The Reinvention of Mimi Finnegan (The Mimi Chronicles Book 1)

by Whitney Dineen

  It is already Friday evening and I can’t believe I’ve been at my new job for an entire week. In some ways it feels like I’ve worked there for years. There’s such a hum of activity and excitement about the place I can’t imagine I ever enjoyed my career without it.

  Richard has a business meeting tonight, so we’re not going to see each other until tomorrow, when we are planning to spend the whole day together. He is a champ when I tell him about Elliot and Beatrice and how I decide to let go of any hope that Elliot might be the one for me. He actually asks if I am sure this is what I want. I am shocked that he would question a decision that is so obviously slanted in his favor, but he declares he cares about me enough to want me to have my heart’s desire. “Of course,” he amends, “I hope I’ll be your heart’s desire, but if I’m not, I’ll always support the choices that make you happy.” Once again I know that Richard Bingham is too good for me.

  Tonight I am going to go out with Jocina and Helena for drinks. We are meeting up at a hip new club called Slaughter. It’s so now and right this very minute that they don’t even have a door that faces the street. They don’t even have an address. When I ask how I am supposed to find it, my co-workers instruct me to meet them in front of the Pink Palace Wig and Weave on Avenue B. They’ll lead the way from there.

  I’m wearing a gorgeous new black dress (sent to me by LeRon and Fernando as a welcome to New York gift) with a hot pink belt and a new pair of hot pink and red stiletto sandals. I have not yet figured out how I am going to be able to stand wearing these shoes all night but they are so gorgeous I imagine any amount of pain will be worth it. Speaking of pain, Edith Bunker is once again my new best friend. She isn’t even giving me shit about my choice in footwear. While my bunion still occasionally hurts like the dickens, she is no longer chastising me. Her most frequent line is, “Do you think that Richard will rub me tonight? Ask him to rub me.” Of course I haven’t done that yet, but promise that tomorrow night she might get lucky.

  The cab drops me in the heart of alphabet city and as far as I can tell there is no club within blocks of where I’m standing. Luckily, Jocina and Helena show up within minutes of me, releasing the fear I am in the wrong place. Jocina leads the way to Slaughter by taking a left into a tiny obscure alleyway that leads to a fire escape. We climb the rickety steps to the second floor where we proceed to wait in front of a large window. At this point it occurs to me I have only known my co-workers for five days. I wonder if perhaps they are really taking me to a drop point for a white slavery ring. This is like no other club I have ever seen.

  The window eventually opens and a burly bouncer type asks us what the password is. I’m thinking, you have got to be kidding me? I’m too old to go through these kinds of machinations for a night out with the girls. Jocina surreptitiously speaks the words as though she’s imparting the secrets of the universe, “Spinet piano, marmalade pie” and boom, we’re in. That’s of course after we pay a twenty-five dollar cover charge, each. For that kind of money there had better be a masseuse on staff that’s willing to spend the next hour making Edith Bunker happy.

  The inside of Slaughter is nothing like the name would indicate. I half expect to see dead cows hanging from the ceiling, yet there are no farm animals anywhere in sight. Instead it’s a very sleek and cosmopolitan looking venue, with lots of chrome and polished black surfaces. I try to get a mental image of all of these fashionable people crawling through the window to get in, but simply cannot. Helena later explains that there are alternative entrances to the building. So I ask, “Why didn’t we use one of them?”

  She shrugs her shoulders, “We don’t know where they are.” Apparently this is part of the mystique of Slaughter. People keep coming back in hopes of learning where the other entrances are located. It’s at this moment I long to be on the relatively normal Upper West Side, in my robe, watching Friday night television. I have never been a cool person so this level of trendiness is totally wasted on me.

  After an hour, we are able to secure a perch for ourselves and our drinks in the form of a tiny cocktail table with even tinier stools. Rear ends like mine were simply not meant for these contraptions so I take turns leaning my butt cheeks against the minuscule seat. I’m afraid to sit on it like a normal person for fear that it will impale me and do serious internal damage to my intestines.

  Jocina and Helena are having a fabulous time and have each gone off several times to dance with different men. While I have been asked to dance as well, I choose to stay put and guard our table and drinks. I saw that Dateline special on Rohypnal and I’m not about to take the chance that one of our twenty-three dollar cocktails will be tampered with. As much as I’m not invested in the party scene, I am enjoying watching all the people. I feel like I’ve landed smack in the middle of a Sex and the City episode. This is just the kind of place that Carrie and the girls would frequent; so “in” that you’re lucky to find your way in. If I decide to stay in this city after my three month probation period, I’m going to need more than my previous salary doubled in order to survive.

  I have no idea how singles in New York can afford to live. I imagine most of them have roommates and eat only ramen noodles during the week in hopes of having the funds for any kind of social life on the weekends. The average date night in this city has to cost in excess of two hundred dollars. No wonder men feel entitled to sex within the first couple of outings. I would too.

  That gets me to thinking about Richard. I know he doesn’t expect me to sleep with him yet, but I wonder how much longer it will be before that becomes the protocol for our evenings. Then I wonder what I think of that. Richard is very funny, handsome, sexy, and rich. He’s also single and attracted to me and what’s the problem? The problem is that after making love to Elliot, I recognize that I won’t be able to sleep with anyone else unless I am in love with them. All of a sudden I feel the beginnings of a headache coming on and I want to go home. When Helena comes back to the table I let her know that I’m leaving. She’s surprised I want to go so early (as it’s only one a.m.) but understands when I tell her about my headache.

  After grabbing my purse, I retrace my steps to the big window on the second floor, but the bouncer won’t let me out. Apparently, the window is only an entrance, not an exit. When I ask him where I can find an exit, he assures me that there are three on the first floor. I can’t help but fantasize about calling the fire department should I ever find my way out of this place. As I roam around the dance floor looking for bright red EXIT signs, I start to think this club is like the Hotel California. You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.

  I eventually spot a couple gathering their belongings and in hopes they are vacating the premises I follow them through a long hall, past the kitchen, and bathrooms. The passage is pitch black and I am on the verge of panic when I hear a door open and see the street lights come flooding in. Hurray!!! I’m actually going to get out of here. I make a promise to never put myself through this experience again and flag down a cab to take me home.

  Chapter 35

  Richard spends a good part of Saturday giving me lessons on shopping in New York City. Apparently you have to treat it like an aggressive contact sport. “This is not golf,” he says seriously. There’s an offensive and defensive strategy you must be conversant with in order to walk out of the store with all intended purchases and no bodily damage done to your person. I laugh as he explains this. I picture him in a black nylon jacket with the word “COACH” emblazoned on the back and a whistle hanging from his neck. In my head, he’s writing on a dry-erase board and marking off sections that read: cheese, dairy, wine.

  Richard asks why I’m laughing, so I tell him. Then in all seriousness he says, “When you shop in this city on a Saturday, you had better be on your guard.” I’m beginning to think I don’t want to go when he winks and I realize he’s just joking.

  Richard uses tactics on the women in Zabar’s that I am not equipped to employ. He shamelessly flirts with them
and they treat him like he’s the emperor of Rome, to the point where he is even offered a cut in the coveted cheese line. I ask him what’s going on and he enlightens me that men without wedding bands on their fingers are a premium in this city. “They treat us like the fatted calf until it’s time for dinner.”

  Rolling my eyes, I comment, “But the lady from the cheese line had a huge rock on her finger.”

  Richard pulls a scrap of paper out of his pocket with the name Rachael on it, next to a phone number, and replies, “But apparently her friend Rachael doesn’t.”

  I am totally and completely aghast at this. “She slipped you her friend’s phone number while you were here with me? That is unbelievable!”

  “All’s fair in love and war, darling. And the single scene in New York makes the Middle East look like Club Med.”

  I am appalled and understand more than ever how fortunate I am to have this wonderful man’s interest. I ask, “How often does this happen to you?”

  With a shake of his head, Richard replies, “If you only knew the number of trees murdered for the cause.”

  After Zabar’s, Richard wants to know which store I want to go to next, so I drag him to The Silver Palate and then to a specialty shop down the street known worldwide for its marinades. All in all I have an absolutely wonderful time but have no idea how I will ever reenact this on my own. I share my concerns with my shopping partner and he suggests I simply use the curves that God gave me. I raise my eyebrows in confusion and he explains, “I don’t know who all these women are feeding, but it is not themselves. Have you noticed how emaciated they are?”

  I confirm I have noticed. In fact the girls in my office seem to only partake in coffee and cigarettes for lunch and I have it on the best authority their dinners primarily involve martinis. The only potentially nutritious nibble being the gin-soaked olives they imbibe.

  So Richard explains while the women before us are mean and aggressive and skinny, I am delightful and sweet and womanly. I smile as he shrugs his eyebrow like Groucho Marks. “Therefore,” he declares, “if one of these city gals tries to bully you, I suggest you pop them with one of your gorgeous hips.” Then he pantomimes the “pop” he envisions and I can’t help but burst out laughing at his suggestion.

  I respond, “Richard, I could knock them into the next century if I execute a move like that on them.” And then I get the most absurd image of a pile of formally shopping skeletons heaped in the corner of Zabar’s while I have the whole store to myself. It’s at that moment I discover I want to try the maneuver. So I drag Richard back into Zabar’s to walk me through it.

  In the cracker aisle he points out a particularly vicious looking customer and whispers, “She looks like the type who wouldn’t let you within three feet of her.” Then conspiratorially suggests, “Go try to pick up a box of crackers in front of her.”

  Invigorated by the potential conflict, I stroll right up to her and reach for a box of water biscuits located directly in front of her. She rotates to the left with her shopping basket to block my action but I circle around to her other side. Before she has a chance for another body block, I wind my hip and give her a bump which actually sends her stumbling for a good three steps. I can feel the power and I love it! Once the snippy woman rights herself, she declares, “Well I never!” That’s when Richard saunters up next to me and wraps his arm around my waist. He looks at her and suggests, “That might be the problem.” I try to but fail to contain my laughter and realize I may be able to make it in this city after all.

  After dropping my various purchases off at Renée’s apartment, Richard and I cross the street to Central Park and walk through to the toy boating pond on the Fifth Avenue side. I am astounded by all of the grown men playing with their boats. These are not toys either. They are full blown baby yachts. One man is actually dressed in white pants with a navy blazer and captain’s hat. I look at Richard and try to contain my mirth. I comment, “They’re pretty serious about this, huh?”

  He replies, “You don’t know the half of it. Actual fights have been known to break out when one captain doesn’t respect another’s boundaries.”

  I’m convinced Richard is pulling my leg when I hear a man shout, “Ahoy there, captain of the Royal Princess. You’re about to clip my bow side. Give me my space.”

  The other “captain” yells back, “This is public domain! If you feel crowded, then you should move!” Before the whole confrontation can come to blows, a third captain breaks up the argument by engaging one of the men in conversation.

  I whisper to Richard, “I feel like I’m on a grade school playground.”

  He smiles, “Boys and their toys.”

  I ask, “Are actual children allowed to use this pond for their toys as well?”

  Richard looks at me in mock horror and declares, “Good God, no!”

  We spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around the city on foot, occasionally stopping for a coffee or a bite to eat. We don’t get back to my apartment until six and Richard announces we have an eight o’clock dinner reservation so he had better get back to his apartment to change. But I’ve had such a nice relaxed day I don’t feel like getting all dolled up so I suggest, “Why don’t we order in Chinese and a movie?”

  Richard likes my plan, so he picks a movie while I open up a bottle of wine. I ask him what we’re going to see but he won’t tell me. Once we order our dinner, he plops on the couch and asks, “So how’s my good friend Edith Bunker doing these days?”

  Edith Bunker, meanwhile, is screaming, “Tell him I want a rub! Tell him I love him!”

  I smile at my friend and flirtatiously declare, “She misses you.”

  “Really?” he wants to know. “Why don’t you bring her over here so we can get reacquainted?” I’m next to him on the couch, with Edith Bunker in his lap before you can say Kung Pao Shrimp and he starts to work his magic.

  Richard comments, “Edith looks like a shadow of her former self, what’s going on?”

  I explain that her silicone insert and my ten pound weight loss have actually helped to shrink her inflammation. Richard comments “Don’t get too thin on me. I like you and Edith just the way you are.”

  “That’s very sweet,” I tell him, “but Edith is a royal pain in my ass and I’m looking forward to sending her packing.”

  Richard leans towards me and brushes the hair from my face and says, “No one likes a bone but a dog.”

  I have never heard that saying and I love it. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “I’m only aspiring to lose ten more pounds which will probably make me a size ten. No single digits for me.”

  Richard pulls my legs until I am nearly sitting on top of him and then he very gently and very sweetly kisses me on the lips. He murmurs, “I want to know what man started the rumor that men as a species like skinny women. If I ever meet him, I’m going to kick his ass.” Then he kisses me again with a good deal more passion. Before things have a chance to get too involved, Julio rings up to announce that our food has arrived. I jump off the couch and ask, “What movie are we watching?”

  “The Karate Kid.”

  I demand, “You had better not have chosen The Karate Kid.”

  So he counters, “Apocalypse Now.”

  I start to laugh, “Richard Bingham, if you didn’t pick a wonderful chick flick, you had better leave right now.” The doorbell rings and Richard hands over a wad of bills in exchange for our dinner. Then he proudly declares, “I think I’ve made the perfect selection.” He grabs the remote and turns on An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr.

  I cry, “This is only my favorite movie of all time! How did you know?”

  He smiles, “You’re not totally unique in that arena, darling. I thought it was a safe bet.”

  We snuggle up on the couch with dinner and settle in for a cozy night of vintage romance. The only problem is while I’m watching the film, I can’t stop myself from thinking about Elliot’s and my ill-fated love affair. So by the time
Deborah Kerr gets hit by the cab and becomes a house bound invalid, I am sobbing my eyes out. By the end of the movie when Cary Grant finds out her secret and re-declares his undying love for her, I have snot and tears running down my face and I’m gasping for breath. Richard turns the lights on and looks at me with a horrified expression on his face, “Good Lord, Mimi, do you always cry so hard during this film?”

  I shake my head miserably and he pats the cushion closer to him inviting me to snuggle in. When I do so, he wraps his arms around me and asks, “Is it Elliot?”

  I nod my head as a new wave of grief overwhelms me and my friend simply holds me and lets me cry my heart out.

  Chapter 36

  Elliot returns my call this morning at the office. I rang him on Friday night, on my way out the door, hoping I would get his voice mail. When I did, I thought I would have a whole weekend free of thoughts of him, as I knew he’d wait until Monday to return my call. Of course we all know how well my Elliot-free weekend went. That road to hell and those good intentions, huh?

  On Saturday morning, it occurred to me Jude and Hermione were back in charge of writing my life’s script but by Saturday night I was toying with the idea my romance writers had begun working in tandem with Stan and Ollie as there is no way my current situation would make a decent romance novel or even made-for-TV movie.

  When my phone rings this morning, I simply pick it up without wondering who might be on the line. So when I hear the love of my life say, “Mimi, its Elliot Fielding returning your call,” I almost panic and hang up on him.

  Yet somewhere deep down, I get that I am an adult and not a freshman in high school because I answer, “Elliot, thank you for calling me back.”

  He asks, all business-like, “What can I do for you?”

  I explain about our Shimmer campaign and how they are launching a line to aid research and the cure for breast cancer. I tell him we were hoping to secure him as one of our celebrity speakers as he has such a close tie to the disease. Then I just jabber. I’m not quite sure what words come out of mouth, but I’m positive that they are total nonsense.