Mr Right Now: A Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Lila Monroe

  I edge farther into the store and manage to find a plum sheath dress that only has a little silvery embroidery along the hems. McKenna wrinkles her nose when she catches up with me. “Oh, come on. That’s hardly in the right spirit.”

  “Is the right spirit that I’m supposed to terrify everyone who sets eyes on me?”

  “Think of it this way. Don’t you want Drew staring at you all night?”

  “Sure, but preferably not in horror.” I elbow her. “I haven’t heard you mention a date. Why am I the only one getting the full humiliation experience?”

  “Oh, I’d happily subject the right guy to tonight,” McKenna says. “I just don’t have him yet. All my free time has been going to the new app.”

  “You said it’s something to do with matchmaking, right? Couldn’t you justify a little ‘research’ along the way?”

  She grins. “Maybe later. Although I’m not sure it’s advisable for the inventor to also act as test subject.”

  “You make it sound like you’re coming up with the mad scientist version of online dating,” Lulu says, re-joining us. “When you’re done, let me know—I totally want to try that out.”

  We all start giggling. For a second, it feels like we really are high-school girls again, getting ready for “the big night.” Lulu adds a couple more finds to the room the clerk started for me, and I bring my plum number and a slightly subdued black halter over. “I think I’d better get started trying things on while there’s still room for me in here.”

  “We have to see them,” Lulu instructs me. “No chickening out.”

  I try on the frilly lilac one first, and yep, I look exactly like a cake. I step out, cringing. At the same time McKenna emerges in a swath of sequined aqua-blue that I imagine might accurately represent mermaid vomit. We take one look at each other and crack up.

  “Okay, back to the drawing board.”

  I snap a selfie in the mirror before I peel it off. So you’ll be grateful that whatever I do end up in isn’t as horrifying as this, I text along to Drew with the pic.

  I agree, that’s pretty bad. How about replacing the image in my brain with one of you without it on?

  Nice try. You can take a good long look tonight.

  Oh, I’m going to do a lot more than look, gorgeous.

  Is it getting a little hot in here? I’m definitely flushed as I reach for the next dress.

  The neon pink looks like someone’s pasted a giant bubblegum wrapper on me. “I am not coming out in this one,” I say. “You’ll thank me for not making your eyes bleed.”

  “Oh, come on,” Lulu wheedles.

  “Don’t worry, there’s plenty more embarrassment to come.”

  I pull on the flapper-esque number that appears to be constructed more out of sequins than fabric. With the racket it makes, everyone would hear me coming before they see me. I duck out just long enough for Lulu to have her fun.

  She cocks her head. “The shape isn’t bad.”

  “I think I’ll aim for a little better than that.”

  I switch to the dresses I picked out next, but honestly, the plum one is kind of boring. It doesn’t look that different from something I’d wear to a regular dinner out. Lulu pulls a face when I show her, and McKenna makes a veto motion. Not that she’s in much position to judge, given that she’s got about a ton of lime-green taffeta floating around her at that moment.

  “I know, I know,” I grumble. “Not in the spirit.” Now that I’ve gotten started, I have to admit I kind of want to make one of the hideous prom dresses work.

  “How about the blue one?” my sister urges.

  I sigh. “Okay, I’ll try that one now.”

  I can tell it’s going to be monstrous. The skirt is poufy before I even get it on, and sweetheart necklines and I tend not to get along. I brace myself and turn toward the change room’s mirror. And then I stand there staring at myself.

  I look like the girl from a prom scene in every teen movie ever. Except not the awkward ugly duckling who doesn’t know how to dress herself. No, this would be the moment when the awkward girl walks into the room, and everyone does a double-take, because they can’t believe it’s even her, she looks so amazing.

  The midnight-blue fabric sets off my skin and hair as well as it always does. I hardly paid attention to the color because of the cut and the beads woven into the skirt. But the neckline is high enough that my boobs aren’t popping out while still teasing a little cleavage. My waist looks trim above the flowing skirt. And the tiny beads twinkle here and there like stars in the night sky.

  My breath has caught in my throat. There might be a lump in there too. This is exactly the dress I’d have wanted to wear to the dream prom I never got back then.

  Which means I have to wear it now, don’t I?

  Lulu and McKenna are chatting when I step out. McKenna’s got on a scarlet A-line that looks impressively good on her, and Lulu is motioning as if recommending accessories. They both fall silent, blinking, when they catch sight of me.

  “I knew it!” Lulu crows. “That’s it. That’s the one.”

  McKenna nods. “Absolutely.”

  “Class of 2007, here I come!”

  My heart feels almost fluttery as I change back into my regular clothes. Picturing Drew’s face when he sees me in that gown. Maybe it is a little cheesy, but he’ll get it, right?

  And I am looking forward to the part where it takes it off too.

  I’m just coming out of the room when my phone rings. It’s Gio, my New York bakery partner turned competition—not that we’ve been on anything but friendly terms.

  I hand the dress to the clerk—“I’ll be right back to pay for that.”—and scoot outside to answer.

  “Hey, Gio,” I say. “How’s life with the great Sunny Street?”

  “Pretty great,” he says. “But I’m not going to lie, I miss our place sometimes. It looks like there’s a way we could be working together at least peripherally again, though.”

  My ears perk up. “What do you mean?” Gio’s one of the people I put out feelers to, but I didn’t expect to hear anything this soon.

  “You know Suzanne Agnelli?”

  “Of course.” She’s only the most famous pastry chef in all of New York state. Every kid in culinary school dreams of getting an internship with her. Maybe one of her underlings has set up their own shop and needs help.

  “Well, she’s looking for a new baker to work directly under her. It turns out she had someone bring her cupcakes from your shop a little before we closed. She was really impressed—I talked to her at a dinner thing—she said she hasn’t been happy with anyone she’s interviewed so far, and she’d like to have it filled by next week. The spot’s pretty much yours if you want it.”

  My jaw falls open. It takes me a few seconds to recover my voice. “Wait,” I say. “I could be working under the Suzanne Agnelli?”

  “I know! I’m jealous. But you deserve it, Mags. Should I tell her you’ll be in touch? She said I could pass on her private number.”

  Holy fuck. My head is spinning. I take a deep breath and try to think. Next week I could be packed up and headed back to NYC? It’s too much to process.

  “Give me her number,” I say. “But don’t say anything to her yet. I have to check on some logistics.”

  “Sure,” Gio says, but he sounds a little surprised. “Don’t take too long, though. You know how many people here would kill for that spot.”

  I would have killed for it a month ago—but now there’s a lump in my throat even thinking about it. I hang up and lean back against the store window, my head spinning.

  What am I thinking? I have to take this, right? When is another opportunity like that going to come along? It’s not as if I ever planned on staying here in Philly.

  But my thoughts are immediately tugged to Drew. To the electricity that races through me every time he kisses me. To that grin that lights me up inside. Leaving Philly means leaving him.

  But it’s only been a few we
eks. Casual. Fun. Sure, he jokingly calls me his girlfriend, but we haven’t even had The Talk yet. Neither of us has said anything about getting really serious, about making plans for the future. It’d be crazy to turn down a job like this for a chance with a guy. Wouldn’t it?

  But Drew isn’t just any guy …

  My mind is still whirling as I walk back into the store to buy my dress. As I reach the counter, my phone sounds with another alert. I pick it up.

  Since you’re pulling out all the stops, I figured I should too. Expect a surprise tonight.

  My chest clenches. My dream has a chance to get back on track—right when my dream guy is right here in front of me.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  From “Mr. Right-Now” by Category 5

  You say you ain’t got time, but that’s not what we need, girl

  One day, two hearts, we’ll be heard around the world

  Don’t need a whole book to tell the perfect story

  No rush, no race, we can have our blaze of glory

  I got what you want and you know it

  So give me one moment to show it

  I’m not asking for forever

  Just let me be your Mr. Right-Now

  Right-Now

  Ooooh

  I’ll be your Mr Right-Now

  Right-Now

  Oooh.

  22

  Drew

  Category 5 fans everywhere should be rejoicing today! Charlie Stone, one of the five-member crew, has confirmed that the band will be reuniting for an intensive worldwide tour to begin early next year, with a brand-new album to follow. The five haven’t performed together since their contentious split ten years ago, but Stone says all bridges have been mended and the boys are eager to get back on the road.

  My hand clenches as I read the article on my laptop’s screen again. “This is bullshit, Terry. Total bullshit. And Charlie knows it too.”

  Terry Ramsey’s voice crackles out of my phone. These days the head of my management team is on vacation more often than he’s not. I think he’s out in the West Indies or something at the moment. Of course he would be when this fuckery is going down.

  “But you did have lunch with the reporter,” he says.

  “I left early. I didn’t confirm anything about a reunion while I was there. And I told Charlie I wasn’t interested in any relaunch. He can’t make decisions like that for the entire band.”

  “No,” Terry agrees. “But you’re going to disappoint a lot of people if you back out now.”

  “It wouldn’t be backing out when I never said I was doing it in the first place.” I tug at the sleeves of my suit—my favorite, but right now it’s feeling uncomfortably stiff. I’m supposed to be picking up Maggie for her reunion—the only kind I want to be involved with—in fifteen minutes. My surprise is already waiting downstairs. So Charlie is not only managing to fuck everything up, but with incredible timing too.

  “Are you sure it would be such a bad thing?” Terry presses. “We could have them scale back—a smaller tour, just an EP instead of a full album—”

  “No.” He just cares about getting a fatter check with his cut. The buzzer for the front door goes off. I stalk over. “You don’t have a contract, so as far as I’m concerned, this doesn’t exist. Hold on.”

  I press the intercom button. Charlie’s voice carries up from the lobby below.

  “Hey, Drew. I got your message, figured since I was in the area I’d just stop by. Always better to talk in person, right?”

  I’m not so sure about that. I’d rather punch him than talk at this point. But I grit my teeth and buzz him in.

  “Charlie’s here,” I tell Terry. “I’ll see if I can get anywhere with him. You start figuring out my best options for getting distance from this story.”

  “Drew,” Terry says, slickly soothing, “take some deep breaths, hear Charlie out, and really think about it. A lot of good could come from this for everyone. If you’re still against it after you’ve slept on it, give me another call in the morning and you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

  He hangs up before I can tell him where to stuff his deep breaths.

  Charlie has his hands up when I open the door, as if he knows what’s been going through my mind. Well, the message I left him wasn’t exactly subtle about my feelings. Still, he ambles over to the kitchen island and plops himself down on one of the stools as if this is a regular hangout. He arches an eyebrow at my suit.

  “Going someplace fancy?”

  “I have a date,” I say tightly. “A date I’m running late for.”

  “Oh, with that bakery chick? Good find there, Drew—great body and a great cook!”

  “Charlie,” I say through clenched teeth. Deep breath. “We’re not going to talk about Maggie. We’re going to talk about you lying to that reporter. You know there’s no reunion.”

  Charlie gives me that sly grin and a shrug. “It seems like there is now.” I take a step toward him, and his hands shoot up again. “Okay, okay! Look, I’m sorry about taking you by surprise. But don’t you see how good this is for us? The fans are already going crazy. There’s chatter all over the internet, speculation about what cities the tour will hit, people posting dream playlists—people are even more excited than I was hoping.”

  “Maybe it’s good for you and your reality TV bid. I didn’t need this.”

  Charlie cocks his head. “Are you sure? There isn’t any part of you that misses being on the road? The stadiums full of people cheering for us? Getting to let go with the music under all those spotlights? You loved it, Drew. We all did. There’s nothing wrong with getting a second shot at the glory.”

  I hesitate, just for a second. Of course I remember how amazing those parts of the Cat-5 days were. I’d be lying if I said I never wished my solo career had worked out after all, that I could have kept performing instead of staying behind the scenes.

  But I also remember the parties gone bad, the fights—all the things that led to the split. I sure as hell don’t miss any of that.

  “Are the other guys in on this too?” I ask slowly. “You said you hadn’t talked to them in ages.”

  “I haven’t. But I don’t need to. If you okay this, they’ll jump on board in an instant. You were the front man, Drew. Everyone knew that. You led the way. That’s why I brought it to you first.”

  “I wouldn’t call leaking a false story to a reporter ‘bringing’ anything to me.”

  “I already apologized for that.” He fixes his gaze on me, his expression suddenly, uncharacteristically serious. “It’s easy for you to say no without even thinking about it, Drew. You got all those songwriting credits, the royalties still rolling in. The band is still working for you. The rest of us aren’t so lucky. You know we got fucked in those deals back then. We need this. But we can’t do it unless you’re on board. How about sharing a little of that good fortune?”

  I wince. Part of me wants to say it isn’t good fortune, that I earned what I’ve gotten. It’s not my fault if Charlie frittered his piece of the pie away. But the twist of guilt in my gut won’t let me dismiss his point completely. “Mr. Right-Now” may have been a cheesy slice of pop trash, but as the sole credited songwriter, I still see decent royalties from radio airplay, streaming, and soundtracks, plus the other tracks I worked on with the professional songwriters back in the day. Thanks to our draconian contracts, the rest of the band barely make ten percent what I do, and back in the good old days, that difference was numbered in the millions. Sure, I worked for it, but I’d be an asshole if I pretended there wasn’t a healthy dose of luck involved, too.

  I glance at the time. Shit. I’ve got to get to Maggie’s.

  “Look,” I say, “I will think about it. Okay? That’s the best I can tell you. While I’m thinking about it, can you manage not to spread any more info around?”

  “Sure,” Charlie beams. He hops off the stool. “Take the time you need. Just remember we’re counting on you. Chris’s kids won’t
get to college on their own!”

  Way to twist the screws. I usher him out and head downstairs myself. I can’t think about him or the reunion now. Tonight is for Maggie.

  Also for Maggie: the rental limo parked out front. White, stretch, with rhinestones on the license plate. Despite my inner turmoil, I smile when I see it. I asked for the tackiest thing they had, and boy, did they deliver. “Take the fastest route you can,” I tell the driver after I give him the address, and we manage to pull up outside Maggie’s parents’ house only five minutes later than promised.

  She opens the door a crack as I’m coming up the front steps. Her eyes widen when she sees the stretch. “What is that?” she says, but with a giddy note in her voice that tells me I chose right.

  “That is our ride to the reunion-prom,” I say. Then she opens the door the rest of the way, revealing the full glory that is her dress, and for a second I can’t do anything but blink. Damn. How did I get this lucky?

  Her cheeks turn pink. “Is it overboard?” She pushes at the expansive skirt, setting the tiny silver beads twinkling against the deep blue.

  “No. Definitely, absolutely not. You look like a queen. A frothy, gorgeous queen.” I trail my finger across her bare shoulder. My voice drops. “You aren’t allowed to be embarrassed for even one second tonight, Maggie. Every guy there is going to be jealous that I got to turn up with you.”

  She snorts, but she’s beaming too. I’d lean in and kiss her right there if I didn’t spot her mom hurrying over behind her at that exact moment.

  “Drew!” Mrs. Hayes says. “Isn’t this exciting? Doesn’t she look lovely? I know you two will have a wonderful night.”

  “Mom,” Maggie says. “It’s not an actual prom, you know. We’re just playing dress-up.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourselves. Get in here, Drew. We need pictures of this.”

  I’m game. We pose in the hall, me with my arm around Maggie, her fighting giggles. Then Mrs. Hayes insists on having us stand by the limo so she can grab a bunch of shots with that in the picture too. “Okay, okay, Mom,” Maggie says after several minutes. “We do have to actually get to the reunion at some point.”