Last-Minute Love (Year of the Chick series) (4 page)

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes
at her description. “Great job on the cheesy introduction,” I said. I slowly approached and faced Erik. “Nice to meet you.”

When our eyes met I felt something strang
e. It wasn’t that I was attracted to him or anything (
he still might be gay
), but I could tell that he didn’t just look at people, he really looked “at them,” or “in them.” Or something. Maybe it was because he was a banker and wanted to “handle” all my savings. I bet they’d trained him on this eye contact thing.
Hmph.
I suddenly felt too exposed, so I grabbed his hand and shook it with the force of a Roman army.

“I like
your name Romi,” he said. “And I like that handshake. Have you ever killed a man with that hand?”

I showed his hand some mercy and let
it go. “No, I haven’t.” I waved my other hand and smiled. “I’m a lefty.”

He laughed and looked right at me again with those
probing blue eyes, as I tried my very best not to care.

***

After a tour of the CEO’s office as well as some mammoth board rooms (with more spectacular views in each one), Erik led us back to his office.

“I hope you liked the tour Romi,” he said, quickly turning to Laura and Dave. “And I hope you two didn’t mind it for a second time.”

Laura smiled. “Are you kidding? I didn’t get to use the CEO’s bathroom last time!”

Erik looked slightly uncomfortable. “Let’s keep that one to ourselves.”

“I loved the tour,” I said. “Thank you for that! Plus now I can share all the confidential documents I stole with my spies.” I smiled sweetly.

“
Security will be on you in a heartbeat,” he said.

I laughed as I thought of the senile guard in the corridor.

“Don’t laugh, Jim might be old but he’s a very nice man. He’s also very good at tripping people.” I once again felt exposed, only now because he’d read my mind. Meanwhile those pale blue eyes were stabbing me deep again. I quickly pulled out my phone, which was luckily a real distraction.
Half past three? Our itinerary is getting screwed!

“Laura…library soon? Pleeease? I need to be inspired.”
The New York Public Library was so important to me, not because it had been featured in the “Sex and the City” movie, but because it was like a pilgrimage for every writer. The exquisite architecture, the endless halls of books…
I need to be there.

Erik
seemed curious. “The library is your inspiration? Tell me---”

“Laur, you guys go,” Dave suddenly said. He was scrolling his BlackBerry and looking perplexed. “I
have to check on some things before I meet the VPs for dinner. Let me know what bar you guys end up at.” He put away his phone and gave Laura a goodbye kiss. It was definitely more romantic than a peck.

Erik elbowed
me as their kiss lingered on. “What do you think of that?” he said.

I frowned. “It’s quite d
isgusting.”

“And very unprofessional
,” he added.

We looked at each other and smiled
, which for some reason made me think of James yet again.

I quickly looked away.

***

The elevator door closed
shut and I didn’t waste a second.

“So
how old is he? And is he gay?”

Laura almost choked on her saliva. “Why would you think he’s gay?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “He’s really nice, he’s fit…you just never know with Europeans. They like to experiment, don’t they?”

She laughed
. “Well he definitely isn’t gay. Let’s see he’s thirty-three, he’s on a work visa, and he has a serious girlfriend in Denmark.” She turned to me. “Which is where he’s from. And where he’ll return some day. In other words: off limits.”

I
rolled my eyes. “As if I care? This is a NO-MAN trip.”

“Good
, then we’re agreed.”

“We’re SO agreed!” I scoffed and shook my head, as I tried not to think about those probing pale blue eyes.

***

I wanted to cry.

That’s how beautiful the New York Public Library was. If a library in New York could do this to me, I could only imagine what Paris would do. Like what would happen if I ever got to step into the “Café de la Rotonde,” with its hundred-year-old walls still haunted by artistic icons like Picasso and Hemingway? That place was at the top of my “to see in Paris” list, both for its early history of letting starving artists pay in drawings, and for its ability to maintain its bohemian charm even a hundred years later.
Sigh.

I
escaped my Paris daydream and entered the great hall of the library. It was filled with those long desks and green lamps I’d seen in so many movies. The place was also full of people, just like I’d imagined, only most of them were using laptops instead of reading books.
Slightly less romantic
. I moved along until I reached a great wooden archway, with the following message engraved in the middle: “
A good book is the treasured life-blood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured on purpose to a life beyond life.
” In that moment I thought about every book I’d ever read more than once or that I couldn’t forget. “Jane Eyre” came to mind, and how my heart would always beat so fast, when she finally got together with Mr. Rochester. Then of course there were the modern literary feats like “Shantaram,” the only book where nine-hundred pages went so fast I actually cried when it was over. I had yet to encounter another book that could vividly paint so many pictures through emotions. I knew without a doubt that my very first novel wouldn’t measure up to anything grand, but standing here in this library, I knew I’d spend the rest of my life trying to write one that did.

I ventured back into the
marble corridor, with round golden chandeliers hanging high from the domed ceilings.

My
stroll came to a stop when I heard a little cough.

I turned to see Laura trying her hardest not to look bored.

“FINE,” I said. “We can go.” I looked around one last time and sighed. “I hope New Yorkers appreciate what they have.” My voice seemed to carry a slight echo and I liked it. “Yeah that’s right! I hope you all appreciate it!” That second statement resulted in some strange looks, so we quickly made our way to the exit. Even as we left, nothing could take away the soul-enriching feeling of this visit.

Now how could any
trip that included men top a moment like that?

***

A steady beat blared in this darkened hole of a bar. Candle lit tables snaked their way through the crowds, and Laura and I had managed to grab one. Tonight was “five-dollar lychee martini night” until eleven p.m., and both of us had taken full advantage.

We were
currently sprawled across a long leather couch, with a table of empty martini glasses showing the night’s damage.

“I can’t get any fucking reception in here!” cried Laura. She raised her cell phone at different
and increasingly awkward angles. Just then one of the guys from the table next to us tapped me on the shoulder. He was a tall skinny guy with short black hair, and he looked a few years younger than me.

“Hey
, I’m Adam!” he said. He whispered the next part: “My friends and I are interns at Bam-A-Lamb.” He pointed to a table full of hipsters in their early twenties, horizontally-striped shirts and thick-rimmed glasses all around.

“What the hell is ‘Bam-A-Lamb’?” I said, rolling my eyes freely at his
all-too-eager face. “It sounds like a company that murders baby sheep with a machine gun.” The healing properties of alcohol were now in full force, as I had James off my mind and was deep in my “no-man” zone. This made things easy for me, and brutally honest for others.

“No it’s spelled L-A-M,” he explained. “And it’
s the hottest Internet start-up the world has ever seen!” He crossed his arms to reveal two unimpressive forearms, as his eyes travelled down to my black slinky top.

This guy and his company were not the sort of thing that would make my underwear spontaneously combust in a fit of ecstasy. Instead my eyes said “bored” and the rest of me was dead
. This didn’t seem to faze him, as he slowly leaned in closer and smiled. “You have an interesting accent,” he said. “Are you from out of town?”

I was instantly insulted. Did Canadians really sound that different? I’d have to get an American to explain it to me some day. “We’re from Toronto!”
I pointed at Laura who was currently giving the death-stare to her cell phone.

Adam’s
dark eyes twinkled in a creep-a-licious way. “Canada, huh?” he said loudly. “Is it true you drink maple syrup for breakfast, lunch and dinner?” His hipster table burst into laughter.

He really doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.

“Yes,” I calmly said. “I piss maple syrup too, which makes it a renewable resource.” The laughter stopped, and everyone seemed a bit scared of me.
Good.

Adam was looking uncomfortable now, and probably hoping that Laura
was a little more normal. Too bad for him she was preoccupied. “This goddamn phone!” she cried.

“Why don’t you let us buy you girls a drink?” he quickly said.

“But can you though? Aren’t you guys like interns? I don’t wanna put you out.”

Despite my
bitchiness Adam still wasn’t deterred. “Listen, this company is going places. Imagine the next Google. That’s what this is.”

I frowne
d. “But Google already exists, so what does YOUR Google do? Can it make me a coffee?”

He scoffed.

“No I’m serious!” I insisted. “There’s nothing wrong with an open market, but your ‘thing’ needs to solve a problem that the other ‘thing’ currently doesn’t. A problem the consumer might not even know they have yet...that’s how you innovate.”  My current innovation was realizing how smart I could sound when I was drunk. “Otherwise, your spawn of Google will be dead by the end of the year.”

Intern
boy’s mouth was hanging open by this point, but he quickly recovered with the same creepy eyes as before. “Forget about business...now what about that drink?”

I was surprised to still see him in hunting mode
, so I grabbed him by the shoulders and turned serious. “Listen kid, my friend and I aren’t your speed. We’re old ladies, you get me? Go find a nineteen-year-old.”

“But
you can’t even get into bars unless you’re twenty-one.”

“WHAT?!”
A bunch of people were staring at me now so I lowered my voice. “That’s tragic.” I pinched his cheek. “A horrible, tragic, American liquor law.”

He smiled awkwardly and turned to his table, with
no intention of ever turning back.
Whatever intern-child, call me when you have some money.

Just as Laura had given up on her phone, Dave
suddenly appeared and took a seat between the two of us. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late, they made us have dessert.”

“I was
worried you didn’t get my texts!” she said. “How was dinner? Did you…” she trailed off as she noticed me glaring at Dave. “Romes are you okay?”

I ignored her and continued to glare. “So Dave, why didn’t you bring ‘
Apple Danish’ here, huh? Is he too GOOD for lychee martinis?” I crossed my arms and slid halfway down the couch.

“I’m sure ERIK likes
lychee martinis just fine. But his cousins are visiting from Denmark. Two underage girls alone in the city. Make sense?”

I slid
even further and closed my eyes. “Underage girls are ‘ho bags.”

“That’s for sure,
” said Laura. “I know I was!” She laughed hysterically as Dave looked rather mortified.

Five-dollar lychee martinis, they’ll get you every time…

***

Laura and I
walked down William Street like snails. We were even slower than tourists, and the lightning fast New Yorkers were not having any of it.

“If
you’re not in a wheelchair hurry up!” someone cried.

We didn’t care, not when we were this
hung-over. All I could do was silently thank the fashion world, for keeping comically-large sunglasses in style. Today I wanted them to hide as much of my ragged face as possible. To add to the visual shit-show, last night’s hair had barely been combed down, and our loose tank tops and looser capris meant that people should stay the hell away from us.

Suddenly Laura spoke, though it was barely audible through her hangover-rasp. “
Let’s turn on the next street. We have to get some ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” I said
in what was barely a croak. “I can’t even look at ice cream.”