by Ami Snow
We unloaded the car bit by bit, dragging our suitcases into the house until the living room was a mound of luggage and bedding. There were two bedrooms—a master bedroom and a guest bedroom with two beds. We decided to play rock, paper, scissors to decide who got the master bedroom—I know, very mature of us.
I was elated when I won. Billie clearly didn’t care, but Catherine looked mildly put off. I knew it was because she was looking forward to the party scene in D.C., and all of the men that she might meet. She’d been hoping to have her own bedroom, and she probably didn’t think it was fair that I, who rarely ever brought men home, got the room all to myself.
I didn’t care. The master bedroom had a queen-sized bed with a mattress that looked suspiciously like a TempurPedic, and a huge claw-foot soaking tub in the bathroom. I almost felt like I was on vacation. I shot Catherine an apologetic look, and immediately began dragging my things into the room.
The bed was made up only with sheets. We’d been told to bring our own comforters and pillows, so it wasn’t really a surprise. I spent the next fifteen minutes making up the bed and started unpacking my clothes, hanging them up in the closet and tucking them away in the antique wooden dresser. I pulled back the curtains to let the sunlight in, and saw that there was a beautiful view of the trees, and the Potomac a ways off. I sighed. This was exactly the kind of place I could see myself living in after graduation. And it was within reach—if I could blow this internship out of the water and possibly secure myself a spot at the firm.
I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes, hoping to get a nap in before dinnertime. I could hear the girls laughing and talking in the living room, and sighed. Billie had gotten plenty of naptime in on the drive over, and Catherine had seemingly boundless energy. I, on the other hand, felt exhausted. I knew the girls would want to go out tonight—our first night in D.C.—and if I was being honest, I kind of did, too. I wasn’t really into the party scene at school, but there was something grown-up and glamorous about going out in the big city. I sighed, sinking back into the mattress, and barely had time to think how much more comfortable I was before I was fast asleep.
***
Chapter 2
The sound of Catherine and Billie knocking on my bedroom door was what finally woke me up. “Come on, Ellie! Are you awake? Let’s go get dinner and then go out!”
“This guy I know who lives here says he knows some really great bars to go to!” I heard Billie say through the door.
“Okay,” I grumbled, sitting up in bed and running my fingers through my tangled hair. “I need to get a shower and get dressed.”
“Two hours,” Catherine said firmly, and I promptly rolled my eyes. I wouldn’t need that much time.
We’d planned on a shopping excursion Sunday to pick up toiletries and things we would generally need for the house, and I was grateful to see that the owner had stocked a small supply of travel-size toiletries for us in the meantime. There was a stall shower in the bathroom separate from the tub, and I thought blissfully of how much longer the hot water would last here than it did in the dorms. I pulled a fluffy, dark-blue towel out of the small cupboard built into the wall, and turned the taps in the shower, running my hand underneath the water until it was steaming hot.
I tilted my head back, letting the hot water run over my scalp, and bit back a moan of absolute pleasure. I didn’t care what everyone said, this shower was better than any sex I’d ever had. I reached for the small, expensive-looking bottle of shampoo—it looked like the travel size probably cost as much as my full-size pump bottle at home—and squirted some into my hand. It smelled like herbs and some kind of spicy berry as I lathered it into my hair, and I took a deep, relaxing breath. I could handle this kind of life, for sure.
Twenty minutes later, I stepped out of the shower, my hair conditioned, and my limbs soft and shaved. I felt like an entirely new person. I spritzed some of my blow-dry spray into my hair—a gift from Ashley that I rarely ever used, as I was more of a wash-and-go kind of person—and began to dry my hair, running a round bristle brush through it as I did so. The result was the kind of full, bouncy hair that I saw in commercials, and that I rarely took the time to do for myself. I usually threw it up in a top-knot, or a ponytail if it was dry. I had to admit, though, peering into the mirror, that the result was really quite nice.
Still wrapped in the fluffy towel, I looked through the clothes I had brought. I finally settled on a pair of dark skinny jeans, a tight black merino sweater with a fairly deep V-neck, and a pair of velvety knee-high, high-heeled boots. I’d always felt at a loss as to how to dress for going out in the winter. I knew sweaters and my typical cardigans weren’t exactly “sexy”, but the truth was that I didn’t really care. I knew Catherine and Billie would probably give me some kind of hard time about it, but I felt pretty. I also would be much warmer than they probably would be. I was having a hard time reconciling the choice of high-heeled boots as it was, considering that there was snow on the ground and the sidewalks were likely icy.
I left my hair loose and floaty around my face, and put on just a little makeup. I knew how to do a nice winged eyeliner, something that made most of my female friends very jealous, and so I took advantage of that, flicking it out and putting on a few coats of mascara. My green eyes looked bigger in the mirror, and bright, framed by the black fringe of my lashes. I eschewed lipstick for lip balm, knowing how badly my lips were likely to get chapped in the cold air if I didn’t. If there was one thing I didn’t believe in, it was trading beauty for comfort.
I had a pair of small, teardrop-shaped ruby earrings that my mother had given me for my eighteenth birthday, and I decided on a whim to put them on. This was supposed to be a step into my new, adult life, and I wanted to feel at least a little glamorous.
Squaring my shoulders, I looked at my reflection in the mirror, and I was happy with it. I wasn’t sure if I fit in with the party crowd, but I felt like me, and I felt beautiful. That was more than enough.
I walked out of the bedroom, my black leather cross-body purse in hand, and gave Catherine a look as she started to open her mouth. She was dressed in a tight, long-sleeved, knee-length navy-blue dress, with bare legs and black high-heeled booties. Her short hair was curled at the ends, and she’d worn full makeup, her eyes smoky and her lips red. Her cleavage swelled up at the V-neck of the dress, and I was sure she had a push-up bra on. “You’re going to freeze,” I pointed out.
“But I’ll look hot,” she retorted.
Billie was marginally better. She was wearing pants, at least—tight, moto style pants with two parallel zippers on each thigh. She was wearing a long sleeved shirt with a rock band print on it, and it was clear that she’d joined in on the push-up bra idea. She had long black bar earrings dangling from her ears, and she’d painted her nails a deep, metallic red.
I folded my bare, bitten nails into my palms, and reminded myself that maybe I should get a manicure before starting work on Monday.
“You look like you’re going to a book club meeting,” Catherine pointed out. Her tone wasn’t unkind, but I felt myself turning a little red.
“I’m comfortable like this,” I said, feeling the need to defend my choice of clothing. “I don’t really care if it’s trendy or not. I just want to feel like myself. And anyway…I don’t own anything like that.”
Catherine shrugged. “Well, as long as you’re okay with it, I guess.” She picked up her small, gold clutch purse. “Ready to go?”
Billie and I nodded, and followed her out the door to where our Uber was waiting for us.
The restaurant that Catherine had picked was small and quaint, with long farmhouse style tables and industrial chandeliers over them in increments. The large bay windows faced the Potomac, with an outside seating area that was covered over and closed for the cold weather season. A waiter in crisp, dark brown chinos and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up approached us with his pad in hand.
“Can I get some drinks for you, ladies?”<
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Billie ordered a gin cocktail. Catherine ordered a glass of white wine. I avoided looking at the wine list altogether. “I’ll have a water, please.”
“Alright,” the waiter said slowly, looking at me with something that I interpreted as suspicion.
Catherine leaned past me. “She’ll have a glass of the Malbec,” she said, giving me an imperious look. I started to open my mouth, but the waiter had already scribbled it down and turned away.
“Catherine…” I began, but she shook her head.
“This is a night to celebrate. You love red wine!”
I started to say something about the prices, and that I would rather do my drinking at the bars, where there would likely be some sort of reasonably priced beer on the menu. I didn’t, though. I just opened the menu, printed on thick card-stock meant to look like butcher’s paper, and scanned the appetizer list.
Three miniature fried green tomatoes, with jumbo lump crab and a buerre blanc sauce. 15.
I bit my lip. I could feel the weight of the credit card that my mother had given me a week ago, sitting in my wallet. My mother had been the VP of a marketing firm for years, and she’d worked in D.C. when she was younger. “There’s going to be nights you want to go out with your friends,” she’d said. “And there will probably be times you’ll need to go out with your co-workers for happy hours and meals to network. I don’t want you to have to worry about money. D.C. can be pricey.”
Up until now, I’d financed my college and living expenses all on my own, and with scholarships. I knew that wasn’t the case for most of my friends. Most of them had credit cards already that their parents paid for monthly, not even bothering to question the balances on them. I didn’t even have a credit card of my own, and the idea of the slim, black card nestled next to my debit card made me feel a little queasy. I hadn’t expected to use it so soon. But from the look of the menu, tonight would be its debut.
The wine came, and although I would have preferred not to spend that much on one glass of wine—a quick glance at the menu revealed that it was $12—it was delicious. Catherine ordered a round of appetizers for the table, saving me from having to turn down that portion of the meal. They were perfect too, when they arrived. She’d gotten the tomatoes as one of them. They were perfectly crispy, the crab sweet, and the sauce creamy. I felt a long way from the salad bar and grilled chicken sandwiches at the cafeteria.
I settled on a pimiento cheese-stuffed chicken breast with steamed broccoli and shoestring French fries for my meal. I couldn’t finish it, and I had no qualms about turning down the dessert menu. When the check came, I laid down the black credit card my mother had given me, and tried not to think too much about it.
Catherine called another Uber after we finished our meal, and we headed to the first bar. It was dark outside, and the city lights glittered brightly all around us as we drove through the traffic. I felt a thrill of excitement. Catherine and Billie were chattering animatedly, and I started to lose some of my anxiety about the whole situation. Yes, it was expensive, and there were a lot of things ahead that I wasn’t used to. But the bustling energy of the city made me feel as if I’d finally found the place I wanted to be. There was nothing sleepy or quiet or boring about D.C. at night.
Our car pulled up to the sidewalk and we piled out of it. There was a line leading into the bar, and I reached for my ID, waiting as the line inched forwards until we finally made it inside the building.
It was better than I had expected. Catherine usually preferred more nightclub scenes—loud, with bright lights and pulsing music, and Billie tended to gravitate towards more grungy, rock bars. Her friend that we were meeting had picked the spot, though, and I wholeheartedly approved of it. It had a speakeasy feel, with exposed brick walls and a long bar that ran most of the length of one wall. There was a small dance floor, but the music wasn’t particularly meant for dancing and it was turned high enough to be ambient, but I was still able to hear conversation. There were mostly high-top tables, and seats along the bar, along with a few booths nestled into corners. Billie spied her friend almost immediately, holding one of those booths for us.
It was clear from her expression when they saw each other that there was some attraction between them, and it surprised me. He didn’t seem like her type at all. He was wearing black skinny jeans and Vans, with a tight charcoal grey t-shirt and his hair slicked back in a style reminiscent of Don Draper. He was extremely handsome, though, with sharp cheekbones, dark hair and a scruffy jawline, and I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.
He’d brought two other friends with him, no doubt at Billie’s request. One had a lumberjack sort of vibe, built like a Viking with a thick beard and hair in a bun at the base of his neck. He was wearing straight jeans with boots and a t-shirt with a brewing company label—probably where he worked, I suspected. The other guy was definitely Catherine’s type, slender and clean-cut, wearing dark jeans that were slightly more relaxed, dress shoes and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up. He looked like the type that would give you his business card and promise to call.
Unfortunately, neither of the two were particularly my type. The first, Eddie, was, but he was clearly Billie’s. Catherine had already latched onto the clean-cut fellow, who introduced himself as Tom, and that left me with the craft-beer hipster, who was named Brian. He at least seemed as if he’d be interesting to talk to, even though I had every intention of leaving him here tonight.
I let Brian order my beer, assuming that he probably knew far more than I did. I was right. He ordered me something from some tiny brewery in Vermont, and it was probably the best beer I’d ever had. I sipped it appreciatively, and listened with some interest as he told me about his work at the brewery here, a start-up that he’d put together with some friends from college. Billie was curled into the crook of Eddie’s arm, discussing some concert series that they wanted to go to, and debating the virtues of participating in mosh pits. Catherine was discussing the accounting internship with Tom.
All in all, Brian was a complete gentleman. He was sitting close to me, close enough that I could feel how warm he was—he made me think of a grizzly bear—and I could smell his spicy cologne, but he wasn’t so close that it made me feel uncomfortable. He asked what I was doing in D.C., and I explained the internship to him.
“Do you really find that interesting?” he asked. “It seems so stifling, being behind a desk all day with all of those numbers.”
I shook my head. “I love it. It’s like a puzzle to me…getting all of the figures together and adding them up and comparing those to see if they match the outcome that you want. Plus, it pays well, so I’ll be able to afford all the vacations out in nature that I could possibly want one day,” I laughed.
“I guess money isn’t a bad thing,” Brian said, and I hoped that I hadn’t offended him. It couldn’t be easy, managing a start-up brewery in D.C. I actually kind of liked him, even if he wasn’t the type of guy that I would typically go for.
“I’ll get the next round,” I offered, getting up from the booth and smiling at him. I made my way through the crowd of people to the bar, where a mustachioed bartender was filling drinks at a blinding pace. As I waited for him to make his way to my end of the bar, I felt something brush against my arm and I turned.
One of the most handsome men I’d ever seen was standing there, smiling apologetically. He was probably five or six years older than I was, and wearing suit pants, a button-down shirt and dress shoes with a suit jacket thrown over his arm. He’d clearly just come from the office. “I’m sorry,” he said, and his deep, baritone voice sent a sudden shiver over my skin that was entirely unexpected. “I didn’t mean to bump into you. Is this your seat?” He gestured to the bar seat next to me, and I shook my head, suddenly feeling as if I couldn’t form words. This was entirely unusual for me. Men never made me feel like this, as if I couldn’t quite think of what I wanted to say. But he was looking down at me with piercing, light blue eyes set in a face made up
of a strong jawline and sharp cheekbones and all the features that, historically, make women swoon. It was certainly working on me.
“No,” I finally managed. “I’m just waiting on drinks. My seat is over there.” I waved my hand in the direction of the booth where Catherine, Billie, Eddie, Tom and Brian were all engrossed in conversation, evidently not missing my absence all that much.
“Well, let me buy that drink for you,” he offered. He slid into the seat, and raised a long-fingered hand. The bartender saw him and nodded, as if he knew him.
“Tony will be over here in just a minute.”
“You don’t need to do that,” I protested. “I’m getting one for my friend, too…it’s really unnecessary.”
“I can get them both, it’s no problem.” I could tell from his tone that he was the kind of man who wasn’t used to getting turned down, and it gave me a perverse pleasure to shake my head insistently. “I’ll get them,” I said, smiling at the bartender as he approached. I ordered two more of the Vermont beers, and went to hand the bartender my credit card. The man next to me reached for my hand, clasping it in his and preventing the bartender from taking my card. “Put it on my tab, Tony. I’ll have my usual.”
The bartender nodded and turned to fill the order. The man released my hand.
“You know,” I said stiffly, shoving the card back into my purse, “you really shouldn’t grab people’s hands like that when you don’t know them. Especially women. I might be a women’s studies major visiting from Berkeley or somewhere, and I might say you just assaulted me.”