by Maria Monroe
"Lia," I respond, and she holds my hand for a few seconds as we shake.
"Are you from Chicago?" she asks.
"Originally," I say. "I went away to college in Maine, and I'm back now for work."
"Ah! That's where you know Julian from then? College?"
I nod.
"Well, I hope to see you around soon. Julian's great," she says, kissing him on the cheek and laughing lightly, "but I could use some girl talk once in a while. I've been so busy since moving to the city that I haven't much chance to meet people."
Girl talk? With Julian’s girlfriend? I'm too horrified to reply, but luckily Darren saves me.
"What do you do, Scarlet?" he asks.
"I'm working for a start-up fashion designer—she's going to be really big!—and modeling. Part time." She's so perfect she modestly lowers her eyes slightly as she mentions the fact that she’s a model.
Oh god. I can’t stand her and that genuine smile she's sending my way, like she wants to exchange phone numbers and go shopping and do each other's hair. And engage in girl talk.
"So let's get together, maybe, Lia? We'll talk at the, what do they call it, Julian? The gala? On Friday night?"
"We'll definitely be there," says Darren, and once more I'm glad he jumped in because my ability to speak is quickly dissipating. In fact, I feel like I don't have the ability to do anything except cry, and I’m perilously close to doing so.
"I'll make sure to look for you there," she says, then turns to Julian. "It's taking the bartender an awfully long time to pour two glasses of wine, isn't it?"
"It is," he says, kissing her neck. "Let's get out of here. I promise you won't have to wait half an hour for a drink at my place."
She laughs, the sound like delicate wind chimes.
“Nice to meet you,” Julian says to Darren, nodding slightly in his direction. “Good seeing you,” he says to me, but the casual phrase is contradicted by the intensity in his eyes. In a second, though, it’s gone, and he turns away, taking Scarlet’s hand.
I watch them make their way to their table to get their coats. I will him to turn around, to meet my eyes one more time, to let me know he's thinking about me too, even as he leaves with one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. I can't be the only one so affected by this sudden reunion. But he doesn't.
"Look at me," says Darren fiercely.
I meet his eyes, filled with compassion.
"Pretend you don't care, Lia."
I swallow a sob. I won't cry. Not here. And certainly not while Julian can see me.
"At least till he's gone," adds Darren.
I nod while, out of the corner of my eye, I see them exit the bar, arms around each other. Outside, Julian hails a cab and they disappear. Together. While I watch.
It's been years. So why does it hurt so much?
The bartender finally comes over and asks us what we want.
"Nothing," answers Darren, as I fight to hold back my tears. "We're done. Thanks."
He puts his arm around me and we head back to the table, where Michelle doesn't even have to ask what happened. And instead of being sarcastic or rolling her eyes, she gently pets my hair until I can breathe properly again.
CHAPTER THREE
My first week passes quickly, and I'm almost able to put my horrible encounter with Julian and his girlfriend out of my mind. I can't tell which is worse: that she's as nice as she is beautiful, or that she has a sexy name in addition to everything else about her that's perfect. Why can't she be named Helga, and have warts and a lisp? Or at least be mean, so I have a real reason to hate her.
I'm busy working on my story, though, and that keeps my brain occupied, at least somewhat. I emailed Randolph Meyer, and though I didn't get any ground breaking details from him, I got enough to start a pretty solid write-up. Connor's impressed enough to tell me to keep going, that I'm definitely on the right track and to keep that train running straight. Apparently he's switched from ship to train analogies.
On Thursday evening after work I go shopping at Macy's with Michelle. In addition to trying on dresses we actually like, she insists on taking some awful ones into the fitting rooms, just for fun. I'm admiring myself in a tight, long dress completely covered in blue sequins when Michelle comes out in a blue and green shimmery gown with feathers attached to the hem.
"Oh my god, you look like a peacock," I laugh.
"If I didn't see your face, I'd swear you were one of those skinny old women who insist on wearing shiny dresses everywhere they go!" she says.
"We should really wear these, Michelle. It would be hilarious."
"At least we need photos," she responds, and we spend the next five minutes taking selfies in the dressing room mirrors. "All right," she finally says. "Let's get serious."
We head back to our dressing rooms to put on dresses we'd actually consider wearing to the gala. I'm trying on a dress Michelle chose for me.
"Hey," she says through the fitting room wall as I'm stripping off the sequined number, "so I've been trying not to pry, but fuck that. Tell me about Julian."
"I already told you," I say, hanging the blue dress back up and slipping into the one Michelle picked. "We dated in college. I broke up with him. End of story."
"Please," she says, the word filled with her disbelief.
I growl in resignation and fake frustration. "Fine. What do you want to know?"
"Everything. Natch."
"Michelle, you're the worst! Like what? Details of our sex life?"
"Sure! That'd be great!"
"Uh, no," I say, pulling the dress on and zipping it.
"Prude," she responds. "But he was good in bed, right? He's got that vibe about him, like he'd just fucking ravage you in the sack. Tell me I'm right."
I laugh out loud at her persistence. "Fine. You're right. He was really good in bed. Not that I have anything to compare him to."
"Wait. What? He's the only guy you've slept with?"
"Yes? Is that bad?"
"No, it's good. Everyone should lose their virginity to someone like Julian," she sighs. "How's the dress?"
"Come see," I say, stepping out of my dressing room. I love the dress. It's a deep purple color, and the skirt is sort of filmy and short, falling just above my knee. A silk band, slightly darker than the rest of the dress, runs along the waist. The top is tight and fitted up to my neck, where a matching silk ribbon ties behind my neck. The back is the best part, revealing all my skin down to the waist. It's sexy but not slutty, and I can't believe the very first dress I tried on is so unbelievably perfect.
"That's fucking hot," says Michelle, nodding her approval. "See? Just another example of how I'm always right." She winks at me. She's wearing a long black dress that makes her look just like Audrey Hepburn.
"You look amazing, Michelle," I say.
"I do, don't I?" She smiles broadly at me, then suddenly frowns. "Wait a second. Going back to Julian. You haven't slept with anyone since him? Isn't that, like, a few years?"
I nod, a blush creeping up into my cheeks.
She tilts her head and purses her lips, as if thinking hard. "I don't know if that's sweet or just pathetic," she finally says.
"Probably pathetic," I mutter.
She shrugs. "Yeah, but think of how awesome it will be the next time you do it. Almost like being a virgin again."
I laugh.
"You know I'm right. Come on. Let's buy these dresses and get some food."
"I need shoes."
"I have shoes you can borrow," she says. "Also? I have the perfect date for you."
It reminds me of being in college, of my sorority-obsessed roommate Greer dressing me up to go on a double date with her boyfriend's friend. I feel a sudden pang of nostalgia for college, for how simple it was in comparison to now. At the time it didn't feel simple—it was the most intense experience I'd had. But I was so innocent, yearning yet unhurt. I want to go back in time and hug that version of me, tell her to enjoy every second because someday things are
going to hurt. Really freaking bad.
"Great,” I mutter in response to hearing about the date.
"Don't sound so excited. But I think you'll change your mind when you see him. He's the new Blackhawks recruit I mentioned on Monday. Ben Reilly? Google him later."
I don't tell Michelle I'm trying hard to stay off the internet for anything not work related because when it comes to Google, the only thing I want to type into my search bar is "Julian Barnes." And that's not going to end well.
"Who are you going with?" I ask.
"Darren."
"What? Why are you setting me up with someone when you're just going with Darren? Are you guys, like, together?" I ask, the idea that maybe they are suddenly occurring to me.
"Me and Darren? No way. I mean, we made out once. A long time ago." She seems completely blasé about it. "This industry? Totally incestuous."
"Please don't tell me you've made out with Connor."
"Oh god. You know, I could tell Ben you already have a date, because I'm positive The Cock would say yes if you asked him."
"You know what? Ben sounds perfect," I say with a grin.
"See? I knew you'd come around! Anyway, since I'm going with Darren we can both keep an eye on you. You know, cause of the whole Julian situation."
"Like my babysitters? Or security guards? I'll be fine, Michelle." The truth is, though, I do feel comforted knowing they care enough to be concerned, even if I think they're overreacting.
"I'm sure you will," she says, but it sounds like the way you placate a child by purposely being overly confident.
"So. Lia."
I look up to see Connor, one arm leaning in obviously feigned casualness on my cubicle wall. His slicked-back hair is crisp, like it would shatter if I so much as touched it, which I have absolutely no desire to do, of course.
"Connor. Hi. I'm just working on that story about Randolph."
"Good. Good." His teeth gleam, and I swear he's even tanner than he was earlier this week. His tan's taken on an even oranger hue, which, given the fact that it’s winter, is even weirder. I purposely don't look at Darren or Michelle because I know they'd make some sort of facial gesture that would end up with me trying to control inevitable giggles.
"Hello, Connor," says Darren, his voice dripping with false solicitousness, and I fight down a smile.
"What's up, cock…" Vanessa coughs out the last syllable, then clears her throat. "Connor. What's up Connor. My throat's been acting up." She shakes her head in exaggerated distress, and it's almost impossible to keep the corners of my mouth from turning up in a grin.
"You should take something for that, Shell," says Connor.
"It's Michelle. And thanks. That's great advice."
"Lia. You know about the industry gala tonight?"
I nod.
"So you know, I know you're new to the city. Or new to the city after being away for college. If you want to go… as friends, of course, or I mean co-workers, or boss and, well…let me know. I'd be happy to accompany you."
I see Michelle's shoulders shrugging in silent laughter, and I bite my lip to keep from cracking up. "Thanks. So much, Connor. Really. I actually have a date, though. But thanks."
"Yup. Of course. See you tonight."
"Tonight," I agree.
"Yup. OK then."
He walks away, his gait stiff probably from embarrassment. As soon as he's out of earshot, I collapse in a fit of giggles. Michelle's doing the same, but unlike my quiet laughter, hers is loud and full-bodied.
"Oh my god. I can't believe he thought you'd actually go with him. And what happened to bosses not hitting on their employees?" she says, running a finger under her eye to keep her makeup from smearing with her tears of mirth.
"I'm pretty sure if this was thirty years ago and there weren't sexual harassment laws, he'd have said I'll give you something for your throat instead of suggesting you take something," I giggle.
"You're so right! It's special medicine. Homemade on command just for you," she says in a deep voice.
"Gross!" I exclaim.
"You guys are disgusting. And immature." Darren pretends to be offended, but he's smiling too.
“I kind of feel a little bad for him,” I admit. “I mean, he’s gross and totally inappropriate. But I think he fakes being all cocky because he’s really insecure.”
“Oh god,” says Michelle. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to make us stop making fun of him. That will take away, like, all our daily entertainment!”
“Nobody could ever make you stop making fun of people,” says Darren to Michelle.
“True,” she responds. “Anyway, are you excited about tonight, Lia?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“What do you mean you guess? You have a date with the newest hottest bachelor in town, and you only guess that you’re excited?”
“Michelle, you know it’s complicated!”
“Trust me. Everything will be crystal clear the instant you see Ben Reilly.”
“OK,” I say dubiously. “Anyway, I have to go. I'm leaving early so I have time to relax before getting ready for tonight."
"Don’t forget we’re meeting at the 720 Bar in the Hilton. Seven pm. Do not be late." Michelle gives me a stern look. I think she's afraid I'll stand them up and make her look bad in front of the new Blackhawks player.
"I'll be there. I promise. I'll see you guys there."
“Just wait till you see him,” Michelle calls after me as I head to the elevators. I can’t help smiling at her enthusiasm, even though I’m filled with serious doubt.
I love my new apartment. It's on the outskirts of Wicker Park, a hip section of the city, but it's not completely gentrified yet where I'm living. My place is a renovated one bedroom in an old four-unit building, with gorgeous hardwood floors and huge windows. The best part is that it's all mine. I never had my own place before. In college there were always roommates, and before that I lived at home with my parents. Tonight, it's nice to have time alone while I get ready.
There are so many reasons why I'd rather just put on sweats and cuddle up under the patchwork blanket my grandmother made for me and watch television.
First, my blind date. I know I should be excited about dating a NHL hockey player because hockey players are, as a rule, extremely hot. Instead, though, I'm actually dreading it, dreading trying to look nice and hold my stomach in all night and make small talk while my feet ache in too-high heels and I keep worrying about whether there's lipstick on my teeth.
Second, Julian. Like always.
Third, Scarlet. Even thinking her name makes me queasy. I wish at least she was a bitch. I wish I could hate her. In addition to being gorgeous, why does she have to be nice? It doesn't seem fair that one person could be so pretty and thin and effortlessly chic and friendly and nice and… mostly? I hate that she's with Julian.
I towel dry my showered hair as much as I can, then walk around in my towel, pouring myself a glass of wine and listening to music until it's time to get ready to go. I blow-dry my hair so it's smooth and straight, then do my makeup, trying to make my eyes look smoky and mysterious like Michelle's. Instead I end up looking like a drunk raccoon, so I wipe it all off and do it again, only more subtle this time. I'll have to ask Michelle for makeup lessons in the future.
Finally, I slip into my new dress. It's gorgeous, and I know it's stunning on me, the deep purple complementing my brown hair as the dress hugs my curves. I twist my hair up, securing it with a pretty silvery comb, then I slide my feet into the silver strappy heels Michelle lent me. After spraying some perfume into the air, I walk through the quick cloud, just the way my college roommate Greer taught me. Once more I feel nostalgia for my college days, and I make a mental note to text Greer tomorrow to see what she's up to. Since I graduated half a year early, she's still at MUD, Maine University of Deerfield, and I can't help shutting my eyes for a second and thinking about my first days there, when everything was scary, yes, but not as scary as this
new life feels.
I take a cab to the Hilton on Michigan Avenue, where I'm meeting Michelle and Darren and my Blackhawks-player blind date at the 720 Club. As I walk through the hotel, I'm aware of heads turning to look at me, and I can't help smiling, glad for the sudden confidence boost. It's not like I need guys to check me out to know I'm worth something, but it doesn't hurt either.
"There you are!" Michelle interrupts my thoughts, and I smile when I see her. She looks utterly stunning in her long and tight black dress, with her black hair swept up into a gorgeous up-do. With her sky-high heels and usual dark red lips, there's no way people won't notice her. "Come on," she says, grasping my hand impatiently and pulling me into the bar.
"I'm totally not late," I insist.
"Well, I guess the rest of us are early, and you've got to catch up with us since we already started drinking."
"OK." A drink sounds good, especially if it helps me forget about Julian, even if only for a few minutes at a time.
We walk through the crowded bar to a corner where Darren is standing at a tall round table with a guy who is, second only to Julian, just about the hottest man I've ever seen. He's totally unlike Julian, though. It's obvious he's an athlete, his thick arms and chest filling out a fitted gray button down shirt. He has light brown hair cut short, and a clean-shaven face. Deep blue eyes smile from his ruddy face. His shirt is tucked into slim black pants that are perfectly tailored and show off his muscular physique. His face lights up in a playful smile when he sees us approach.
"Ben, this is Lia," says Michelle proudly, like she's presenting a show dog.
"Hi," I say, blushing as I extend my hand to him.
He shakes my hand briefly, then holds it with both of his hands in a gesture that's a perfect mix of domination and sweetness. "I'm so glad to meet you, Lia. I'm Ben."
When he lets my hand go I grip the table awkwardly with it, unsure exactly how to respond. My body feels hot, and I know it's not just from the bustle in the bar. Here's the truth: since breaking up with Julian, I've dated guys. Some seriously, most not. But I never felt that spark, never even slept with any of them because my attraction to them wasn't strong enough to make it worth the inevitable awkward hassle that would surely ensue. But staring into Ben's eyes I feel the first genuine attraction to a guy that I've felt since Julian, and I'm giddy with that sensation, with the possibility that I might not be emotionally ruined for the rest of my life after all.