city. It was as if all the designers had all compared notes or they’d been styled by the same person. A marriage of industrial and modern, the walls had been painted to look like exposed cinder blocks. Lights swirled randomly from the exposed metal truss that hung from the celling. The bar, metallic and mirrored. Even the music sounded the same. Wash, rinse, and repeat.
“How did we get in so fast? Are you famous or something?” Callum naïvely asked.
It had been mentioned, in passing that we might be catching up with a friend or two of mine. Sure, the boundaries of honesty had been stretched, but telling him it was a double date right off the bat would have sent him running a mile.
“Oh, those friends I told you we may run into? They come here a lot, they said they’d leave my name at the door.” My web of deceit became more intricate.
“That’s cool, Megsy.” Callum smiled and slung his arm around my waist. I wasn’t crazy about the Megsy thing but didn’t set him straight. His overfamiliarity felt weird, like an ill-fitting belt that ruined a good outfit.
“Megs.” We’d barely travelled five feet when Troy’s smiling face greeted us, his arm around the shoulder of some blonde skinny whore.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t a whore and I was being catty, but the smug look she wore on her face was enough of a reason to hate her. And did he have to pick a blonde? He couldn’t have diversified and picked a brunette or something?
“Troy.” I forced the smile on my face and tried not to hiss out his name through gritted teeth. I hated seeing him with someone else. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Yeah, big coincidence.” Thankfully he continued my rouse though his smirk very plainly showed he was enjoying making me squirm.
“Callum, this is my friend, Troy.” I childishly sidled up closer to my date as I made the introductions. “Troy, Callum.”
“Hey, man. Good to meet you.” Troy shook Callum’s hand amicably. It annoyed me how easy it seemed for him.
“Wow, are you Troy Harris? The drummer for Power Station?” Callum’s smile widened.
“He sure is.” Skinny whore weighed in, tightening her grip on Troy. Oh look, she speaks. I had been worried she wouldn’t be able to move her exaggerated collagen-inflated lips.
“Yeah. Guilty as charged, and this is Amber. ” Troy nodded and gave his cheerleader a squeeze. Amber, she even had a stripper name. Perfect.
“Hi,” Amber squeaked. “And you are…” She deliberately left her voice trailing as she looked me over.
I am the woman who made the guy whose arm you’re clinging to come so many times he could barely walk two weeks ago. “Megs.” I compromised. “A friend of Troy’s,” I added, not entirely content with my amended introduction.
Amber, obviously bored with me, turned her attention back to Troy. “Are you going to take us to the VIP section?” she whined, sounding like a toddler pleading for candy.
Troy shrugged. He didn’t seem as excited as he had been when we walked in. “If that’s where everyone wants to go.”
“Sounds good to me. Megsy? You cool with that?” Callum’s hand moved down the exposed skin on my back, dangerously close to my ass.
Troy’s eyes followed Callum’s wandering hand and his jaw tightened. “Megsy?” His eyebrow raised at my new found nickname. “Any objections?”
“None here.” I smiled brightly and pretended like the hand on my ass or the nickname wasn’t bothering me.
Amber clasped her hands together excitedly. “Great, follow me.”
We tried to squeeze through the crowd but had to stop every ten steps when someone recognized Troy. Every time he was polite, spending a few moments with each fan before moving forward. Amber seemed to enjoy the extra attention and always made sure she was tightly on Troy’s arm at every photo opportunity.
The VIP area carried the same theme as the rest of the club, metallic, industrial. What was different were the plush bright blue chairs that spliced through the harshness of the place. It was either some nuevo style technique I wasn’t cool enough to understand or the designer had been colorblind. The glass-topped coffee tables that were randomly scattered through the room were also a mystery.
When I had suggested this double date thing, it had seemed like a bad idea. The reality was so much worse. Amber poured herself all over Troy; her hands, legs, mouth, tongue on him at all times.
It was enough to make me sick.
My hands were balled so tightly that my fingernails had cut into my palms. I smiled politely while Callum spoke passionately about different Columbian coffee beans and his aspirations to open a coffee house. Amber commandeered the conversation when she could, chatting excitedly about who had been ostracized from the catwalk in Milan— The fact the coffee table legs were wider than her thighs should have been a tip-off that she was a model. I hated her even more.
We sat and drank, the smile fixed to my face while I lived out my private hell. Troy seemed relaxed, his arms draped around the back of one of the plush blue chairs —they might look like an eyesore but at least they were comfy— with Amber perched in his lap.
Despite having a fairly decent buzz from the copious amount of alcohol I had consumed, I was still far from having a good time. Mentally I made the decision to keep a handle on my inebriation. Drunk Megs was not as diplomatic as sober Megs, and also lacked the filter between her mind and her mouth. The last thing I needed was a slurred and emotional purge of my feelings or alternatively, to grab Amber by the hair and tell her to back the hell off. I’ll admit that the last part made me smile.
As the warmth of the alcohol spread through my body and made more me relaxed, my body discovered it had other needs—ones that required a bathroom. I had already filled my quota of listening politely and was skating to the end of my self-control. So rather than sprout the drunken, emotional confessional I had been avoiding, I decided I needed to get away from there.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I announced loudly as I stood up, my body swaying unsteadily on my feet. Not sure why I felt compelled to broadcast my bodily need, but I didn’t wait for a response or an acknowledgement. Instead I opted to turn my back on the farce that was my night, both literally and figuratively and stalk to the nearest bathroom. The trip somewhat reminiscent of the first time I’d met Troy.
The private restrooms of the VIP area were extremely luxurious. The white tiled walls and chrome accents made it feel like I’d stepped into a private utopia. Luckily for me, I was the only occupant, which allowed me the
ability to explore. My high heels echoed off the white marble floor as I inspected the space that featured a large, white leather chaise and an old-school bureau filled with designer lotions, soaps and colognes.
It was in the bathroom that I could finally breathe. The noise of the club and the memory of my horrendous evening could be shut behind the large metal door. It was heaven. I wondered how long I could stay here. Or if I slunk off without saying goodbye, if anyone would notice? I had been okay with not dating Troy, or at least I thought I was. What we had now was great, he made me laugh and I loved spending time with him either on the phone or seeing him briefly when I went to visit Ash. But I wasn’t prepared to see him dating someone else. To see another woman touching him, going home with him. It was selfish and unreasonable and I knew that, but I would give anything for that the girl he took home tonight to be me. News flash. It wasn’t going to be. Great. I was emotional, confused, far from sober and hiding in a bathroom. I had reached a new level of hell.
Amber—my date—was as dumb as two planks. Actually, that would be insulting to the wood—she was probably dumber than that, and the only interest she had in me was my ability to get her into the restricted VIP area and continue to pay for the overpriced pink cocktails she was sucking down. In all honesty, that situation was perfect with me, so I didn’t feel like a complete and utter asshole in having zero interest in her.
Her number was randomly selected from the collection of crumpled napkins, matchboxes and scraps of paper I had accumulated over the last couple of weeks. Not that I called any of them before—I wasn’t interested in dating— but Megs’s bright idea had required me to play the number lottery.
When Megs had suggested this double date thing, I thought she was kidding. No shit, I fucking laughed. Firstly, because we weren’t in junior fucking high— who the hell went on double dates, and secondly, ’cause the last thing I wanted was to see her with some other dude. Fuck that. NO.
We’d played it cool for the past few weeks, doing the friend thing. It seemed like every day I got a little bit deeper, and even though we saw each other and spoke all the time, it was never enough. Our phone conversations were hilarious and the highlight of my day. I even pretended like shit was all fucking fine even though I was less than happy that I couldn’t touch her. Yeah, and it wasn’t just about not being able to fuck her either. I missed the weight of her against me. Her smile. Her laugh—made my world go around.