Kim vs the Mean Girl

by Meredith Schorr

  She picked up after one ring. “Is everything okay?”

  I ran a brush through my long, light brown hair and shook my head from side to side to give it some bounce. “Why would you ask that? Because I called instead of texted?”

  “Bingo.”

  Bridget had been my best friend since the seventh grade. Text messaging often won out over actually talking on the phone, but it wasn’t like telephone conversations were reserved for emergency trips to the hospital. I removed the pink monogrammed makeup case I’d had since junior high from the bottom of my bag. “Having drinks with the team tonight after work.”

  “The team, huh? Does that include your work crush? What’s his name again?”

  “Nicholas.”

  Bridget snorted. “I know. Nicholas Strong,” she repeated. “Rhymes with Long. I remember.”

  “Ha ha. Be nice.” Mentioning the rhyming of my last name with Nicholas’s wasn’t one of my proudest moments, but it was after two flirtinis, and two flirtinis for a hundred-pound girl were like five flirtinis for an average-sized woman.

  “Well, have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Bridget said dryly. Gun-shy after an uncharacteristic one-night stand generously left her with a case of crabs, she hadn’t done anything with anyone in over a year.

  “I’d be willing to wager a Barnes & Noble gift card that Nicholas has never given me any thought beyond asking me to connect him to Rob’s voicemail, but he’s serious eye candy. Chances are we’ll exchange less than four words, I’ll end up extremely frustrated, and regret going in the first place.”

  “There you go, Ms. Positive. Good luck.”

  “Thanks. See ya.” I hung up the phone and wiped the corners of my lips before applying a shiny but translucent gloss. I dusted powder over my nose, trying unsuccessfully to hide the constellation of freckles that appeared at the tip. I zipped the case and returned it to my bag. If only I knew how to apply dramatic makeup, but every time I made an attempt, I looked like one of those freaky pageant kids.

  It was only 5:05 when I returned to my desk, but Rob’s light was already off. He must have been really thirsty.

  I opened my saved post to finish my review.

  In closing, I would highly recommend Gladly Never After to all lovers of chick lit, particularly those who prefer books with more action/dialogue and less description/backstory.

  Rating: 4.5 Champagne Flutes

  I set my blog to post the review at six the next morning and logged off of my computer. At least I’d be fashionably late.

  ~*~

  I spotted my crew immediately upon entering the dimly-lit restaurant. They had taken over the left side of the semicircular bar. I stood up as tall as my four-foot-eleven frame allowed and approached the crowd. Even as my eyes looked straight ahead toward Rob, always the center of attention at these events, I used my peripheral vision to confirm Nicholas was in attendance.

  He was talking to Lucy, a junior associate in the group. I knew nothing about Nicholas’s personal life and had wondered if he’d ever hooked up with any of the female lawyers in the office while pulling an all-nighter or after one of the many firm-hosted parties. Lucy’s daily attire consisted of stodgy business suits and she always pulled her straight blond hair into a bun, but for all I knew, she was the dirty librarian type and kinky in the sack. As I glanced at her in jealous paranoia, I was surprised to catch Nicholas looking directly at me. Could he tell I was thinking about him? Bridget and I always said guys had a radar.

  “There she is. My right hand. What are you having?” Rob asked.

  I stopped staring at Nicholas and focused my attention on Rob. “A glass of prosecco. Thanks.” I considered asking for a cocktail menu, but wanted a drink in my hand too badly to spend the time considering my choices.

  Rob raised one of his thick dark eyebrows and took a sip of his lager. “Beer isn’t good enough for you?”

  “Not when the firm is paying.”

  While Rob ordered my drink, I casually looked around. I caught Nicholas’s eye again. Prepared this time, I gave him a friendly wave.

  “Hey you,” Nicholas said as his brown eyes darted down to my chest and quickly back to my face.

  His appraisal of my rack, while subtle, was unmistakable. Not that a guy checking out a girl’s chest was an indication of actual interest. It was merely instinct for them, but I was still thrilled. I would be the first to admit that I drew attention to my chest since, being so short, I needed to give people a reason to look down far enough to see me. “Hey,” I said with a smile before accepting my drink from Rob. I wanted more than anything to go over and cock block Nicholas’s conversation with Lucy, but I didn’t have the nerve. Checking out a girl’s cleavage was not necessarily an invitation for conversation.

  “Did you send that email to Bartlett?” Rob asked.

  Without batting an eyelash, I responded, “Did you ask me to?”

  Rob offered a bemused smile. “Touché. I thought you might be too busy working on your blog to attend to such menial tasks like getting your work done.”

  “When has my blog ever gotten in the way of attending to your business, Rob?”

  Rob loved to give me a hard time about my blog, but I knew he was joking. I had only worked with him at our current firm for four months, but had been his assistant at his previous one for close to two years. He had left our old firm more than six months earlier, leaving me behind with a promise to use his influence to get me hired as well. We worked well together. In his mid-fifties, Rob had the energy of a teenager and was extremely high-strung. I knew how to take him down a notch without threatening his authority.

  “What blog?”

  I felt a flush creep across my cheeks as I turned around to face the source of the question. I wasn’t surprised. I blushed whenever I talked to Nicholas, even when the phone rang at work and I saw his name on my caller ID.

  “You didn’t know about Kim’s blog?” Rob asked, his blue eyes reflecting amusement.

  Nicholas shook his head, not removing his eyes from mine.

  All I could think about was running my fingers along the dark stubble on his jawline. Never completely clean shaven, he currently looked like he hadn’t touched a razor in several days. I held his gaze willing my voice not to give away my crush, but the heat on my face suggested a crimson complexion that probably already had. “I have a website where I post book reviews.” Since this was the first time my chatter with Nicholas had extended beyond work-related topics, I wasn’t surprised he didn’t know about it. It was that unfamiliarity which I blamed for my chronic bashfulness in his presence. Well, that and his overwhelming sex appeal. Unable to maintain eye contact a second longer, I glanced back at Rob hoping he’d pick up the dialogue.

  “It’s incredibly popular. Publishers actually beg my secretary to read and review their client’s novels on a daily basis.” Rob beamed at me like a proud uncle, as if he were somehow responsible for my blog’s immense popularity.

  I turned back to Nicholas and smiled shyly. “Every other day basis is more accurate, but yes, it’s a widely read blog. I have several thousand followers and get requests from authors, publicists, and agents pretty often.”

  Nicholas looked at me with admiration. “Awesome. What types of books do you review?”

  I hated this part of telling people from work about my reviews. I never knew if the attorneys would raise their noses in the air and judge my taste in “literature.” Here goes nothing. “Chick lit,” I admitted.

  Nicholas tilted his head to the side. “Like the gum?”

  I giggled as if I’d never heard that one before. “Yes, it’s called chick lit, like the gum. But it’s also a book genre. Like Bridget Jones’s Diary, The Devil Wears Prada. You know?”

  Nicholas looked thoughtful as he rubbed his thumb along his chin. “My ex-girlfriend had a bunch of books with pink covers. Were those chick lit?”

  Forcing myself to stay focused instead of wondering what his ex-girlfriend was like, h
ow long ago they broke up, and why, I said, “Possibly.” Chick lit had certainly evolved beyond stereotypical pink covers, but it wasn’t the time to go into defense mode.

  Nicholas smiled wide. “Very nice, Kim.” Glancing at his empty glass, he said, “Time for a refill. Be right back,” and walked toward the bar.

  I tore my eyes away from the back of Nicholas’s light blue business shirt and over to Rob. But Rob was now talking to Lucy about some guy she had deposed the previous day. I downed the rest of my prosecco and walked over to the bar. After getting the bartender’s attention, I ordered another glass, on Rob’s tab of course, and observed Nicholas finish sending a text. As he smiled into his phone, I felt my Hanky Panky thong practically melting off. At only five foot seven, his stature might have kept him off of some women’s top five lists, but since I was vertically challenged too, he was currently number one on mine. I couldn’t even think of who would follow him in second and third place.

  “Penny for your thoughts, Blogger Girl.”

  I snapped out of my list making and faced Nicholas, silently praying he was not a mind reader.

  He looked at me expectantly.

  I swung my free hand in dismissal and lifted my drink toward him. “Nothing important. Cheers.”

  Nicholas clinked his glass against mine and took a sip of his drink.

  Following his lead, I sipped mine.

  Nicholas inched closer to me. Speaking in almost a whisper, he said, “Having fun yet?”

  Very aware we’d never stood this close to each other, and that these were the most words we’d ever exchanged one on one, I replied with faux nonchalance. “Can’t really complain about free drinks. You?” The cuffs of his shirt sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows, and I pondered whether the dark hair on his arms was coarse or soft. I imagined what it would feel like to run my fingers up and down his arm. I also wondered if he could hear my heart beating through my chest.

  “Definitely can’t complain about that,” Nicholas agreed. “And a break from work is always welcome, especially these days. Doing anything good this weekend?”

  I had practically forgotten it was Thursday night, which was odd for me, since I lived for the weekends when my secretarial duties didn’t get in the way of my obsession with chick lit. “Not sure yet. Probably drinks with friends. And I need to catch up on some reading. For the blog. What about you?” Please don’t mention a girlfriend.

  “Oh, this and that.” His eyes glowed, almost like he was holding back a secret.

  I bit down on my lip and without thinking, blurted out, “Do This and That have last names?”

  Nicholas gave me a once-over before shaking his head in amusement. “I’ll probably spend most of it at work actually.” He took a step closer to me. “Tell me more about this blog.”

  I tipped my head to the side. “What do you want to know?”

  “What made you start it?”

  “The condensed version or the truth?”

  Nicholas cocked an eyebrow. “How long of a story is the truth?”

  “Why? Do you have a date to rush off to?” I swallowed hard. Nice, Kim.

  Ignoring my question, he said, “I’ve never met anyone who has a blog before. I’m intrigued.”

  I twirled a strand of hair around my finger. “The condensed version is I started the blog because I’ve always loved to read, blah, blah, blah.”

  “Blah blah blah. Gotcha.”

  After he said that, he winked at me. When my knees wobbled in response, I grabbed the bar with my free hand. “The truth is that one day I was bored at home, surfing the internet, and I found all of these blogs dedicated to romance books, like Harlequin stuff. Then I found some devoted to science fiction, thrillers, and so on. But I could barely find anything dedicated to chick lit, and it pissed me off because I love it. I figured there must be other girls who feel the same, and maybe if I started this blog, I’d find them and we’d bond.” I paused. “Aren’t you glad you asked?”

  His phone rang, and Nicholas distractedly responded, “Yeah, that’s cool,” before bringing it to his ear. He whispered, “Sorry” before answering it.

  I wondered if it was from “This” or “That.”

  Nicholas hung up his phone and frowned at me. “I knew it wouldn’t last. I have to head back to the office.”

  “Oh, that sucks,” I said hoping my disappointment wasn’t too obvious. It had taken us four months to have a one-on-one conversation and I didn’t want to wait another four to do it again.

  Nicholas shrugged. “The glamorous life of an associate. But it was nice talking to you, Kim. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “You either. Don’t work too hard.”

  “Tell that to him,” he said, gesturing toward Rob. With one last smile and a light tap on my shoulder, Nicholas walked away. I answered another co-worker’s question about where I had bought my peep-toe bright red patent leather pumps, while Nicholas made his round of goodbyes.

  Even though I was pleased my banter with Nicholas had finally progressed beyond telling him Rob was in a meeting or running late, I hoped I hadn’t gone too far with the blog talk. It wouldn’t be the first time. I looked inside my half-empty glass. Rather than chugging almost two drinks, I should have used the time to read. I was too buzzed to concentrate on a book now and was positive I was incapable of writing a coherent review.

  I grabbed my coat and walked over to Rob to say goodbye.

  “You’re leaving before my big announcement?” Rob asked, his shoulders dropping.

  I pretended not to notice his disappointment. Rob had a “thing” for making announcements. I wasn’t sure if the content of the speech mattered to him as much as the pleasure he derived from hearing his own voice against a backdrop of silence while he had everyone’s rapt attention. “Are we all getting six-figure bonuses? And by ‘we all,’ I mean secretaries included?”

  Rob smirked at me. “Yeah, right.”

  “Am I getting fired?”

  “Not if you stay for my announcement.”

  I glared at him.

  “No, you’re not getting canned.”

  “Then what is the announcement about this time?” I bet he hadn’t even written it yet.

  Rob took a sip of his beer and looked down at the dirty floor. Looking back at me with a sheepish expression, he said, “I’m not quite sure yet.”

  I thought so. “Then I am going to excuse myself, and you can repeat your brilliant announcement to me tomorrow.” Insert kiss ass comment here. “And I’m sure it will be brilliant.”

  Rob gestured with his hand toward the entrance of the bar. “You’re excused.”

  After I said my goodbyes to the rest of the squad, I walked out onto chilly 3rd Avenue. As I zipped up my jacket, it occurred to me Nicholas had conveniently neglected to answer my question as to whether he had a date later. I walked back inside the first set of doors, removed my phone from my bag, and texted Jonathan. I was as turned on as a fifteen-year-old boy at a strip club.

  2

  I rolled off of Jonathan and onto my back. Since I was almost always on top when I slept with him, I wondered if all of his pot smoking made him incapable of doing the work. When we dated in high school, cheap beer, not weed, was his drug of choice.

  “So what’s going on with you?” he asked, reaching over one of his lean arms to grab a cigarette from his midnight blue IKEA dresser.

  I got out of his bed. The smell of cigarettes made me sick. “When are you going to kick the smoking habit?”

  “Hey, I don’t complain when you text me for a booty call, so no complaining about the smoking.”

  “Screwing me is not bad for your health.”

  “That’s arguable.” Jonathan laughed as he scratched his unruly head of dark hair.

  I swatted him with my pants before putting them back on. “Time for a haircut, Middleton.” I vaguely remembered being madly in lust with Jonathan when we were high school sweethearts from the ages of fifteen to seventeen, but we had been just
friends for the past ten years. And friends with benefits off and on for the past two. I hadn’t dated anyone I liked in a while, was uncomfortable taking home strangers from bars, and Jonathan was either too lazy or stoned to make the effort. We fell into bed occasionally out of convenience and, that night, out of mere sexual frustration on my end.

  Still lying on the bed, one arm extended behind his head, Jonathan took a drag with his free hand. “How’s Black is the New Purple going these days?”

  “Pastel is the New Black is going very well, thank you.” I chuckled. Jonathan never remembered the title of my blog, but he did always manage to ask about it.

  “Did you hear about Hannah Marshak?” He sat up and tapped his cigarette into an ashtray.

  “What about her?” Hannah was mean girl central in my high school class. Well, at least to me and Bridget. She had more personalities than Sally Field in the movie Sybil, and some of our class probably thought she was cotton candy sweet.

  “She wrote a book.”

  I felt my face drain of color. I remembered Hannah suggesting in front of my entire eighth grade Home Economics class that I have an expert look at my Coach bag, because the leather strap looked too dark to be authentic and she would feel so terrible if my mother had spent money on a fake. Hannah came off looking like a Good Samaritan while I looked like the poor little girl with the knock-off bag. I considered donating the bag to Goodwill, but Bridget said that would be playing right into Hannah’s hands. “She what?”

  “She wrote a novel. Some crap about a chick in Paris.” Jonathan took another deep drag of his cigarette. “It’s being published.”

  My throat burned as if I’d chain-smoked a pack of Jonathan’s Marlboro Reds, and I was afraid I was going to regurgitate prosecco all over his dirty wood floor. “I have to go.”