Last-Minute Love (Year of the Chick series)

by Moondi, Romi

  With that awkward display we were on our way.

  One step closer to my New York nemesis…

  ***

  Only a few hours later, we were standing inside the lobby of the Hilton in Midtown Manhattan. Everything was either shiny or plush. In both cases it felt expensive. So far I’d done a good job not comparing it to the hotel from December...where James and I had been...before we said goodbye. Dammit! It was way too soon in the day to forget him by getting drunk, so instead I looked around for anti-James like distractions. When I spotted the concierge my work was done. He WISHES he could look like James. This small man wore a boxy polyester Hilton vest, his tiny body compensated for with thick black voluminous hair. He smiled warmly at Dave. “The rooms are available, but unfortunately we couldn’t secure a corner view of the city,” he said. “They do include all the other amenities, however.”

  I pushed past Dave and leaned against the counter. I wasn’t exactly the portrait of seduction in a T-shirt and army green capris, but it was worth a shot. “What if we waited patiently to get those rooms? How long would it take…Eduardo?” Whenever I’d seen movies of actors trying to seduce people in the service industry, they would always read the submissive maid’s or waitress’s nametag to get their way.

  Eduardo smiled at me creepily, which told me the plan might work. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting forty-five minutes…we could see.” Yes! I signaled for Dave to tip the guy as Laura looked on surprised.

  “I already did all the work,” I whispered. “I’m not gonna tip him too.”

  I suddenly realized that not caring about meeting a new man---even if it meant feeling nostalgic for another---made me very easy-going in the moment.

  Maybe this won’t be so bad.

  We stepped out onto the insanely wide sidewalks made for giants (or more appropriately for masses of tourists), and spotted an entire army of food stalls. It seemed that hot dogs were the boring choice of the day, with Greek, Middle-Eastern and Italian specialties ruling the street corner.

  Five minutes later we were standing in a tiny circle, devouring spicy food and emitting horrible breath. I finished the meal with a handful of breath mints to lessen the oral offense. I’m not a savage, after all.

  With more time to kill we strolled our way over to FAO Schwartz, and my “man-free mini-break” began…

  ***

  The sound of taxis honking was our Midtown soundtrack, on this hot and sunny mid-afternoon. With our bags now safely in our corner-window rooms (thanks Eduardo!), Dave led the way to a taxi. I was too busy taking in the view to ask where we were going, but eventually I noticed all the signs for bustling Wall Street. Dave led us straight to a tall and shiny building, the world headquarters for an international investment group. It was one of those companies that had five last names in the title, which had surely resulted from an egotistical battle of the partners. Now I understood why I’d never remembered the name when Dave told me where he worked. Five last names you can’t recall? That’s no way to advertise.

  I followed Dave and Laura through the gleaming revolving doors, having no idea what was next.

  ***

  Fresh from a security pat-down and armed with our visitor’s badges, we stepped inside the polished brass elevator. The buttons looked at least gold-plated if not straight solid, and I seriously started to wonder if this was cause for the American debt crisis. Not that I’m complaining about the free hotel stay. Maybe Dave had a reason to be here, but what was mine? The last thing I wanted was to be around these stuffy corporate types. I’m on vacation, dammit!

  “I could’ve gone to the museum,” I said.

  Dave pressed the button for the sixty-eighth floor. “My buddy works on this floor. He said he’ll share his office while I’m here, and the view?” He turned to me and smiled. “Just wait.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You do realize that Laura and I used to work on the seventieth floor?” Dave’s smile quickly faded and he blushed.

  As we emerged from the elevator, I realized Dave had omitted a very important detail. He’d failed to tell me that the sixty-eighth floor was also where the CEO worked, as evidenced by another security guard.

  If you could call him that.

  In reality I wasn’t exactly sure what this man would be able to “guard,” with his slow hobbled steps and seventy-five-year-old DNA. Despite all his shortcomings he offered me a nice warm smile so I smiled right back.

  “Aren’t you something,” he said.

  At first I blushed.

  Then I felt a little creeped out.

  But mostly it was nice.

  As I made my way past him I noticed two offices separated by a glass wall. One was empty and dripped of everything CEO, from the giant mahogany desk to the shiny black leather couches.

  The other office, though smaller and a lot less grand, was nicer than any office I’d ever been in. One entire wall was glass, offering a stunning view of the best of Midtown. So maybe Dave was right about the view. A long sleek desk with stacks of neatly-arranged paper accounted for most of this office. There was also room for two leather chairs, as well as a man typing away at his computer. The bronzed nameplate on the door said “Erik Thomson.” Pfft, who spells “Erik with a “K”? My internal monologue quickly remembered that my name was Romi and promptly shut its damn mouth. I couldn’t see much with Dave blocking my view, but the guy seemed like your typical corporate drone, only fancier in a pin-striped suit. Investment banker? BORING.

  Dave approached Erik’s desk with Laura by his side, but I stayed put in the doorway.

  “Hey Erik!” said Dave.

  The man named Erik turned around in his chair, and produced the warmest smile you’d ever find in a cutthroat place like New York City. I suddenly noticed the presence of dimples in that smile. Not that I cared, I was simply observant when it came to these things.

  “Ah Dave,” he said. “You made it!”

  I furrowed my brow at his voice, trying to figure out what that European accent was. Dutch? German? Belgian? I was clueless.

  My confusion didn’t end with the accent. Erik wore glasses which seemed like the epitome of banker nerdiness, but his light brown hair was all tousled like a rock star’s bed-head. He even had sideburns.

  He rose from his chair and buttoned his expensive-looking jacket, as his fancy cufflinks glistened in the afternoon sun. There was a time when I would’ve gotten all hot and bothered by the glisten of a cufflink, back in the days when Laura and I would hunt for wealthy bankers in the trendiest bars. But these days? All it did was remind me of what I no longer wanted to be.

  Dave extended his arm for a handshake, but Erik was having none of that. Instead it was a full-on man hug, as his frame of five-foot-eleven seemed to tower over Dave. With a perfect side view of Erik in the midst of this bromance moment, I had nothing else to do so I took a closer look. Erik’s impeccable suit was rather fitted from top to bottom. It reminded me of the way Ryan Gosling wore fitted suits at his movie premieres. Drool...On Erik this tailoring revealed a fit body. Like a runner. It was nothing like James and his burly forearms, but it was nice in its own unique way. But wait: why was I comparing him to James? This guy and his never-ending man-hug were probably gay. And why on earth was James crossing my mind in this moment? Get out, you Brit; you were only a nice idea!

  My internal struggle went on as Erik made his way to Laura. “You’re more beautiful than ever,” he said warmly, in that still-so-mysterious accent. Their hug didn’t last quite as long as his hug with Dave. He’s definitely gay.

  When he pulled away from Laura his pale blue eyes found the doorway, where I’d managed to silently lurk all this time. I shifted my gaze to the massive window, which spared me from making any eye contact. This was a no-man trip, after all.

  “Oh Erik, this is Romi!” Laura quickly pointed in my direction with both hands, in case he happened to get confused with all the other Romis wandering about the office. “We used to work together,” she continued. “But
now we’re just best friends!”

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at her description. “Great job on the cheesy introduction,” I said. I slowly approached and faced Erik. “Nice to meet you.”

  When our eyes met I felt something strange. It wasn’t that I was attracted to him or anything (he still might be gay), but I could tell that he didn’t just look at people, he really looked “at them,” or “in them.” Or something. Maybe it was because he was a banker and wanted to “handle” all my savings. I bet they’d trained him on this eye contact thing. Hmph. I suddenly felt too exposed, so I grabbed his hand and shook it with the force of a Roman army.

  “I like your name Romi,” he said. “And I like that handshake. Have you ever killed a man with that hand?”

  I showed his hand some mercy and let it go. “No, I haven’t.” I waved my other hand and smiled. “I’m a lefty.”

  He laughed and looked right at me again with those probing blue eyes, as I tried my very best not to care.

  ***

  After a tour of the CEO’s office as well as some mammoth board rooms (with more spectacular views in each one), Erik led us back to his office.

  “I hope you liked the tour Romi,” he said, quickly turning to Laura and Dave. “And I hope you two didn’t mind it for a second time.”

  Laura smiled. “Are you kidding? I didn’t get to use the CEO’s bathroom last time!”

  Erik looked slightly uncomfortable. “Let’s keep that one to ourselves.”

  “I loved the tour,” I said. “Thank you for that! Plus now I can share all the confidential documents I stole with my spies.” I smiled sweetly.

  “Security will be on you in a heartbeat,” he said.

  I laughed as I thought of the senile guard in the corridor.

  “Don’t laugh, Jim might be old but he’s a very nice man. He’s also very good at tripping people.” I once again felt exposed, only now because he’d read my mind. Meanwhile those pale blue eyes were stabbing me deep again. I quickly pulled out my phone, which was luckily a real distraction. Half past three? Our itinerary is getting screwed!

  “Laura…library soon? Pleeease? I need to be inspired.” The New York Public Library was so important to me, not because it had been featured in the “Sex and the City” movie, but because it was like a pilgrimage for every writer. The exquisite architecture, the endless halls of books…I need to be there.

  Erik seemed curious. “The library is your inspiration? Tell me---”

  “Laur, you guys go,” Dave suddenly said. He was scrolling his BlackBerry and looking perplexed. “I have to check on some things before our dinner with the execs. Let me know what bar you guys end up at.” He put away his phone and gave Laura a goodbye kiss. It was definitely more romantic than a peck.

  Erik elbowed me as their kiss lingered on. “What do you think of that?” he said.

  I frowned. “It’s quite disgusting.”

  “And very unprofessional,” he added.

  We looked at each other and smiled, which for some reason made me think of James yet again.

  I quickly looked away.

  ***

  The elevator door closed shut and I didn’t waste a second.

  “So how old is he? And is he gay?”

  Laura almost choked on her saliva. “Why would you think he’s gay?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “He’s really nice, he’s fit…you just never know with Europeans. They like to experiment, don’t they?”

  She laughed. “Well he definitely isn’t gay. Let’s see he’s thirty-three, he’s on a work visa, and he has a serious girlfriend in Denmark.” She turned to me. “Which is where he’s from. And where he’ll return some day. In other words: off limits.”

  I rolled my eyes. “As if I care? This is a NO-MAN trip.”

  “Good, then we’re agreed.”

  “We’re SO agreed!” I scoffed and shook my head, as I tried not to think about those probing pale blue eyes.

  ***

  I wanted to cry.

  That’s how beautiful the New York Public Library was. If a library in New York could do this to me, I could only imagine what Paris would do. Like what would happen if I ever got to step into the “Café de la Rotonde,” with its hundred-year-old walls still haunted by artistic icons like Picasso and Hemingway? That place was at the top of my “to see in Paris” list, both for its early history of letting starving artists pay in drawings, and for its ability to maintain its bohemian charm even a hundred years later. Sigh.

  I escaped my Paris daydream and entered the great hall of the library. It was filled with those long desks and green lamps I’d seen in so many movies. The place was as full of people as I’d imagined, the only difference being that most of them were using laptops instead of reading books. Slightly less romantic. I moved along until I reached a great wooden archway, with the following message engraved in the middle: “A good book is the treasured life-blood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured on purpose to a life beyond life.” In that moment I thought about every book I’d ever read more than once or that I couldn’t forget. “Jane Eyre” came to mind, and how my heart would always beat so fast, when she finally got together with Mr. Rochester. Then of course there were the modern literary feats like “Shantaram,” the only book where nine-hundred pages went so fast I actually cried when it was over. I had yet to encounter another book that could vividly paint so many pictures through emotions. I knew without a doubt that my very first novel wouldn’t measure up to anything grand, but standing here in this library, I knew I’d spend the rest of my life trying to write one that did.

  I ventured back into the marble corridor, with round golden chandeliers hanging high from the domed ceilings.

  My stroll came to a stop when I heard a little cough.

  I turned to see Laura trying her hardest not to look bored.

  “FINE,” I said. “We can go.” I looked around one last time and sighed. “I hope New Yorkers appreciate what they have.” My voice seemed to carry a slight echo and I liked it. “Yeah that’s right! I hope you all appreciate it!” That second statement resulted in some strange looks, so we quickly made our way to the exit. Even as we left, nothing could take away the soul-enriching feeling of this visit.

  Now how could any trip that included men top a moment like that?

  ***

  A steady beat blared in this darkened hole of a bar. Candle lit tables snaked their way through the crowds, and Laura and I had managed to grab one. Tonight was “five-dollar lychee martini night” until eleven p.m., and both of us had taken full advantage.

  We were currently sprawled across a long leather couch, with a table of empty martini glasses showing the night’s damage.

  “I can’t get any fucking reception in here!” cried Laura. She raised her cell phone at different and increasingly awkward angles. Just then one of the guys from the table next to us tapped me on the shoulder. He was a tall skinny guy with short black hair, and he looked a few years younger than me.

  “Hey, I’m Adam!” he said. He whispered the next part: “My friends and I are interns at Bam-A-Lamb.” He pointed to a table full of hipsters in their early twenties, horizontally-striped shirts and thick-rimmed glasses all around.

  “What the hell is ‘Bam-A-Lamb’?” I said, rolling my eyes freely at his all-too-eager face. “It sounds like a company that kills baby sheep with a machine gun.” The healing properties of alcohol were now in full force, as I had James off my mind and was deep in my “no-man” zone. This made things easy for me, and brutally honest for others.

  “No it’s spelled L-A-M,” he explained. “And it’s the hottest Internet start-up the world has ever seen!” He crossed his arms to reveal two unimpressive forearms, as his eyes travelled down to my black slinky top.

  Far from my underwear spontaneously combusting at the sound of this exciting company, my eyes registered nothing but boredom. This didn’t seem to faze him, as he slowly leaned in closer and smiled. “You have an in
teresting accent,” he said. “Are you from out of town?”

  I was instantly insulted. Did Canadians really sound that different? I’d have to get an American to explain it to me some day. “We’re from Toronto!” I pointed at Laura who was currently giving the death-stare to her cell phone.

  Adam’s dark eyes twinkled in a creep-a-licious way. “Canada, huh?” he said loudly. “Is it true you drink maple syrup for breakfast, lunch and dinner?” His hipster table burst into laughter.

  He really doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.

  “Yes,” I calmly said. “I piss maple syrup too, which makes it a renewable resource.” The laughter stopped, and everyone seemed a bit scared of me. Good.

  Adam was looking uncomfortable now, and probably hoping that Laura was a little more normal. Too bad for him she was preoccupied. “This goddamn phone!” she cried.

  “Why don’t you let us buy you girls a drink?” he quickly said.

  “But can you though? Aren’t you guys like interns? I don’t wanna put you out.”

  Despite my bitchiness Adam still wasn’t deterred. “Listen, this company is going places. Imagine the next Google. That’s what this is.”

  I frowned. “But Google already exists, so what does YOUR Google do? Can it make me a coffee?”

  He scoffed.

  “No I’m serious!” I insisted. “There’s nothing wrong with an open market, but your ‘thing’ needs to solve a problem that the other ‘thing’ currently doesn’t. A problem the consumer might not even know they have yet...that’s how you innovate.” My current innovation was realizing how smart I could sound when I was drunk. “Otherwise, your spawn of Google will be dead by the end of the year.”