Last-Minute Love (Year of the Chick series)

by Moondi, Romi

  Intern boy’s mouth was hanging open by this point, but he quickly recovered with the same creepy eyes as before. “Forget about business...now what about that drink?”

  I was surprised to still see him in hunting mode, so I grabbed him by the shoulders and turned serious. “Listen kid, my friend and I aren’t your speed. We’re old ladies, you get me? Go find a nineteen-year-old.”

  “But you can’t even get into bars unless you’re twenty-one.”

  “WHAT?!” A bunch of people were staring at me now so I lowered my voice. “That’s tragic.” I pinched his cheek. “A horrible, tragic, American liquor law.” He smiled awkwardly and turned to his table, with no intention of ever turning back. Whatever intern-child, call me when you have some money.

  Just as Laura had given up on her phone, Dave suddenly appeared and took a seat between the two of us. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late, they made us have dessert.”

  “I was worried you didn’t get my texts! How was dinner? Did you…” she trailed off as she noticed me glaring at Dave. “Romes are you okay?”

  I ignored her and continued to glare. “So Dave, why didn’t you bring ‘Apple Danish’ here, huh? Is he too GOOD for lychee martinis?” I crossed my arms and slid halfway down the couch.

  “I’m sure ERIK likes lychee martinis just fine. But his cousins are visiting from Denmark. Two underage girls alone in the city. Make sense?”

  I slid even further and closed my eyes. “Underage girls are ‘ho bags.”

  “That’s for sure,” said Laura. “I know I was!” She laughed hysterically as Dave looked rather mortified.

  Five-dollar lychee martinis, they’ll get you every time…

  ***

  Laura and I walked down William Street like snails. We were even slower than tourists, and the lightning fast New Yorkers were not having any of it.

  “If you’re not in a wheelchair hurry up!” someone cried.

  We didn’t care, not when we were this hung-over. All I could do was silently thank the fashion world, for keeping large sunglasses in vogue. Today I wanted them to hide as much of my ragged face as possible. To add to the visual shit-show, last night’s hair had barely been combed down, and our loose tank tops and looser capris meant that people should stay the hell away from us.

  Suddenly Laura spoke, though it was barely audible through her hangover-rasp. “Let’s turn on the next street. We have to get some ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?” I said in what was barely a croak. “I can’t even look at ice cream.”

  “I know you can’t but we’re getting some for Dave and bringing it by the office.”

  I sighed like the sky was falling. “Seriously?”

  “He held back my hair when I puked, okay? So yes, seriously. And we can get some for Erik too.”

  At the sound of Erik’s name my brain stirred awake, but I played it cool and didn’t say a word. This is a no-man trip ‘til the bitter end…

  ***

  We were gathered around Erik’s desk laughing hysterically. No matter how much my hung-over ribs squeezed in pain with each “ha ha” I couldn’t stop. And it was all my fault. My sparkling personality wasn’t the actual cause of the hysteria, but a Bollywood music video that acted out Superman? With the most horrible dancing and special effects in the history of the world? Yes.

  Once the video ended we all stopped to catch our breath. “My friend sent me that clip to shame me,” I said. “But it only makes me prouder of my people.” I smiled widely.

  “I will be saving that link right now,” said Erik. I watched his hand as it directed the mouse and clicked. It was a manly hand yet elegant in some way. This elegance went perfect with today’s Ryan-Gosling-style suit, which looked tailored as ever in a flattering light grey.

  “Are you okay?” said Erik.

  I quietly gasped when I realized he’d caught me staring at his hand. “We should go,” I said. “It probably looks bad to have us loitering around your office.”

  Dave laughed. “Don’t worry Romes; work hard, play hard. And that includes ice cream.” Dave turned to feed Laura a spoonful of his ice cream, as I watched with a mixture of fascination and disgust.

  “See babe?” said Dave. “Ice cream cures all.”

  “Seriously guys,” I said. “I threw up enough last night.”

  Erik laughed. “They’re so inconsiderate.”

  I offered Erik a smile, he deserved that at least. There was nothing more for me to give, because not only was Erik breaking my proximity rule, he was also breaking a rule I’d never even thought of...the one where the guy has a girlfriend. It occurred to me then, that of the two people on my mind right now, James Caldwell was by far less complicated.

  The guy living in Barcelona, is the LESS complicated one?!

  I need to get back to meeting locals...

  Chapter Four

  On a balmy night in the East Village, a line-up of scantily dressed girls and eager-looking guys curved around what looked like an old warehouse. Dave, Laura and I had made it near the front of the queue, and with a few winks and smiles to the bouncer (not from Dave) we were finally in.

  To my surprise, we were each assigned our own personal security guard, which felt more like an airport than a trashy night club. Laura and Dave played it cool and got through quickly, but I had trouble getting used to being fondled like this. Like if it was a guy doing it? Then fine. But a middle-aged female security guard? This is NOT how I roll.

  “Hey!” I said, as she patted down the cleavage that was popping from my royal blue “clubbing top” (i.e. a shirt so scandalous you wouldn’t dare wear it in daylight hours). “It’s not like I’m hiding drugs in my push-up bra,” I added.

  The security guard glared at me and continued her groping assault. “I mean IF I had drugs. Which I totally don’t.” I looked over at Laura and Dave who shook their heads, surely hoping I’d shut up soon. They soon disappeared, forced inside by the flow of incoming bodies. As for me I was getting the extended search. Perhaps saying the words “drugs” at a club was like saying the word “bomb” at an airport. Lesson learned.

  Now the security guard rifled through my purse, quickly retrieving a small tin of mints.

  I rolled my eyes. “They’re mints, not ecstasy pills.” The next thing I knew the mints were in the trash but I was finally allowed to go in. Note to self: avoid eating onions at all costs.

  As I entered the main dance hall, a steady beat of Euro techno trash reached its maximum vibration. Within seconds I was getting a headache. I’m too old for this shit. Through a crowd of mini-skirted hussies and wannabe ravers with glow sticks, I spotted Laura and Dave by the main bar.

  I tried my best to yell over the music. “So tell me how an underage club fits the bill for our awesome ‘no-man’ trip? AND you invited another man!” I thought of Erik who was somewhere in the crowd.

  Laura shrugged her shoulders. “Erik’s cousins are underage, and this is one of the places he can actually take them. Wouldn’t it be nice of us to keep him company?” She smiled.

  I scowled.

  “He just texted me,” said Dave. “They’re upstairs.” He gestured to a balconied area up above and we were off. A lame-o night with the youngsters...

  ***

  A balcony overlooked a packed dance hall, where a DJ on a tiny stage spun the not-so-great techno beats. The dancers didn’t seem to mind, too high on drugs or sex or both.

  Away from the dance floor view was a row of black leather couches, paired with rectangular tables in simple white. Dave pointed to Erik at one of those couches and led the way.

  Wait...THAT’s Erik?

  Erik was a man I barely knew, a man I’d only seen in “skinny suits” thus far, so his out-of-office look was a surprise. His light brown hair was more askew than ever before, helped along by some glimmers of hair gel that reflected in the light. He wore a simple red golf shirt and jeans that highlighted his fit body. I took a second to admire his strong but n
ot steroid-jacked arms, then quickly came to my senses. He’s wearing a golf shirt and jeans. WHO CARES?

  Reminding myself that Erik was just a normal-looking guy like every other guy, I finally noticed his cousins. One had the sturdy mass of a female football player, and straight blonde hair falling stiffly to her shoulders. The other was a mousey brunette, so small she’d disappear if you squinted for even a second. How could these two be related?

  “That’s my cousin Anna,” said Erik, pointing to the tall one. “And this is Sandra.” The mouse.

  Perfectly in sync, they both waved hello in the exact same awkward way.

  Oh, so THAT’S how they’re related.

  Erik as we knew was past the waves hello, so he man-hugged Dave yet again, embraced Laura, and last in line was me. Our hug was out of sync so it ended quickly. It was almost like he was trying not to touch my body, whereas I was trying to hide underneath the table. We both had our reasons to avoid it.

  Before any terrible chit-chat on the weather or New York City landmarks could ensue, the cousins hung their purses around Erik’s neck, and in a flash disappeared to the dance floor.

  “What do you guys want to drink?” said Dave.

  I clutched my stomach and groaned. “I’m still recovering. Maybe just a ginger-ale?”

  Erik pointed to a half-empty bottle of beer. “I’m all set.”

  “Okay, we’ll be right back.” He put his arm around Laura and guided her through the crowd.

  “Thanks!” I yelled after them.

  Suddenly I was alone with a guy wearing two purses, a guy who looked so different from a high-powered investment banker.

  Erik stood proudly with his hands on his hips. “Is this a good look for me?”

  I scrunched my nose. “I like it better when you DON’T look like a woman.” I sauntered past him and plopped myself on the couch, back in my not-caring mode of relaxation.

  To my surprise he sat right next to me.

  Our denimed thighs touched.

  For the first few moments, we just sat there staring ahead. I let the silence continue, because I wasn’t about to make an effort with a guy who broke my biggest rule.

  “Romi,” he suddenly said. I turned and his pale blue eyes tore their way through me again, only now more intense than those times at the office. And had any guy ever looked this hot in eyeglasses? Dammit.

  “Yes?” I said, distracting myself by searching for Dave or Laura in the crowd.

  “What do you do for fun?”

  Ah, so he’s pulling out questions from the “awkward first-date” database.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know...I guess I do what everybody does. Going to the movies, reading, long walks on the beach at sunset...” I stopped to laugh for a second. “Seriously, why are you asking me this?”

  “Because I wanted to see if you would lie.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  He laid on his warmest smile yet. “Don’t be mad. It’s just that Dave and I were talking, and he told me you’re a writer, and how it’s your dream to publish a novel, and then I checked out your blog...”

  He may have said a bit more but I could no longer hear him. My heart was beating too loudly in my ears, and it muffled out any sounds. Who was this guy? And why the hell was he reading my private stuff on the very...public Internet? Whatever.

  Well aware I was blushing now, but feeling safe that I was wearing enough bronzer to hide it, I went into defensive mode. “Why are you reading about me on the Internet? Aren’t you too busy broadening people’s investment portfolios to care about reading blogs?”

  Now he was the one blushing. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  I sighed, suddenly remembering that my “no-man” trip did not include being a bitch. “No it’s fine. I’m just not used to strangers looking me up on the Internet. But if I’m going to be an author...I guess I should expect it!” I laughed nervously.

  He seemed to be having a thought, as he ran his fingers along one of the purse straps that adorned his chest. It was emasculating, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He moved in closer before continuing, our faces only inches apart. “So...if I can ask you, your ‘Year of the Chick’ blog will be a book?”

  “That’s right!” I blushed again and avoided his stare. I felt so exposed to have someone besides James talk about my writing. There he is in my head again...frickin’ James!

  “Well I think your book will be a hit,” he said firmly. “There’s heartbreak underneath the humour, and that makes it real.”

  I eyed him curiously. “You have a lot of insight for a big-time corporate guy.”

  He smiled. “I am getting this feeling that you don’t like investment bankers.”

  Just then Dave and Laura returned with the drinks, and I couldn’t have been more relieved to end the conversation. I wanted it to end because in just a few lines, Erik had become a lot more interesting than the usual corporate rats obsessed with climbing up the corporate ladder. Which for me and my biggest rule, was exactly what I didn’t need...

  ***

  A while later, as I sipped on my second ginger-ale, I noticed Erik and his cousins having a serious conference. Hands were waving wildly, and the Danish words flew out at lightning-fast speed.

  The girls looked over at me from time to time, their faces crawling with suspicion. I wasn’t quite sure what paranoid thoughts they were thinking so I simply smiled.

  Did I seriously just go from awkward hellos to public enemy number one?

  ***

  The cousins were off dancing again, and Laura and Dave were off somewhere getting frisky. This left Erik and I leaning against the balcony, observing the chaos below. I wasn’t keen on any more conversation, but I wasn’t going to ignore him either, so instead I tried to be distracting.

  “Hey look,” I said. “Two guys making out.”

  “I don’t need to look, thank you very much.”

  I smiled. “So what’s Denmark like?” Another good distraction.

  He turned to me and his eyes brightened. “Let’s see...it’s cozy, quaint, and beautiful. Denmark has so many rolling hills, so much farm land, sparkling lakes, and a wonderful city centre too. Nice architecture, very artistic---”

  “Wow,” I quickly said. “Look how much you miss it.”

  He shook his head. “But then there is New York. The energy, the life force, the culture…I am in love with this city.”

  “So is it New York then or is it Denmark? Your love?”

  He started to blush. “Can’t it be both?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. “I don’t know.”

  “What about you? You have lots of Indian traditions but you’re such a cool Canadian too.”

  I laughed. “Whatever you say.”

  “I’d never even seen a Bollywood film until they started to play them on the plane, you know on my visits back home. And then I met you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Trust me I am NOT anything like those Bollywood starlets. They don’t even sing their own songs!” I frowned. “Like there’s some dowdy old lady trapped in a recording studio singing all those songs, with a lip-syncing ‘ho bag taking all the glory! It’s actually pretty sad.”

  I could see him laughing but he looked away, grabbing the railing with both hands and stretching back. I watched as his forearm veins popped, and now it was my turn to look away. Oh god.

  He turned back and smiled. “What I was trying to say was…I’d never seen those movies until a month ago...then you show up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Well that’s just a silly coincidence.”

  “Okay maybe, but that’s not all. Last month I started reading this book set in India…”

  “Oh yeah?” He was talking about a book which meant he automatically had my full attention. Nerd alert.

  “Oh yes it’s a wonderful book. It’s based on a true story, about a man who escaped an Australian prison and fled to India. He changed his name---”


  “Joined the Indian mafia and opened a medical clinic in the slums!” I was practically jumping up and down as I finished his sentence. “It’s ‘Shantaram’!”

  “Yes!” He looked like he wanted to lift me up and spin me around, and in that moment I probably would’ve let him.

  “That book’s like nine-hundred pages,” I said. “I don’t know anybody else who’s actually read it.” Strangely enough, James was the one who had told me about the book, but when I’d run out and bought it so we could read it together like some overseas soul-mate book club, he’d admitted that he didn’t even own it. He’d just heard about it and thought I might like it. Then of course I read it cover-to-cover and loved it, leading me to here, where I now shared this nerdy-book moment with someone else. Irony? Fate?

  Erik smiled warmly. “I guess we will call this another silly coincidence.”

  I smiled back but quickly looked away. Why can’t he just be a boring number-cruncher? GAH!

  “Uh-oh,” he said.

  “What?” I noticed him looking at the side of my head.

  “You have something in your hair.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Nice job making an excuse to touch my ‘Bollywood’ hair.”

  He shook his head innocently. “I’m serious! It might be a twig...or a pine needle?”

  “WHAT?” I frantically started rooting around in my hair, remembering that time I somehow contracted head lice as a grown adult, and now irrationally fearing that the horror had returned.

  Erik laughed. “You’re not helping by doing that. Now it’s even further in the back. May I?”

  Feeling like a freak of nature, I finally stopped moving and awaited his examination. Unlike the grope-session I was expecting, he simply parted one section of my hair, and pulled out what was definitely a twig. Then he laughed at me.