Blogger Girl (9 page)

“Where is this shindig anyway?”

Happy for a subject change, I said, “Soho Grand. Kind of cool that it’s in the city. I guess so many alumni live here now.”

“That’s my hood,” Nicholas said enthusiastically. He opened his mouth to say something else when his phone vibrated.

I glanced at his phone hoping to see who had texted him but it was too far away to do without being completely obvious. “You’ve got mail!” I said.

Not even glancing at the phone, Nicholas said, “I’m sure it can wait.”

“Well now I’m curious.”

Chuckling, he said, “Okay bossy pants, if you insist,” and picked up his phone.

I watched him roll his eyes as he read the text, but rather than respond, he placed the phone back on his desk and looked back at me.

“Anyone interesting?” I inquired.

Nicholas shook his head. “Not really. A girl my friends and I met at The Noho Star last night.”

“Oh.” My stomach dropped and while I really wanted to say something more, I couldn’t find the words. I much preferred picturing him burning the midnight oil at work than flirting with pretty girls at a trendy New York City restaurant.

“She was our waitress.”

I nodded. “And you exchanged numbers?” On the plus side, this probably meant he wasn’t exclusive with Mary Jones.

“She asked for mine.” Nicholas smiled shyly as if this wasn’t typical but I didn’t buy it. I shuffled in my chair uncomfortably.

“
Blah blah blah blah
. Came on too strong.”

I had missed the first half of his sentence visualizing a leggy blonde waitress handing Nicholas a plate of filet mignon while serving his less attractive buddies spam. “You came on too strong?”

“No.
She
did. But we left her a good tip.” He shrugged. “So, um the reunion’s at the Soho Grand?”

Still thinking about the aggressive, leggy blonde waitress, I absently nodded. “Yup.”

Nicholas leaned slightly forward. “I live around the corner from there. Maybe we can get a post-reunion drink after if you’re up for it?” He gazed at me questioningly.

My heart raced as I wondered if he was serious, but feigning nonchalance, I said, “Sure. Hopefully, I’ll still be standing by then. We’re having a little pre-party first.”

Nicholas smiled. “Nice! Who’s having the party?”

“Calling it a party might be a bit of an exaggeration. My best friend Bridget is just having me and our friend Jonathan over to her apartment for some pre-reunion liquid courage.”

“Cool.” His phone rang and he answered it while still looking at me. “Hi Rob. Yeah she’s here.” He hung up.

I slipped my feet back into my flats and stood up. “I’m being beckoned?” Last I checked there was no tracking device in my Blackberry and I wondered how Rob even knew I was with Nicholas.

Giving me a closed-mouth smile, he said, “It appears.”

“Okay. So once I check Rob’s schedule, I’ll make a lunch reservation. Primehouse?”

Nicholas nodded. “Primehouse sounds good.”

“Thanks for your expert opinion.”

“Anytime. And have fun tomorrow night.”

I stood at the edge of his office. “I’ll try.”

“I’ll cross my fingers that all of the mean girls got fat.”

Even though I knew from Facebook that at least one mean girl had not gotten fat, I grinned and started walking. Thinking better of it, I took a step backwards and stuck my head in his office. I bit my lip. “So, uh, should I still give you a call if I’m standing after the reunion and up for a drink?” My heart slammed against my chest.
Please say yes
.

Nicholas grinned. “Definitely.”

I smiled shyly. “Cool.” Then I limped back to my office vowing to never wear those shoes again.

“SO, ERIN MENTIONED
that your reunion was tonight. I think I knew about it but it must have slipped my mind. What are you wearing?” my mom asked.

“A sexy black dress and my new black patent leather peep toe Louboutins. I’ll be at least 5’3” tonight!” I had just finished my yoga tape and was sitting with my legs stretched out on either side of me as we talked on the phone. I preferred my yoga class at the gym but there were no Saturday classes and I wanted to find my “zen” place before facing my former classmates, one in particular.

“I’m sure you and Bridget will be the best looking girls there!” My mom said with more than a hint of pride in her voice. “Wish I could be there to take pictures of you. I miss my girls.” She sniffled in an overdramatized display of wistfulness. Although only in their early fifties, my parents had been fortunate enough to retire early after owning a very successful craft store and had relocated to sunny Florida a few years earlier.

“I miss you too, Mom. And if we take any pictures, I’ll send them your way.”

“Please do. And take some of Jonathan too. Erin said you still see him?”

“As friends, Mom.”
Mostly.
I cleared my throat. “What else did Erin say?”

My mom sighed loudly. “She went on and on about Hannah Marshak. Honestly, what is her fascination with that girl after all of these years?”

“It beats me. I hate the bitch!”

Laughing, my mom said, “I remember. She was a bad egg. You’d think Erin would stick up for her sister rather than idolize her nemesis, but...”

I completed her sentence. “She’s Erin.”

Sighing again, my mom repeated, “Yes, she’s Erin. Sorry sweetheart.”

I switched my stretching position to downward facing dog and put my phone on speaker. “It’s okay, Mom. Not your fault. Anyway, she’s my sister and I love her.” That was the truth. I didn’t like her very much but I definitely loved her.

“She’s my daughter and I love her too. I love both of you. But honestly her priorities are wack.”

I laughed and returned to the seated position.

My mom continued, “Anyway, I heard the bitch wrote a book. I promise never to read it. And I won’t recommend it to any of my friends. How do you like that?”

“I like it, Mom. Unfortunately, I might not have a choice in the matter.” I felt an ache in the back of my throat as I thought about Candace’s email and the fact that I still hadn’t given her a straight answer about reading
Cut on the Bias.

A catch in her voice, my mom said, “What do you mean?”

“My blog.”

“Oh? What about it?”

I was determined not to lose the peaceful, easy feeling afforded by my yoga session. “Can we talk about it next time? I really need to get ready for tonight. Meeting Bridget in less than three hours and have some serious prepping ahead of me.”

“Oh, I’ll let you go then. And have a wonderful time tonight! And call me tomorrow if there’s anything juicy to share.”

After we hung up, I went directly into the shower, taking extra time to exfoliate my skin with the lavender scrub I’d picked up at Kiehl’s. Then I leaned over my sink to carefully shave my legs from ankle to upper thigh. After blow-drying my hair, I applied six large hot curlers so that it would cascade down my shoulders in soft, loose curls.

While the curlers set, I read a few chapters of
Ain’t Too Proud to Beg
, a romantic comedy I was reviewing for one of my favorite new indie authors. The writing was good but I had read almost 100 pages and nothing substantial had happened yet. The story definitely lacked conflict. Since the author was such a sweetie, I crossed my fingers that the book would get better.

Twenty minutes later, I was applying a second coat of mascara in an attempt to lengthen my eye lashes for a more dramatic effect when I felt my hands begin to shake. I placed the wand on the edge of the sink, sat down on my toilet with my head between my legs and breathed deeply, in and out. I hadn’t even left my apartment and was already feeling symptoms of anxiety. I certainly wasn’t stressed about hanging out with Jonathan and Bridget. And I wasn’t nervous about the reunion itself, other than coming face-to-face with Hannah, but I had made a decision to let her drive the situation. I wasn’t going to initiate conversation with her. If she approached me first, I would follow her lead and take it from there. The ball was in her court, not mine.

So why was my stomach tangled up in knots?

I walked into the living room and removed my phone from the coffee table. I scrolled down the length of my address book until I saw Nicholas’ number. I flashed back to the day before when he’d told me to call him if I was up for a drink after the reunion. Closing my eyes, I gently massaged my temples with my fingers. I opened my eyes, put the phone back on the table and walked back into the bathroom to finish applying my makeup.

Less than an hour later, I stood in front of my opened freezer and removed the box of Cohen’s assortment of pigs in a blanket, potato and spinach puffs and egg rolls. I threw them in my Trader Joe’s bag along with a container of port wine cheese and a box of crackers and dropped the bag by the door of my apartment. Then I walked back to my full length mirror and took one last sober look at myself from all angles. The slit in my form fitting dress made my toned legs look long, the low neckline emphasized the line of my cleavage while still leaving something to the imagination and my four inch designer heels gave me some semblance of height. I looked fierce.

“Go ahead, Hannah Marshak. Make my day.”

***

Bridget opened the door of her apartment and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God! You look a-may-zing!”

I twirled to give her the full effect. “Thank you!” I stopped to take her in. She was a vision in a Kelly green silk knee-length dress that made her matching green eyes pop against her long red hair which fell down to her chest in waves. I shook my head. “Bridget. You are
gorgeous
!

A film of pink blanketed her fair skin as Bridget laughed nervously. “For real?”

“Yes! For real! Now let me in and let’s have a toast before Jonathan gets here.” I had purposely arrived early so Bridget and I could have some girl time.

She moved to the side to let me in and I walked a few steps into the foyer of her studio apartment, taking a sideways glance at my reflection in her mirrored closet before turning left into her small kitchen. After Bridget poured us both a glass of Prosecco and we put the frozen appetizers in the oven, we made ourselves comfortable sitting side by side on her suede purple couch. Bridget took a sip of her drink, put her champagne flute on the glass coffee table and turned to me. “So, you ready?”

I nodded. “Ready! Who are you most excited to see?”

“Guess! It’s probably not who you would expect.”

I mentally pictured our graduating class. “I haven’t a clue.”

Bridget paused dramatically. “Denise Porter.”

“Of course, Denise!” We had been best friends with Denise until sophomore year when she fell into a more “questionable” crowd. It was a gradual drifting apart with no animosity and she always smiled and waved when she saw us in the hallways. And while she and her friends were known for having nasty hair-pulling girl fights in the hallways, we instinctively knew that she’d never let any of her trouble-making friends lay a finger on us. “You know, I’d love to see her too.” I smiled, remembering the vow the three of us made in seventh grade to give up our Barbie dolls for more age-appropriate activities like French kissing boys.

“You ready to face her?”

I didn’t need to ask to whom “her” referred. I nodded. “I really hope I don’t lose my lunch when she pours on the fake charm.” I looked down towards my fabulous shoes, twisting my feet to better see the bright red soles.

“What are you thinking?”

I mumbled, “Besides how long it’s going to take me to pay off these shoes?” I lifted my head and saw Bridget looking at me with her forehead scrunched in concern.

“Should I call him, Bridge?” While awaiting her response, I took a sip of my drink.

She took a gulp of hers and said, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

I pinched my bottom lip with my thumb and pointer finger. “You sure?”

“I’m positive. He brought it up twice!”

“Actually, he brought it up once,” I said, rubbing my ear. “I brought it up the second time, although he did respond with an enthusiastic, ‘definitely.’ Either way, it doesn’t mean he’s interested. What if he’s placed me squarely in the ‘friend’ zone and I’m making more of this than there is? What if he starts talking about Mary Jones, the beach bombshell? And even if he does make a move on me, meeting him after a high school reunion sounds a bit more ‘booty call’ than ‘date’ anyway.” I had a million more “what ifs” occupying my brain space.

Bridget took a drag of her cigarette. “I’m not even going to bother to respond to the ‘friend zone’ comment. No guy would ask a ‘friend’ to meet for drinks late on a Saturday night.”

I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that would be kind of weird. But what about the other stuff?”

After putting out her cigarette, Bridget reached out and gently patted my leg. “First of all, if he was dating Mary Jones seriously, he probably would not be meeting another girl for drinks on a Saturday night. And second of all, meeting him for a drink doesn’t mean you have to sleep with him.”

I gave her a look. “Not sure I’d have the self-control to resist him!”

“I bet a bout of crabs would solve that problem,” Bridget laughed. “But seriously, you’re better off finding out what he’s after sooner than later. You need to know for sure so you can get on with it or move on.” Bridget paused. “Unless…”

I swallowed hard. “Unless what?” I asked as her buzzer rang.

Bridget stood up and walked into her foyer. Into the intercom on her wall, she said, “Yeah?” and released her finger.

“It’s Jonathan.”

“Come on up,” she said. Then she looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “Unless you’re planning to hook up with Jonathan.”

“Not if I can have a drink with Nicholas!” I exclaimed.

Bridget started to respond but was interrupted by Jonathan announcing his arrival with three loud knocks. “Hold that thought,” she said, lifting one finger at me as she turned towards the door. With one hand on the knob, she turned to face me. “Then yes, you should definitely text him later!”