Year of the Chick

by Romi Moondi

  “He’ll probably be sleeping in his room by two a.m.,” I said, with fantasies running wild in my head. “Maybe I can find out his hotel room number…”

  “Would you stop it you freak!” Laura tried to seem annoyed but she was smiling. “I mean you’re finally getting the chance to meet. You can’t wait another night?”

  “I can’t wait another second.” I sighed and leaned back, as the inside of our cab turned all different colours.

  Broadway…coming right up to Times Square.

  “Lots of New Yorkers hate Times Square you know,” I suddenly said. “Too damn touristy.”

  “Well touristy or not, I’m pretty sure I got us a deal by staying here. And do you know how many stores I’ll be able to hit? I can use our room as a pit stop for my bags. I’m so excited!”

  “Hmm…” I was studying a new piece of paper now. “According to the list of restaurant reviews for Times Square, us tourists can still find a good place to eat!”

  “So what’s your pick?” she asked. “Because wherever we’re going, we’re walking.”

  I smirked. “I know, I know, less cab fare equals more money for shopping. We’re going to this place described as a ‘hip and sexy Pan-Asian dining experience, with a multi-decked palace and a bold visual essence.’“ I paused to consider what it meant. “We should change into something sexy before we go.”

  “Marriott Marquis,” the cabbie announced, in his monotone Indian accent that felt like home.

  “Holy shit,” was all I could say. My mouth hung open as I stared at the big hotel.

  As Laura and I wheeled our luggage inside, I realized I should’ve delayed my reaction for a moment.

  There were certainly nicer hotels in New York City, but whenever I’d been here for training, we’d always get assigned to average hotels with tiny lobbies.

  This was not a tiny lobby.

  I could barely take in the image end-to-end. Reception desks way over here, elevators way over there, escalators, high ceilings, nice lighting, it was fabulous. And then in the center, a flower-lined perimeter, with comfy leather benches too.

  My smile stayed plastered on my face for the entire elevator ride, and once we opened the door to our room on the fifteenth floor, I dropped my bags and headed straight to the window.

  “We actually got a view of Times Square?” I felt like I was staring at a Times Square snow globe, with the flurries gently falling on the taxicabs below.

  “It’s all about the corporate discounts,” said Laura, who was now busy judging the closet size.

  I looked at my watch and escaped from my Times Square trance. “It’s almost nine-thirty, we should get a move on. What should I wear though?” I unzipped my suitcase and started to rummage past my layer of “work clothes,” clothes I’d conveniently planted on top, in case my mother or father ever ventured a look inside.

  “Forget what you’re wearing tonight, first things first, take out your outfit for tomorrow, and hang it in the closet to air it out.”

  “Right.” I carefully pulled out a brand new short wool skirt, dark purple with the tiniest hint of a checkered print. And my new black sweater was the softest sweater ever made. Perfect for cuddling (thanks Eleanor), and thin enough to roll up the sleeves so I could showcase my girly forearms. That’s right, keep him focused on the skinniest part of your body. It was definitely not a “cleavage” kind of sweater, but clingy enough to highlight a bra-enhanced silhouette.

  “That is seriously the cutest outfit ever,” she said. “But where are the boots I’ve been hearing about EVERY DAY?”

  “Oh right.” I smiled. “Hold on a sec.” From the bottom of my suitcase I pulled out the faux suede boots. Jet black and tight, they would hug my legs all the way up to the bottom of my knees. Hot. But they didn’t have heels and were complete with treaded soles for winter walkability. Functional.

  Laura came over to my bed and grabbed them. “Oh my god they’re so nice! And they’ll look so hot with your black tights!” She caressed the material. “Do you think they’ll hold up in the weather though? Like if it snows tomorrow?”

  “It’s supposed to be clear and sunny. But just in case, I’ve been spraying them with this!” I pulled out a can of protective weather-guard and smiled.

  “Maybe they need one last coat,” she suggested.

  I nodded and opened the can, holding one boot in the air, and spraying front and back for at least five seconds. By the time I was done with the second boot, my corner of the room was covered in a heavy mist.

  “Shit!” Laura squinted her eyes and coughed. “That stuff smells strong!”

  She waved the mist away with her flailing arms and scurried back over to her bed. Seconds later, she pulled something out of her suitcase. “I’m wearing this to the restaurant. Royal blue looks good on me, right?” She held the small blue sweater against her body.

  I nodded. “Looks great with the blond, trust me.”

  “What about you?” she asked.

  I finally found the tight slinky shirt I had buried at the bottom of my suitcase. “Green. Emerald green.”

  “Sexy! Ten minutes then we’re out the door,” she instructed. “Pan-Asian goodness up next!”

  ***

  The review of the restaurant was accurate enough. The whole interior was rich with colour and Asian artifacts. It did indeed feel kind of sexy, especially with the shadowy effects created by the lanterns. Some of the tables in the middle of the restaurant were located on a pedestal. It was only a two-step climb, but the end result was the sense that you were on display. Laura and I were seated at a table like this. Right in the middle of the action.

  I only hoped that it would be a good distraction, from the nerves that were beginning to surface...

  ***

  Not more than a minute from the time we started eating, I groaned and made a face.

  “What is it?” asked Laura, through a mouthful of Asian peanut salad.

  “These mashed potatoes don’t even taste like mashed potatoes. And they’re green!” I held up a spoonful to my face and scrunched my nose.

  “What did you expect when you ordered WASABI mashed potatoes?”

  “I thought it was mostly for ‘naming’ purposes. Or maybe they’d give me some wasabi on the side.” I sighed. “Oh well, at least the chicken is good.” I pushed the pile of green to the side of my plate, then suddenly I gasped. “Oh no! What if he takes me to a sushi bar?”

  Laura looked utterly confused. “Huh?”

  “Well I’m just saying, the Mediterranean diet includes a lot of fish. Especially when you’re in Spain.”

  “Uhh dude, sushi doesn’t come from Spain.”

  “I know! But what if it translates? Like he loves fish which means he loves sushi, which means he takes me to a sushi restaurant, which means I puke just from being there…” I pushed my plate of chicken to the edge of the table and frowned.

  Laura put down her fork and cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You’re being an ‘alarmist.’ Like why did you come here? Because you thought it would go horribly wrong? Whatever happens, it’ll be good, even if some of it’s awkward.”

  “You think it’s going to be awkward?” I could feel myself sweating in my slinky green top. I hope it doesn’t show.

  She sighed and took a sip of her cocktail. “Romes, I mean like ‘cute’ awkward. You know, learning how the other behaves face-to-face. Mannerisms.”

  “So you think he’s going to hate me in person?” I crossed my arms.

  “No! Okay forget it. I’m making an executive decision now: shut your trap. Oh, and we’re ordering another round of cocktails.”

  She grabbed the waiter’s attention while I eyed her suspiciously.

  Is he gonna hate me in the three-dimensional world?

  ***

  An hour and another strong New York City cocktail later, I was fully distracted as we made our way through sam
plers of delectable cake.

  “Did you try the one with the swirl on top? You can die once you eat it,” I said. “Let me feed it to you.” I brought the fork to her mouth, since feeding my friend was the obvious thing to do with a buzz on.

  Two cocktails and a million different kinds of cake. Now this is more like it.

  “Mmm...” she said. “The swirly one is awesome!”

  There were five more pieces of mini-cake remaining. I’ll kick her ass if I don’t get three. “So Laura,” I began, trying to distract her from the cake, “what are you getting lover-boy for Christmas?”

  Laura smiled and suddenly resembled a school-girl. “I don’t know! What are you supposed to get for a first Christmas?”

  “Well it depends, what do you think he’s getting for you? Jewelry?”

  “Jewelry on a first Christmas? No way! More like something small but thoughtful.”

  “Why don’t you get him a book?” I suggested. “About a topic he really likes?”

  “A book? What am I his grandmother? Why don’t I just get him some socks?”

  “SORRY.” Am I the only one who loves getting books as presents? “I’m sure you’ll find something. It’s the shopping capital of the world, after all.”

  “I hope so! So hey, do you still wanna go to the gym tomorrow morning?”

  During our flight, I’d begged Laura to join me for a Friday morning work-out, my one last chance to burn off any fat before the big face-to-face. I’d also begged her to do my hair and make-up. My one and only shot to look perfect for James.

  “You bet your ass I wanna go. So gym at nine a.m., then breakfast, then back to the hotel to get ready.”

  “In that case we better get rolling,” she said. “It’s almost midnight!”

  We paid our bill and trekked along Broadway once again, with the snow falling faster now. As I pulled my wool mittens out of my pockets, I noticed something very disturbing. My hands were incredibly dry. But hadn’t I moisturized just before we left the hotel?

  “NOOO!” I wailed.

  Laura slipped and almost fell as she turned around. “What is it?”

  “I’m screwed! You know what I brought with me on the trip? My favourite vanilla hand cream!”

  “Yeah, I know. That stuff smells awesome.”

  “Well this is the first time I’m using it in winter, and it doesn’t hold up at all in the winter air!” I raised my hands. “Feel them!” She approached me and I rubbed them against her face.

  “Stop it, your hands are freezing!” She jerked her face away.

  “Yeah, and they feel like a wrinkled mass! Especially the left one which was already more weathered to begin with.” I sighed. “I’m serious, if he grabs my hand and it feels like a leathery claw, then I might as well go home right now!” Perhaps it was the influence of alcohol, but I had tears in my eyes. This seemed like the worst news ever.

  In panic, my eyes darted around for a solution, but all I could see was a billboard for “Victoria’s Secret,” a gift-shop for ugly overpriced New York City trinkets (that was sure to be owned by a stern Middle-Eastern man), and the Hershey’s chocolate store. Which was well past closing time. Goddammit..

  “Relax,” said Laura, as she pushed me back in the direction of our hotel. “We’ll go to a drugstore tomorrow. Okay?”

  I continued to look defeated, like a sad little penguin trapped in a snow globe. “But Laura, you know how it’ll end up being tomorrow. I’ll be nervous, I’ll have freak-outs, and we just won’t have time for the drug store.” I studied my wrinkled hands in detail by the nearest streetlight, disgusted by the cracks and ridges. You late-twenties bitch.

  “Then we’ll wake up an hour early!”

  “You mean eight a.m.?”

  She smiled. “Eight a.m. dammit.”

  I couldn’t believe she would actually ruin sleep for me. “Alright then. Well thank you for supporting my cause.” I looked at my watch to see that it was five past midnight. “And it looks like we’re going to need a wake-up call.”

  ***

  The sound of the telephone broke through the morning silence.

  It was the wake-up call and I immediately answered. My eyes had been open for the last two hours.

  I rose from bed and headed to the bathroom, with that familiar pit in my stomach. It was the one that preceded all of my desired male encounters. Only this time it was heavier, and at least ten times more sickening.

  Laura and I said little on our way to the colossal gym, and even less as we mounted the high-tech treadmills, which were perfectly positioned for a view of Times Square.

  I survived the laboured workout only because it distracted my volatile stomach. By ten o’ clock we were showered, dressed and sitting in a nearby diner.

  “Why aren’t you eating?” asked Laura. “These eggs are awesome.”

  “I don’t have an appetite.” I stared at the bacon, eggs, and shredded potatoes that on any other day would have raced to my stomach in less than ten minutes. It looked revolting.

  “If you don’t eat, you’ll puke when it’s time to get ready. I promise you that.”

  The idea of meeting James with even a trace of vomit-breath was horrifying. I took a small bite of eggs.

  “So...do you think he’s going to kiss you?” Laura smiled slyly as she swirled her eggs around in some ketchup.

  “Oh my god...I never even thought of that!” I pushed my plate away and felt like I was hyper-ventilating.

  Laura grabbed my arm and looked at me with alarm. “What the hell, dude?”

  I closed my eyes and massaged my forehead. “What if I meet him and there’s nothing there?”

  “You mean chemistry?”

  I opened my eyes and nodded. “Yes! I’ve imagined this visit a thousand times, and I always assumed there would be chemistry. But that’s a big assumption...”

  “What makes you think you wouldn’t have it?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I mean our ‘brain sex’ relating to writing is incredible. But what if he shakes my hand and feels nothing? Or what if it’s me who feels nothing? It happens all the time...it’s the ‘friend zone.’“

  She sighed. “Listen Romes, I’m not gonna lie…it’s a possibility.”

  WHAT?! My eyes popped out of their head and rolled across the table.

  “But I really don’t think that’s going to happen!” she quickly added. “I mean think about it, why wouldn’t you be attracted? And vice versa?”

  From escaping eyeballs to a strange realization, now I couldn’t help but laugh. James Caldwell, the guy who sees beach babes every day, attracted to ME?

  “Oh and one more thing,” she continued. “The second you meet him, and for every destination after, you have to send me a text message. That way I’ll know where you are at all times.” She nodded to herself and took a sip of orange juice. “By the way, what time is the ‘date of your dreams’ set to end?”

  The word “end” almost clouded my entire mood, but I managed to shake it off. Just live in the moment. “I promise I’ll text you. And he’s supposed to be on a red-eye flight at some crazy time of night, so I guess I’ll be with him for the day. That is if he doesn’t get bored with me.”

  “Well I’ll be waiting.” Laura grinned and then finished up the last of her orange juice.

  I sat there smiling and staring at the nicest human being in the world. “So listen,” I said, suddenly remembering the schedule. “When’s our next stop?”

  Laura looked at her watch. “Fifteen minutes, so hurry up and eat!”

  My appetite was still a little shaky, but by the end I’d eaten one slice of bacon, a third of my potatoes, and half a glass of orange juice.

  Not bad.

  We cabbed our way to the nearest drugstore by eleven a.m., a giant location only eight blocks south of our hotel. Maybe we could’ve walked. Once in the skincare aisle, I looked past the “age defying” hand cream claims, trying instead to find the one that could stand up to wea
ther.

  “I found it!” Laura ran towards me with a small white tube, marked in the center by Norway’s flag. “I’ve seen this one in commercials. It’s always being used by fishermen.”

  I curiously studied the tube. “Fishermen?”

  “Yeah! Think about it. Fishing in Norway? COLD. Hands from a day outside? DRY. They would totally need stuff like this!”

  “Yeah, okay.” We headed towards the line-up to pay, but before I could even turn the corner my heart started racing. “Laura you’re wrong. The real answer’s here.” I pointed to the bottom row.

  “Dude, that’s foot cream.”

  “I know it is! But put on your science hat for a minute.” I grabbed the nearest tube and started reading the back. “If a foot cream promises to ‘restore the softness of your dry, rough, and cracked feet,’ what do you think it’ll do for my hands?”

  “What?” Laura was obviously confused.

  “Exactly!” I said. “It’ll turn them into silk!” I grabbed a tester bottle to try it out, but stopped as soon as I opened the cap.

  “Ugh, we just have to find one that doesn’t stink.”

  And that was Laura and I for the next two minutes, opening and whiffing every single tube of foot cream in the skincare aisle.

  I let out a squeal when I found the one. “It’s neutral! Just a hint of oatmeal essence, but other than that it smells like nothing. Which means I can mix it with my scented vanilla!”

  “Awesome! Let’s get the hell out of here though. All this foot-cream sniffing is making me nauseous.”

  As we left the store a mild winter wind danced its way across my face. “You know what that feels like Laura? That feels like zero wind-chill!”

  “And the sun is shining too. Your perfect day is here!”

  My stomach began to grumble and I smiled. “I think my appetite’s here as well.”

  Maybe my days of being crazy-nervous are over...

  ***

  Two p.m.

  Thirty minutes left until the face-to-face.

  “There. I think that’s enough curl. But let me run my fingers through it a bit. You want it to look natural.”