Man of the world, p.3
Man of the World, page 3
“Ah,” he sighs happily. “Love that classy Grace Kelly type. Your girl’s sister, if I’m not mistaken. Hey, Drew, we’ll be in-laws!”
The other guys laugh, and finally the subject turns to other things. Liam is looking for full-time work and hits Sanjit up for leads at the company he works for. Like Liam, Sanjit works in tech but is moonlighting to earn money for his wedding. Marcus, like several other Gentlemen, is an aspiring actor/model, and Aaron is still in college; he’s just trying to earn enough money to keep himself in beer and rent over the summer.
I stare out the window as the palm trees glide past, glowing in the late afternoon sunlight, and remember back to the summer after I graduated from Northwestern, when I was just passing time as a bartender, waiting for my life as an adult to begin.
Missing my chance with Carina.
Ten years later, it’s like I’m reliving history …
And missing out on Carina once again.
Should I have made an effort to connect with her? Gotten her phone number, asked if she wanted to get together and catch up?
It’s better that I didn’t. She gave off complicated vibes, and complications are the last thing I want to deal with right now. After spending the last couple of years covering conflicts in the Middle East and North Africa while simultaneously carrying on an affair with a fiery Spanish correspondent—who was an expert at creating conflicts of her own—I’m here for the peace and quiet. I’d rather keep my memory of that single kiss on the beach pure—and keep my time in LA drama-free so I can focus on writing.
But part of me wonders if it would be possible to recapture some of that summer, the sweetness, the hope, the optimism …
Aaron drops us off at the entrance to the parking lot beneath the building where the Gentlemen, Inc. offices are housed. Sanjit calls his fiancée and heads over to a nearby coffee shop to wait for her to pick him up. Marcus retrieves his motorcycle and rides off with a friendly wave and a “See you next time!”
Liam strolls alongside me as we head to our cars in the underground lot, our footsteps echoing on the concrete. It’s Sunday, and there’s no one else around. Liam is uncharacteristically silent for all of a few steps, then turns to me.
“You’ve always got a bit of a stick up your arse, but it seems to have gotten bigger since this afternoon. You thinking about the Spanish siren again?”
Liam, for all his carefree attitude and nonstop talking, is remarkably perceptive. He’s right that I’m preoccupied, just wrong about the subject matter.
“Believe it or not, I wasn’t thinking about Pilar. Not really.”
“Well, that’s progress. What’s the matter, then?”
I sigh. “That girl, Carina … we went to college together.” We didn’t technically go to college together, but the finer details are beside the point.
“Ah, a face from the past. Unrequited love? She broke your heart, did she?”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Maybe I broke her heart, ever think of that?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “Nah.”
I concede with a shrug. “There wasn’t anything between us.” Except that once, but I’ve never shared that memory with anyone, and I’m not going to start now. “She just … I don’t know … made me nostalgic, I guess.”
I can’t afford to be sentimental in my line of work and owning up to it makes me feel oddly vulnerable. Normally, I’m all about talking to people, learning about their experiences, teasing out their emotions, but now I feel a sudden urge to get home so that I can get back to working on the book.
Writing and research, away from the messy details of people’s lives, including mine—that’s where I want to be right now.
“Maybe this is the girl to take your mind off the she-devil you left behind?” Liam looks a little devilish himself.
“I’m not moping over Pilar,” I assure him. “And no, I think some things are better left in the past. How’s the job search going?” I ask.
Liam concedes to my abrupt change of subject, and his mouth settles into a grim line. “Not great, to be honest.”
The company that originally sponsored him to work here is now in the process of declaring bankruptcy, and his days in the US are numbered if he can’t find an alternative sponsor soon. In the meantime, he’s trying to save as much money as possible by working part-time jobs on the side. I suspect his moonlighting work may not be completely legal, but I don’t ask too many questions.
Liam shrugs and his face breaks out into a broad smile. “But I still have a few months. Something’ll come through. Listen, I want to hear more about your premature mid-life crisis, but I’ve got to get going, got a shift at the pub tonight. You want to get together later this week for a pint? Maybe Friday?”
“Cassandra’s got me on a companion gig that night. Saturday?”
Liam gives me a brisk nod. “If I’m not working at the pub and nothing comes through with Cassandra, then Saturday it is.” He winks at me. “Maybe we’ll find you some action to distract you from your lady troubles. I’ll give you a call, eh? And lighten up, bucko. You take yourself way too seriously.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “Even if she did break your heart.”
With a wink and a cheerful wave, he leaves me at my car and saunters off toward his own, and I’m left with my thoughts on the drive back to my little house on the coast
3
Carina
I hang out at my parents’ house long enough to say hello to my dad, who was banished to his golf club for the duration of the shower. Then I go home to the little apartment I share with Lindsay in Santa Monica.
Before I get out of the car, I check my phone for messages.
First there’s a text from Camille, a friend from work, reminding me that we’re going clubbing with some other friends tonight at Cosmos. She needs me there for emotional support in case her ex shows up.
I told her earlier that I’d go, but now I wish I hadn’t. I love dancing, but I don’t really want to have to rehash Camille’s breakup for the twenty-eighth time.
Next there’s a voicemail from Peter, the brother of a friend from college. I invited him to be my escort at a party my parents threw a few weeks ago, and he wants to know if I’m free for dinner tonight.
I sigh. Peter was nice enough and definitely good looking, but I don’t think he asked me a single question about myself the entire time we were at my parents’ party. Now I have to come up with a tactful way of letting him down.
Finally, there’s a text from Mario, who wants me to go to a party that his new boyfriend is hosting. Mario is a moderately successful model and a good friend. He’s not interested in girls, but he acts as my escort sometimes when I need a date who won’t expect more than he’s going to get. But that only works when he’s not seeing someone.
Poor Charlotte will probably lose her bet.
As for tonight … Mario’s fun, and I want to meet his new man, but he’s also exhausting. I’m a sounding board for all the drama and intrigue of his romantic and professional life, and I don’t think I have the energy for him tonight.
I put the phone back in my purse without responding to any of them and head into the apartment. Lindsay has gone with her mother to drive Nana back home, but as soon as I walk in, I’m greeted by Princess, who skitters across the floor and runs circles around me, yapping excitedly. With a smile, I stoop down to pick up the little Yorkshire terrier.
“Did you miss me, baby?”
Princess gives my face an enthusiastic lick in reply.
Princess came into my life a few weeks ago when a friend who volunteers at a shelter mentioned her. I’d never really thought about getting a dog before, but as soon as I heard about her, I decided I had to meet her—and once I met her, I had to keep her. She’s demanding but uncomplicated, and what she requires in attention, she gives back in affection.
If only all my relationships were this easy.
Dogs aren’t technically allowed in our apartment, but the lease is up in a couple of weeks, and we’re both moving out, so Lindsay didn’t object. She’ll be moving in with Martin; I’ll be moving to my parents’ until I can find a place that allows pets.
Picking my way around the moving boxes that litter the apartment, I carry the little dog into the bedroom. Princess wiggles impatiently in my arms.
“Let me just get changed and I’ll take you out for a walk,” I promise her.
A few minutes later, I’ve shed my long gauzy garden party dress and exchanged it for denim shorts, a t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. Princess and I hit the streets of Santa Monica.
Despite her short legs, Princess sets a brisk pace down the street where we live. It’s a mix of apartment buildings, stores, and restaurants, punctuated with palm trees and overseen by the wide, blue sky. I smile at a waitress I know by sight who is setting tables at a sidewalk restaurant. She waves cheerfully back. A woman with two young children stop and asks if her kids can pet my dog. Of course, I say yes, and spend a few minutes chatting with them. It’s a nice area, busy and bustling, sunny and safe, and normally I love it, but today, my thoughts are still back in my mother’s garden, at the shower.
With Westley …
I mean Drew.
I think back to that summer, my first summer away from home, in Evanston. Testing the limits of my independence, I waited tables until late at night, partied with the other waitstaff until the wee hours of the morning, then slept most of the hot summer days away.
It wasn’t the most productive summer I’ve ever spent, but it was certainly fun.
Westley—I haven’t fully reconciled the broad-shouldered thirty-two-year-old Drew with the lanky twenty-two-year-old Westley—was always in the background. He didn’t party as much as the rest of us, was always a bit more serious, friendly if a bit distant, and had that older-man mystique.
Funny to think that he seemed so mature then but was actually six years younger than I am now.
I had a schoolgirl crush on him most of that summer, and I’d flirt with him on the nights that we worked together. I flirted with everyone, of course, but it meant a little bit more in Westley’s case.
I smile, remembering his nickname for me. He treated me like a kid sister, which was probably just as well, seeing as I was a more-clueless-than-average teenager barely old enough to vote. Every so often he’d show up at a party with a girl, never the same one twice. I got the feeling he wasn’t looking for anything serious, and he certainly wasn’t looking for me, so I settled for enjoying the way the butterflies fluttered in my stomach whenever he was around.
Now I wonder whether I should have made an effort to get his number and follow up with him. Part of me is happy to leave the past in the past; the memory of that one kiss on the beach is so perfect and sweet, and it would be a shame to ruin it by finding out that he’s not as nice as I remember.
On the other hand, I can’t stop thinking about him. I’m desperately curious to know how he ended up in Los Angeles and why he’s working for Gentlemen, Inc. But it’s not like I can call up Cassandra, the woman who runs the company, and ask her questions about her employee’s personal life just to satisfy my curiosity.
There is, of course, the internet …
But before I can follow through with that thought, a bicyclist slows down beside me. I notice his gaze climb my bare legs before finally reaching my face.
“Hey, there,” he says. “My name’s Cameron. What’s yours?”
“Um, Carrie.” I aim for the nearest intersection.
“Carrie, it’s nice to meet you.” He gets off his bike and begins walking along next to me. “Do guys, like, tell you all the time how beautiful you are?”
Behind my sunglasses, I roll my eyes. Yes, I want to reply, but I settle for giving him a tight smile.
Why is it that the best compliment men can come up with is “beautiful”? Even men who know me can’t seem to get beyond what I look like. How about “smart,” or “funny,” or “Wow, you’re a great driver”?
But Cameron isn’t that creative. “Say, Carrie, I’m new to this area—any chance I could get your number? Maybe you could show me around sometime.”
“I have a boyfriend, Cameron. Thanks anyway.” I give Princess’s leash a gentle tug. Fortunately, the street light is in my favor, and I veer off into the crosswalk.
“Hey, he doesn’t have to know!” Cameron calls after me.
“Come on, baby,” I mutter to Princess. “It’s time to go home.”
Fortunately, Cameron isn’t the persistent type and we make it home without incident. Just as I’m unlocking the door to our apartment, the phone rings. Mario. I groan and let it go to voicemail.
“Is that you?” Lindsay calls from her bedroom.
“Yes. You got Nana home okay?”
Lindsay walks into the living room. Like me, she’s changed into more casual clothes and is carrying an overnight bag which she slings onto a chair as she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. “She’s fine. She had a great time. You and your mom did such a wonderful job. Thank you so much.”
I smile at her as I sit down on the living room couch. Organizing the shower, at least, was fun. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. You heading over to Martin’s?”
“Yeah, in a few minutes. But back to the party for a sec. You kind of disappeared when we started doing the presents. Everything okay?”
I can see concern in her eyes. “I just needed a few minutes alone.”
Lindsay comes over and sits down next to me. “Are you okay? You’re not upset about me being pregnant, are you?”
“Oh no! I’m really happy for you,” I assure her. “Honestly, that wasn’t it.”
“Are you sure?” Lindsay gives me a searching look. She knows how much I love children and how much I’d like a family of my own.
Okay, maybe I’m a little jealous … but I don’t want to burden Lindsay with that. “No, it’s just …” My phone dings again. I glance at it; a text from Peter asking if I got his earlier message. “For crying out loud.” I toss the phone on the coffee table.
“I, um, couldn’t help noticing that one of the servers disappeared right at the same time you did.” Lindsay arches her eyebrows at me, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.
“Oh. Right.” I quickly fill her in on how I know Drew, omitting the memory of that sweet kiss on the beach, which feels too fragile to share. “We just talked for a couple of minutes.”
“Is that what put you in a mood?” she asks.
“I don’t know … maybe sort of.” I give a humorless little huff. “I think he’s the only person I met all day today who didn’t ask me for something. Except you, of course,” I add quickly, not wanting her to think I’m upset with her.
Lindsay squints at me suspiciously. “Did my mom ask you to look after my cousin Josie when she’s in town next month?”
“Yeah … but that’s fine—”
Lindsay gives an exasperated snort. “She made it sound like you volunteered. Honestly, don’t worry about Josie. She’s our cousin; Olivia and I can look after her.”
“Oh, I don’t mind, really. I know you’re all busy with the wedding—”
“Stop!” Lindsay orders. “Enough! It’s okay to say no. People will still like you. And if any of them don’t, it’s their loss.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “I sometimes think your fairy godmothers got their signals crossed when you were born.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have the blessing of being someone everyone wants to be with and the curse of not being able to say no to anyone,” she points out.
I give her a wry smile. “You of all people know how good I am at saying no.” Lindsay’s the only person who knows my secret; not even my sisters realize how much of a fake I really am.
“Yes …” Lindsay tips her head in concession, “but I think the only reason you keep saying no to men is that you give so much of yourself away to everyone else. You need better boundaries. The kind that keep the wrong people out and let the right people in.”
My phone dings again. Another text from Camille, who wants reassurance that I’m still going to be there tonight. I mutter a curse word. Lindsay’s eyes widen; I don’t usually swear.
“How should I do that?” I ask her, wondering if I could ever just walk away from what feels like an endless stream of obligations.
“I don’t know … Turn off the phone, take a vacation by yourself, maybe. Go somewhere where you can zen out for a while and get away from everyone.”
“Mm …” I don’t have a clue how to go about doing that, but Lindsay means well, so I nod like I’m seriously contemplating it. “I’ll try.”
Lindsay points a stern finger in my face. “And learn how to say no!”
“No!” I say, then grin at her expression. “Just practicing.”
“And then once you’ve learned how to say no, maybe it’ll be time to say yes to the right guy.” Her eyebrows lift salaciously.
My face feels warm. “One thing at a time, okay?”
“Okay.” She laughs and stands up. “I’ll start by getting out of your hair myself. I’ll be back tomorrow.” She points at the phone. “I want you to respond to every one of those messages with a big, fat no.”
She grabs the overnight bag and heads out with a wave.
I pick up the phone again.
Okay—Carina says no.
Sort of.
I send Mario a quick text turning down the party but promising him some one-on-one time soon. I text Camille to say I’m not feeling well, but can I send Peter instead? And finally, after Camille gets back to me with a thumbs up, I call Peter to tell him that I recently got back together with an old boyfriend, but that if he’s not busy he could meet up with some friends of mine later.
He’s disappointed but gracious. I feel like a bit of a coward lying about the boyfriend, but it seems nicer than telling him I thought he was too self-involved. I hang up after telling how to spot Camille at Club Cosmos, and then …
