by Messe, Ellie
I look up, “I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”
“Hold appropriate eye contact, keep them engaged. You want to mirror their body language, stare and you become creepy.” He chuckles when I look away. “Think of it as a speech, you have to take a moment to glance at your cards now and again to make sure you’re on track, but you always come back to the audience. Looking away is fine, but make it fleeting. You want the opposite of what you’re doing.” He laughs.
“Sorry.” Slightly adjusting in the chair, I look up at him.
His blue eyes hold mine, “Good. See? It’s not that bad, right?”
I smile, glancing at the board, “So, when do we move on to a new letter?”
“This is only the first topic under D. We have a few more. Once you hold yourself the way I want you to, we’ll move on.”
“Okay.” I turn back and make a point to meet his eyes.
I don’t know if it’s the new power pose or whatever he called it that’s making me feel more comfortable in his presence, but I don’t feel as shy or awkward when he looks me over.
“Stand up.” I obey, “Leave your sleeves alone.”
I drop the balled fabric; my hands awkwardly shift between being at my side and crossing at my hips.
Logan starts to laugh, “Just stand still, Devina. You want to come off charismatic. Open yourself, own the air around you, use your hands while you speak. Have you noticed I articulate with my hands? I keep you engaged by making wide motions. When people speak, mirror them; if they’re smiling, smile back. If they nod, nod. You become more interesting; you’ll draw people in because they view you as personable. Remember your arms and legs while the other person is speaking. By crossing your arms, you suggest your bored or defensive; be relaxed. Your hands are linked, why?”
Unclasping my hands, I shake my head, “I’m not sure.”
“You’re shy, nervous and maybe uncomfortable, yes?”
“I guess.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. This all feels awkward I guess.” And it's the truth, all of this feels awkward.
“Do you feel vulnerable?”
“To what?”
“Me, what we’re discussing?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Have you always been socially closed off? You seem to do well when dealing with strangers, yet once you’re in a situation where you have to do more than spout witty comebacks you close up. Stop slouching, Devina, stand up straight.”
Righting my shoulders I exhale a deep breath, “I guess so. I was a bookworm in school; I didn’t participate in group activities unless they were assigned. Amy was always the social butterfly; she has enough charisma and sex appeal to do all the work for me.” I crack a smile because it’s true.
“Well, that has to change. You need be approachable.”
“I don’t want to be approachable,” I catch myself playing with my sleeve and drop it, “Cole never cared.”
“Once he sees the new you, that’ll change.”
“I don’t want a new me,” I slouch intentionally, “That’s not who he fell in love with.”
“Shoulders back. You’ll be the same girl; you’ll just hold yourself differently. Stop chewing on your lip. When the ugly duckling turned into a swan, it was the same bird right?”
I giggle, “Yes?” I have to admit I’ve never read the story.
“I’m turning you into a swan, go with it.”
A smile fights to break free as I draw my spin straight and raise my chin.
“There you go, ugly duck.”
And with that, my smile surrenders. Such an asshole.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Over the last ten days, Logan has shoved posture and conversational skills down my throat to the point it became almost second nature; I find myself sitting straighter, more open rather than curled into a ball over my laptop when editing. During conversations with Amy and Logan, I’ve caught myself using my hands while I speak and even holding eye contact.
With each small triumph, I find myself more excited for the next day’s lesson. Sure, he still drives me crazy and insults me whenever he can, but he’s not so bad.
Banging on the bathroom door, I crack it open, “I’m going to Logan’s. Want me to pick up something on the way home?”
“I’d kill someone for Chinese!” She calls through the steam.
“Deal, see you tonight.”
Collecting my keys and coat from the counter, I skip down the stairwell until I’m approaching the all too familiar black car.
“Hi, Caleb.”
“Miss Devina. You seem happy today.”
“I’m always happy.” I smile, jumping into the backseat. I know I’m a little over the top today, but you would be too if you got signed on for three new manuscripts. Between Logan and Amy feeding me, I’ll be able to get an apartment and still have enough left over to furnish it. It’s been a good day.
“I used to live down that street,” I tell Caleb as we pass through Lenox Hill, I realize I’m no longer ducking in the seat like the weeks before.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, I got a great deal on rent. Because it’s right on the border, I got Midtown price with an Upper East Side address.” Doesn't seem like much in NYC but for those in Boston, they view Amy and me as huge successes.
I see the crows feet deepen as he smiles. This is usually how our rides go; I talk, he says something occasionally, and nine out of ten times I’m answered with a polite smile.
“What are you learning today?”
“No idea. Hopefully something new. I’m bored with the whole 'sit straight routine'.”
He chuckles while pulling up to the curb. Opening my door, he hands me the elevator keycard. “You’d think I’d have my own card by now.” I quip, accepting it.
“Have a good day, Miss Devina.”
“You too, Caleb.”
“Hi, Harold.” I wave at the doorman who looks just as dumbfounded as the first seven times. I’m assuming it’s probably because his name isn’t actually Harold, that's just what I’ve decided to call him.
Skipping like a child to the elevator, I press the call button, surprised when it opens almost immediately.
“Whose Grandma had to die to get that one?” Logan eye’s my green sweater. I got this one at a second-hand store and I’m confident it’s been around since the 80’s, so I'm not offended by the jab.
“What are you doing down here?”
“Mail.” He dangles a set of keys in front of my face as he passes.
“I thought all you rich people got your mail delivered or paid someone to collect it for you.”
He chuckles, “I’m capable of retrieving my own bills.”
It’s weird to think he has those. I mean, of course, he has them, everyone does. But you never hear wealthy people say they have bills to pay or that they’ll be late because they have to drop a bill off, ya know?
Skipping behind him, I watch him give me the side eye. I know my demeanor isn’t proper but I dare him to say anything about it, I’m going to point out that smile he’s trying to hide so fast his head’ll spin.
“What’s got you in such a good mood, duck.”
“I got contracted to three new manuscripts this morning.” I smile broadly as he unlocks his box.
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
Tucking the envelopes under his arm, he locks the little golden door. “How busy will you be with all the new work?”
“It won’t be much different than it is now. Maybe an extra hour or two a day.” He watches me out of the corner of his eye while we wait for the elevator. “What?”
His lips thin as he shakes his head, “Nothing. Surprised you noticed.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You’re staring at me.”
He shrugs, waving me into the empty lift, “Requires eye contact.”
“Shut up.” I smile, “Whoa, how come you get a cool one?” I motion towards the metal plate
attached to his keys that acts like the plastic keycard Caleb gives me.
“Perks of living here.”
“I want a cool one.”
His face contorts into incredulous humor. “Just an elevator key, Duck. Nothing special.”
“Stop calling me that.” I give him a mock grump face. The truth is, I’m in an entirely too good of a mood to care about his insulting new nickname for me.
He smiles, watching the little light above the door flash with each floor.
Once the doors open, we walk side by side to his apartment where he lets me in.
“So what’s the plan for today?” I ask moving to my chair. When all this is over, I’m probably taking it with me. It already has my butt print permanently embedded in the cushion, fairly certain that's nine-tenths of the law somewhere.
Moving into the kitchen, he produces two styrofoam containers. YES! Food first. See, today’s a great day.
“Today we move on to etiquette.”
“To what?”
“Table manners.” He answers unimpressed. “Come sit down.”
He could tell me to ride the elevator naked, and I’d do it for whatever’s creating that aroma. Moving forward quickly, I slide the chair out from the polished oak table and sit down as he delicately transfers the contents onto two plates.
“I know what etiquette is, but why are we doing it?”
He stops mid-movement, “You’re kidding right?”
“No, why? What’s wrong with the way I eat?”
“Everything.”
“Not true.” I protest.
“Devina, you morph into this ravenous creature whenever you’re around food. I’m surprised you even taste what you're eating with how quickly you consume it.”
“It’s meant to be eaten.”
“Yes, eaten. Not crammed down your throat in record speed. I know many things, the Heimlich maneuver isn’t one of them.”
“Okay, so what? Just eat slower?”
“That and breathing between bites for starters.”
He sets a plate down in front of me, and my mouth begins to water. A thick steak with weird colored toppings, mashed potatoes, and these long tiny carrots stare back at me. I’m going to make this plate my bitch.
He also sets a fancy folded napkin, silverware and a champagne glass in front of me. Once he’s pleased with the appearance of everything, he takes the seat across from me.
“Depending on where you’re eating the rules change. Seeing as this is indoor, we’ll treat it as a private dinner party.”
“How fancy.”
“First, remove your forearms from the table.” He smiles as I comply without argument, “Food motivated are we?”
“You have no idea.”
He chuckles softly. “Okay, so when you are seated you sit politely until the host removes their napkin, at which time you will mirror that person.” Reaching forward, he selects the folded maroon cloth and lays it across his lap. I snicker, I didn’t know men did this, I thought that was only a lady thing. Still, I mirror him. “Same logic when it comes to dining, once the host picks up their cutlery you may as well. You work from the outside in, so the fork furthest from your plate is what you use first.” He picks up his fork and knife, I mirror him, “At a slow and relaxed speed, cut a few, small, bites before setting your knife down,” I again follow his lead. I’m about to take this plate to the elevator if he doesn’t hurry this little tutorial up. He sets his knife down, fighting a smirk.
“Is this small enough?” I ask, looking down at my plate
“That’s fine. The point of smaller pieces is not only to be polite and look like a civilized human being, but in the event someone speaks to you, you won’t struggle to swallow before answering.”
I snort, “I just talk around it.”
“I know.” He deadpans, making me laugh.
“Bring your food to your face, don’t hover over your plate like an animal. Chew slowly and quietly.”
“I don’t smack my food.” I gripe, spearing a square of perfectly pink meat.
“No, but your jaw pops. Most likely because you're dislocating it in the process of cramming everything in at once.”
I smile into my fork, before taking a bite. Mother of crap this is delicious.
“Good?”
“Very.”
“See? You were able to answer without spitting food everywhere.”
“Shut up. If my mouth is full, I put my hand up to avoid that. I’m not an animal.”
“Are you sure about that? I’m certain I’ve seen starving dogs eat slower than you.” I roll my eyes, earning myself a glare. “They’re going to roll right out of your head if you keep that up.”
I smile a cheeky grin, before taking another delicate bite.
Following his lead, I clean my plate without criticism. Just to torment him I place my silverware across my plate and at an angle, signaling I’m finished.
His brow raises, “Well, would you look at that. I didn’t think it was possible, to be honest.”
“What? That I know a thing or two about table manners?”
“No, that you were capable of eating like a lady.”
“Shut up. I have manners when it counts, not that I’ll ever be in a position to use them. The fanciest meal I’ll be having is at a steakhouse where my fork and knife are wrapped in a paper napkin.” I laugh, “But it was fun pretending. I was half tempted to mess up so that you’d force me to do this every day rather than practice sitting or speaking.”
He chuckles, standing to collect our plates.
“So, now that that’s done. What’s next?”
Pulling myself to my feet, I follow him into the kitchen.
“To be honest, I expected this to take much longer.”
“It’s my goal in life to surprise you,” I say, twirling in a circle like an ungraceful ballerina.
“Feeling confident are we?”
I laugh, using the counter to steady my dizzy head. I offer a weak shrug, “Eating, it’s kind of my fortay.”
He laughs, drying his hands on a nearby towel. “Alright, Miss Confidence. Let’s put your training to the test.”
“Written or verbal?” I tease with a grin.
“Tomorrow night I take you out. If you pass, we’ll move on. Fail, and we continue conversational skills.”
I feel my face curl; I hate conversational skills. “Promise?”
He nods once, “You have my word.”
I smile triumphantly, “Letter ‘A’ here we come.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The moment Amy learned about mine and Logan's dinner test, she jumped at the opportunity to dress me. I received a text an hour ago informing me I was to wear a dress. Any ugly sweaters would be an automatic failure.
Wearing a pair of low heel black pumps, Amy loaned me a simple maroon dress, probably the classiest thing she owns.
Angling my head lower, I hear the hiss of her flat iron as it straightens my waves into satin sheets.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“Nope, just that I had to wear a dress.”
“It’s kinda hot, ya know. This whole Cinderella story.”
My brow furrows, “How is this a Cinderella story? He’s helping me get Cole back.”
I can practically hear her eyes rolling, “Cole doesn’t deserve you. I’m totally shipping you and Logan.”
I bark out an incredulous laugh, “Prepare yourself for disappointment then. Logan’s alright I guess, but I doubt we’ll stay friends when this is all over. The guy hates everything about me.”
“He does not.”
“He asked if I was homeless the other day.” I deadpan.
She speaks with an angelic laugh, “I’m with Logan on that one, I’ve been saying you dress like a bum for years.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”
“Except the fact you’re hidden under them.”
“It’s cute.”
“Some are.” She agrees
, “Like that navy sweater that hangs off your shoulder, if you paired it with something other than ripped leggings it could be super cute. Too bad your ass can’t squeeze into my jeans.”
I chuckle, working the stick of mascara through my lashes once again. Ames already did my makeup, but I need something to occupy my nervous hands. “They don’t stand a chance.”
“I know, if they did, I would have thrown your gross leggings away the second you moved in.” She smiles, unplugging the flat iron. “Alright, let me look at you.”
Standing, I let her look me over, spinning when she signals me with the twirl of her finger. “Perfect.”
“Were you able to find that jacket?”
“Oh, crap. I forgot to look. Hold on; I’ll be right back.”
Ducking past me she heads to her room while I collect my phone off the charger in the living room.
LOGAN: T-minus thirty minutes.
“He said he’d be here in thirty minutes, thirty minutes ago,” I yell, typing out a message to him,
ME: A skirt works right?
LOGAN: Sure.
ME: Cool. Ames tried getting me into a dress, but I had this adorable top I wanted to wear instead.
LOGAN: If it’s an ugly sweater be prepared for fourteen days of talking. I’ll get creative; speech, pronunciation, mouth movement.
ME: What if it’s a sweater, but it’s really cute paired with a skirt?
LOGAN: I think we’ll start with the letter A, and work our way through the dictionary.
I smile at the screen when a knock sounds at the door.
“I’ll get it!” Amy shouts from the depths of her closet, even though I’m literally three feet from the door.
ME: How about I wear the sweater and if you don’t like it, I’ll change?
Amy comes barrelling out of her bedroom with a black fabric coat draped over her arm, “Quick, how do I look?” She stage whispers in front of the door.
“Hot as always.” Her lips curl into a seductive smile, “I don’t know what you’re worried about, it’s just Caleb.”
“Never know.”
I don’t have time to respond before she yanks the door open, “Mr. Devitt.”
“What?” I slip behind her frame to gaze over her shoulder, “Logan actually came up?”