The Accidental Socialite

by Stephanie Wahlstrom

  Just as I finished my sentence Heinrich showed up with a bottle of Moet.

  “Thought you could use a change of scenery. I’m impressed that you two girls have been able to drink this much beer, and you’re not even German!”

  “Commonwealth women are tough.” Lucinda winked at me.

  Heinrich finished our beers and then poured the bottle into the two steins. A two hundred euro bottle of champagne doesn’t go very far when poured into one-liter glasses.

  “Paige, Lucinda tells me you are a big-time journalist in London.”

  “That would be an exaggeration. I write ads for Fashionista magazine.” I was flattered that he was interested though.

  “She had her first article published last month.” Lucinda slurred into our conversation.

  “I’m impressed.”

  “It actually is a great job. What do you do here in Munich?”

  “I don’t live here, actually. I live in Zurich. I race cars.”

  “For real? You’re a racecar driver? Have you won the Monaco Grand Prix?”

  “Well, I’m a test driver for Formula 1. I’m also a doctor part-time. And unfortunately I wasn’t at the Monaco Grand Prix.”

  “What, were you de-worming orphans in Africa?” This guy was too good to be true.

  “No, I said I was a doctor in Zurich.”

  “Sorry, that was my attempt at a joke.”

  “Canadian! Lucinda said you would apologize for everything.” I stared into my stein. “It was a joke, Paige … ” his smile was just so goofy.

  The thing about drinking your weight in beer is that eventually, it has to come out. I looked for the bathroom for at least fifteen minutes and by the time I found it, I was just in time to get in the back of a twenty-minute line. It was times like these I wish I had a penis. Women really get the shit end of the stick when it comes to plumbing.

  When I came back over half an hour later, most people had deserted the table to dance, except Heinrich, who was waiting for me.

  “Miss Paige, I wanted to make sure you weren’t greeted with an empty table.”

  “Thanks, Heinrich.” What a sweetheart.

  “And I want to go and dance with you, but before we all drink too much and forget everything we said, I want to get your number. I’ll be in London in two weeks and would love to see you again.”

  “Of course!” Yay!

  After Oktoberfest I called in sick for another day of recovery and went on an involuntary detox. I’d managed to gain eight pounds in the three days I was there and the smell of alcohol made me dry heave.

  Heinrich and I talked almost every day, although the long-distance thing was becoming an issue. He’d visited me once already in the two weeks since I’d been back, but obviously I was broke, so a trip to Zurich for the weekend wasn’t really feasible. I was also stubborn as shit, so there was no way I was going to let him pay for a flight and I didn’t want to add International Prostitute to my list of accomplishments in Europe.

  Heinrich eventually caved to my incessant suggestions and I booked a £12 flight to Verona arriving Saturday morning at ridiculous o’clock and leaving Sunday night. My only concession was to let him pay for a hotel because he flat out refused to stay at the hostel I recommended.

  We drunkenly slept together at his hotel when he visited me in London. There was no way I was bringing him back to my place; it was threat-level orange at my flat. We never really talked about it or being exclusive afterwards, which was annoying because I clearly hadn’t learned my lesson from Jason. Compared to most girls I’ve met in London, I’m a huge prude and I don’t care if it’s old-fashioned, but I think it’s gross to be sleeping with more than one person at a time, men and women included.

  Maybe it was naive of me, but I swore as I booked the ticket to the birthplace of Romeo and Juliet that I wouldn’t sleep with him again until I knew we were exclusive. Besides, it was only one night. I could go one night without sleeping with him, right?

  His flight arrived just before mine and he was waiting for me as soon as I got through baggage claim. Awkward conversation filled the taxi ride to the hotel. Actually … awkward on my part. Heinrich acted as if he regularly met girls in exotic locations on weekends. Then it occurred to me that he probably did and that Verona was only an exotic location to someone who was used to spending her weekends away with livestock.

  When Heinrich was booking the hotel, he asked me if there was anything I really wanted to see. Obviously the only real landmark on my list was Juliet’s balcony, which was enclosed in a tiny little square where people from all over the world left love letters on the wall.

  The taxi pulled up to a street crowded with people and couldn’t go any further. Heinrich thanked the driver in perfect Italian and paid while I struggled with my over packed carry-on and wondered how long we would have to walk because I didn’t see a hotel anywhere. We walked farther into the crowd and through an archway filled with love letters. It was Juliet’s balcony.

  “Oh my gosh, Heinrich! We’re here!” Although I wished we had stopped at the hotel first, I was glad I got to see it.

  “Let’s quickly drop off our bags at the hotel.” He turned left after we passed the archway and through large glass doors on the corner.

  Turns out that was our hotel, we were staying at Juliet’s house. Seriously. Although our room wouldn’t be ready until three, we were able to change and leave the bags with the front desk. Heinrich suggested we go for a walk to pass the time. It was actually pretty warm so I put on my wedges and leather jacket, and followed Heinrich out of the hotel and back to the square full of people. We stopped for a minute to read some of the love letters posted in the archway.

  There is a lot to see in Verona. I should know, Heinrich and I went for a five-hour walk. In my world, anything over an hour is considered a hike and requires specialist footwear, not Aldo wedges.

  We finally arrived back at the hotel and the square was still full of people. I was sweaty and smelled like a budget airline so not exactly in the mood for romance when Heinrich suggested we go up to the actual balcony on the other side of the square. Wasn’t it three yet?

  “Heinrich, I really appreciate you being Mr. Perfect and all, it’s just that I’m not. So, before we do anything else I need a shower. Non-negotiable.” He put his arms up in the air as a sign of surrender and smiled out of the right corner of his mouth.

  “Whatever you want, Principessa.”

  This hotel was so fancy the rooms didn’t have numbers, just names in Italian which were all spelled similarly. Our room was on the third floor and called Luna. It had huge exposed ceiling beams and a California King bed. I didn’t even think they made those on this side of the pond. At least it put my mind to rest about the whole sleeping situation. The bed was so big I could make snow angels and he probably wouldn’t notice.

  Time was tight because we had some sort of fancy dinner reservation so I raced into the bathroom with my bag. I had every intention of getting straight into the shower, but was distracted by the free Bulvgari bath products. I must have entered some sort of luxury bath product time machine because some unspecified minutes later Heinrich was knocking at the door.

  “Paige? You’re having a shower, right?”

  “Oh—ya. Sorry, I got distracted by the lotions. Getting in the shower now.” I turned the nozzle and the water pissed out of the tap. Bulvgari lotion but they couldn’t splurge on water pressure. Awesome.

  I hopped in the shower and washed up, rushing through shaving my legs like I did when I was fifteen, no regard for shaving cream or straight lines. Obviously, I nicked behind my knee.

  “Shit.”

  “Paige, are you ok?”

  He heard that? A five-star hotel and the walls were made of paper. I looked at my (thankfully waterproof) watch and realized I had been in there for almost twenty minutes. Great. He probably thought I was masturbating.

  In my haste to get out of the tub, I slipped on some rogue water and fell ass over teaket
tle. I caught the shower curtain at the last second to soften my fall and thank god only two rings ripped off.

  “Paige? Are you sure you’re alright?” Guess my recovery wasn’t as smooth as I thought.

  “Ya, fine, just slipped a little.”

  “I’m a doctor, but don’t let that make you careless.”

  Was that a joke? I didn’t have time to figure out his terrible sense of humor. He continually reminded me that we had some sort of reservation at five that according to my watch was in twenty minutes. Who eats at five anyway?

  It took far longer than anticipated to get ready, mostly because as fancy as this room was, the blow dryer was from 1993.

  The room was full of steam, so to speed things up I opened the door a crack, hoping that Heinrich wouldn’t see that as an invitation to come in. I was buck-naked. The antique dryer whizzed on and within ten seconds the doctor slammed the bathroom door shut. I turned off the blow dryer. What was his problem? I opened the door.

  “Everything alright?”

  “Yes, sorry, Paige, I hate the sound of a hair dryer. Do you think you could wait to do that until I am in the shower?”

  But the blow dryer was in the bathroom … along with the mirror. He wanted me to get ready blind crouching outside the door?

  He smiled at me hopefully.

  “Sure, no problem.” But really, it was a big problem.

  Heinrich got into the shower and I attempted to finish doing my hair under duress.

  He finished in the shower in record time and definitely wasn’t masturbating … or at least I hoped not. I, however, was still not done with the blow dryer or getting ready. Heinrich let me back into the bathroom, which was full of steam and therefore not optimal hair doing atmosphere. I decided to let it air out and start on my face.

  I had a section of the mirror cleared of steam and I began to do my makeup. Smoky eyes make me look mysterious when I manage to stay cool and sexy, but goofy when I’m an idiot. I was applying the final coat of mascara when it happened.

  PPPPFFFFTTTT!

  Did he just fart?

  How was I supposed to react to that? It was dead silent in the room and I didn’t really want to say anything but I also didn’t know if I was ok with this being a regular occurrence. But then again, he did pay for the room. Who am I to tell him what he can and cannot do in it? I popped my head out of the bathroom.

  “Really? We’re there already?”

  He turned, briefly caught my eye, and laughed.

  “Sorry. I didn’t think you could hear that.”

  “Most of Verona just heard that.” I rolled my eyes and went back into the bathroom. Boys are gross. I was going to ask Lucinda if she’d be willing to switch teams for me. I bet she’s never farted in her whole life.

  I shut the door and finished my hair. I threw on an emerald wrap dress and tried not to seem rushed as I crammed a medium-sized handbag worth of stuff into a clutch which I’m sure was intended to be an iPhone case. Of course Heinrich was sitting in the room ready and staring at me sternly but somehow still affectionately.

  The restaurant was tucked on a little side street in the middle of Verona. Through all the twists and turns, I had absolutely no idea where we were in relation to our hotel. I hoped Heinrich found a complete lack of direction endearing. Now, you totally aren’t going to believe me when I tell you what happened next, but for real, it did.

  The maître d’ welcomed us in a heavy Italian accent and directed us to our table, which, although secluded and decorated beautifully with a small bunch of blood-red roses, was also right next to the bathroom door. As I was about to sit down, someone flushed and pushed open the door, hitting my seat. They didn’t wash their hands. I made a face. Heinrich asked the maître d’ to seat us somewhere else.

  I was smiling at Heinrich as I sat down so I didn’t notice the people sitting next to us until my ass was mid-sit.

  “Paige?”

  Oh my fuck, it was Alex.

  “Uh—oh—hey,” I choked out as I finished sitting. Why didn’t I go with Lucinda to get Botox last week? Oh right, I’d claimed to still have the desire to express my emotions. Not anymore.

  Heinrich scrunched his eyebrows and his eyes implored me to explain the obvious thing I was going through. But I wasn’t sure how to explain anything to Heinrich when Alex was sitting six inches away from him and Alex’s date was next to me. Guess now I’ll know what it would have been like to have dinner with Alex.

  My phone vibrated. It was a text from Heinrich.

  Who is that?

  That is a long story, that’s who that is.

  I wrote back, hoping he would leave it and it could be a funny story I told when we were both sufficiently drunk. No such luck.

  “Hey, mate, Heinrich.” He forced the word mate out of his mouth a little more aggressively than required. I couldn’t tell if it was because it wasn’t a word he normally used, or if it was his way of peeing on a tree.

  “Hi, Alex,” he said in his sexy accent and stuck out his hand for a shake.

  “What brings you to Verona?”

  “Work, actually. Physicians conference on Monday.”

  “EADV? I’m going to be there too.”

  This brought two levels of anger. 1) He was becoming mates with Alex, without caring or noticing how uncomfortable this situation was for me, and 2) He totally only agreed to meet here once he figured he could make it a dual-purpose trip.

  The waiter came by to offer us a drink and before he could finish his sentence, I ordered a glass of champagne. I was having whatever I wanted tonight and one of these two douche bags was paying for it.

  I tried to ask Heinrich about the conference which I totally was not interested in, but hoped it would give him something to talk about in length as I tried to eavesdrop on Alex’s date. No such luck, Heinrich spoke like he had a built-in megaphone.

  The first two glasses of champagne went down quickly and I’d finished my starter when I thought my bladder might burst. But how was I supposed to go to the bathroom and make sure they didn’t speak to each other? What would they say anyway? It’s not like Alex and I ever really had a relationship of any kind, and if he told Heinrich what he’d done, Alex would seem like a jerk in front of his date. Also, it’s not like this was the first time Heinrich and I had gone out, so the chances of me coming off as a whore were fairly low. But either way, a conversation between the two of them wasn’t—oh crap, I think I just peed a little. Ok. I had to go to the bathroom, because more embarrassing than the two of them talking would be me wetting myself in front of the restaurant.

  “Sorry, Heinrich, will you excuse me please?” I avoided eye contact with Alex and hoped the tiny bit of pee that had already made a run for freedom hadn’t left evidence on the seat of my dress.

  I race-walked to the corner where we were originally sat only to find that was just a men’s toilet. I had to waddle across to the other side of the room, giving an embarrassing nod to Heinrich on my way past him.

  Barely making it to the stall, relief rushed through me and somehow released some of the nervousness about the conversation I was sure was taking place. I heard the door to the bathroom open as I was flushing the toilet.

  “Oh, sorry.” The bathroom was cramped and there was only one toilet so I opened the door into whoever was waiting, which just happened to be Alex’s date.

  “Hi,” she almost whispered in a French accent.

  “Hi.” I shifted my eyes awkwardly, trying to remember if in my squatting I’d gotten any pee on the seat. That was exactly what I needed to make dinner a complete write-off.

  “How do you know Alex?” She totally didn’t have to pee, she came down here to grill me. But the more I thought about it, the more there wasn’t really anything to tell.

  “Ummm … actually he treated me at Chelsea and Westminster Hospital. How did you two meet?” If we were asking personal questions, I thought I should put my mind at ease.

  “We work together at Chelsea.” Hm
mm work colleagues, possibly not dating. Only one way to be sure.

  “Are you guys dating?” Probably could have had a little more tact with that one, but whatever.

  She blushed. “Not exactly ‘dating.’” Saying it like dating was a foreign word, but then I remembered she was French, so it was. Silence followed because the next follow up question from me was going to be “What I meant was are you guys doing it?” but I hadn’t had enough champagne yet to grow the balls to say that.

  “What do you mean ‘not exactly?’” I’d had enough to drink to continue with some form of the inappropriate questioning. What would be the consequences anyway? She tells him I’m a creep? My best friend already called him a cunt in front of most of the royal family and he has literally run away from me twice. Can’t get much worse than that.

  “There has been some flirtation, but I’m not really interested in him,” she said, her eyes getting suspiciously sleepy. Stupid French girls with their stupid hotness being able to stupid turn down other stupid hot doctors.

  “I see, well, I gotta go,” I said, visualizing the champagne that was waiting for me upstairs.

  “Wait,” she practically whispered while grazing her ridiculously soft hand down my arm. “I might be interested in you, though.” Seems I had mistaken sexiness for sleepiness. This girl was actually in real life hitting on me.

  Now, I didn’t leave the bathroom right away because at this point in my life, I needed to consider all of my options. All those shitty things about guys, the farting, the cheating, the lack of compassion when I’m bleeding from my face, there would be none of that with a girl, right? I would have someone who was pretty, with soft skin and if there was a god, someone whose shoes I could borrow from time to time. Maybe this was a legit option and the answer to this giant mess I’d called my life for the last few months.

  She clearly mistook my hesitation for an invitation and leaned in closer. She kissed me. Her lips were soft, covered in a sticky lip gloss which I hoped looked as good on me as it did on her. But that was it. No butterflies.

  “Well?” she purred. “What do you think?”