A State of Jane (14 page)

Apparently, taking the hint, Lainie stood up and walked toward my bedroom door. Hesitating, she said, “OK then. Night, Jane. Sweet dreams.”

I had to brush my teeth so I walked past her toward the bathroom, said, “You too!” and closed the door behind me.

That night I dreamed about my wedding dress. Well, wedding dresses. I was shopping with my mom and Claire at Kleinfelds where Claire had bought hers. I tried on all sorts of dresses in varying styles including the sexy body-clinging silk dress with a scoop neckline and low back, the more traditional strapless A-line with beaded train and even the gaudy gown with the puffy sleeves that I wouldn't wear in real life even if all of my guests were legally blind.

The reception was being held at The Water Club on the East River and the ten day honeymoon was booked for New Zealand for reasons I couldn't fathom since in my waking life, I had no desire to
go there. My mother's face was beaming as she exclaimed, “That's the one! That's the dress!” And then I woke up with a jolt before I even learned who I was marrying.

I lay awake looking up at the ceiling, replaying the dream for a few minutes and was then moved to get out of bed and log onto the Internet. I searched my memory for the password I hadn't used in well over a month and logged onto eHarmony. I had eight un-viewed profiles waiting for me. With shaky hands, I moved my mouse over the first thumbnail picture. His name was Neil and his longish curly dark hair was peeking out of a Mets baseball cap. I inhaled, highlighted the picture, ready to right click.

Then, as if a sign from God, the faces of Randall, Jim, and Cory flashed before my eyes one after the other, each smiling but dead in the eyes. Slowly, I slid the mouse to the upper right hand corner of the screen, exited the page and got back in bed.

C
HAPTER
25

“Frank!”

I looked up from my computer and over at Andrew, who had his legs stretched out on his desk and his arms locked behind his head. “This is your office, Andrew,” I said. “Not your living room.”

Andrew said, “Yes, Mom” before removing his legs from the desk and giving me an amused smile. “Coming to the happy hour?”

One of our vendors was treating the paralegals to a happy hour later at Opal. I scrunched my nose. “I don't know.”

“C'mon, Jane. Let your hair down for once.”

I chuckled. It had been a month since my one night stand with Buddy, but I was still enjoying the after effects.

“And that made you laugh because?”

“Fine. I'll stop by. Who else is going?” I no longer expected to meet my soul mate at the neighborhood pub but hoped there would at least be other people I knew besides Andrew.

“The regulars. And I told a few of my non-work friends. Sean is usually good about guests.”

Sean was the vendor, a nice off-the-boat Irish guy who always made sure the paralegals were good and drunk by the time they left one of his happy hours. It was one of the reasons I rarely attended. “OK, count me in.”

*   *   *

Andrew turned to his friend Brandon, a blue-eyed, fair-skinned stocky guy in a blue button-down shirt and dark brown cargo pants and gestured his draft of Guinness in my direction. “Jane shares my office,” he said.

I motioned my appletini in Andrew's direction. “Correction. Andrew shares
my
office.” I smiled at Andrew. “He's a good tenant. Keeps his work space clean and is relatively quiet.”

Andrew finished his chicken wing, dropped the bone on his plate and wiped the excess blue-cheese dressing from his mouth. “And I frequently offer my therapy services,” he said

Brandon raised one eyebrow.

I glared at Andrew as I felt my face get hot, but he kept talking. “Yeah, Jane's dated a bunch of douchebags.”

I rolled my eyes. “Takes one to know one. Anyway, I won't be needing your services anymore.”

“Why's that?” Andrew asked.

Piping in, Brandon said, “Yeah. Why is that?”

“Going lesbian?” Andrew asked, laughing.

Before I could say anything, Andrew said, “Because girls can be just as douchey as guys.”

I rolled my eyes again and, laughing, Andrew added, “Just saying.”

I shouted, “Not going gay!”

Brandon scooted his chair closer to mine and looked me deep in the eyes. “Well, that's good to know!”

Not looking up from his increasingly smaller plate of wings, Andrew said, “Why? Lesbians are hot.”

Shrugging, Brandon said, “I prefer girls who'd rather go out with me than my twin sister, Brandina.”

As I smiled shyly at Brandon thinking he had a cute baby face, I saw Andrew look up from his wings and shake his head in Brandon's direction. Andrew removed his phone from the table and stood up. “Reception sucks in here. Going outside to call Don.”

After he walked away, leaving me alone with Brandon, I asked, “Who's Don?”

“Another guy on our soccer team.”

I nodded, hoping Don was as cute as Brandon, and wondered if I should call Marissa to join us. Or Lainie. I decided against it.

An hour or so later, I had switched my beverage of choice to water and my attention to Don, a shaggy-haired guy with kind brown eyes and a dimple on his left cheek. He wore white jeans that I thought, until I met him, only worked on rock stars and Daniel Craig in
Casino Royale
.

Don ran his hands through his hair and smiled at me.

“You've got a great head of hair,” I said, smiling back.

Seemingly reluctant to accept credit for the attribute, Don shrugged and said, “Genetics, I guess. But thanks.”

“Welcome,” I said. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-one. How old are you?”

“How old do I look?” I asked flirtatiously.

“Young enough that I'm not afraid to answer the question!” Don examined my face for a few seconds before guessing, “Twenty-eight?”

Pretending to be hurt, I pouted and said, “Twenty-six! Should I be insulted?”

Defending himself, Don said, “Not like I guessed forty-eight!” Apologetically he added, “Besides, twenty-eight and twenty-six are practically the same. But I apologize if I hurt your feelings.”

Shaking my head, I said, “Nah. Just busting your chops.”

Don let out an exaggerated breath of relief. “So I didn't just blow any shot I had of you going out with me sometime?”

I glanced over at Andrew on the other side of the table playing quarters with two of the other female paralegals. Turning back to Don, I said, “Sure, I'd go out with you. Andrew has my number.”

Suddenly my bladder felt full, and I stood up. “Gotta go to the ladies room! I'll be back.”

After washing my hands, I flipped my head upside down, and shook out my hair. Staring at my reflection, I decided I looked pretty and reapplied a shiny muted red gloss that came in a sample packet Marissa had given me. I smacked my lips together, smiled at myself, and walked back out into the bar. I didn't want to go back to the
table so I scanned the room until I spotted Brandon standing in the corner with Bethany, our firm's librarian and probably the only law librarian with a purple streak in her hair and five studs running along the lobes of both of her ears. Brandon seemed to be enjoying their banter, but then we met eyes and he gave me a “come hither” gesture.

I reluctantly joined them. The only time I'd spoken to Bethany was when I first started at the firm and she trained me to use the Lexis/Nexis search database. She was twenty-nine and known for coming to work straight from after-hour raves and doing lines of cocaine in the bathroom to stay awake. I wasn't sure I believed the rumors, but she did wear dark sunglasses inside a lot and I had caught her rubbing her nose a few times. I was afraid if I associated with her, people would think I did drugs too and it might ruin my reputation or a chance of getting a good law school recommendation from one of the partners.

Bethany's back was to me but when I reached where they were standing and Brandon greeted me, she turned around, smiled brightly and said, “Hiya, Jane! What's going on?”

Nervous, thinking I wasn't nearly as badass as her despite my recent torrid fling, I self-consciously flipped my hair and said, “Not much!”

“Do any interesting research on Lexis recently?”

I figured Bethany was equally aware that we had no other common ground. “Nope,” I said, shaking my head. As Cory's freckled face popped into my head, I recalled his sudden disappearing act and said, “Although I am tempted to check whether my last boyfriend has a criminal record. Or has ever been admitted to an insane asylum!”

Bethany put her drink down on the floor and clapped her hands together. “Ha! Good one!” Then she looked at Brandon and said, “I like this chick!” After picking her glass back up, she said, “Off to make rounds. Later, folks.” As she walked away, she tapped my shoulder and, laughing, said, “If only we really
could
bill clients to conduct background information on potential boyfriends! Good one!”

I watched her walk away, still chuckling, and turned back towards Brandon who was subtly shaking his head at me but who I
could tell was smiling behind his pursed lips. “Are you really that jaded?” he asked.

“No!” I lied. “Was just being funny. Or trying to.”

Brandon didn't say anything at first. He just looked at me doubtfully. Finally he said, “Not sure I believe you.” He whipped around and pointed to a laughing Andrew still surrounded by females and engaged in drinking games. “He did say you dated a lot of douchebags.”

I shrugged. “Whatev.”

Brandon laughed. “I can tell you spend a lot of time with my friend, Andrew. His lingo is rubbing off.”

“I suppose.”

“How about this? You let me take you out to prove that not all guys are douchebags.”

“Sounds good,” I said, giving him my finest toothy smile to emphasize my eagerness. As I saw Andrew walk toward us, Don in tow, I whispered, “Andrew has my number. Call me.” Then I walked away calling behind me, “Gotta go to the bathroom!”

Since I didn't really have to pee, I gripped the sides of the sink and frowned at my face in the mirror hoping no one would come in needing to wash her hands. Brandon had looked so sincere when he asked me out and for a moment I doubted that a guy with such a baby face could tear my heart into shreds. I would not judge a book by its cover, I vowed. No matter how cute he was, I would not be made a fool. Holding hard to my virtual handle on reality, I exited the bathroom, contemplating whether it was time to go home.

When I returned to our table to grab my coat and say my goodbyes, no one was there. Confused, I looked around wondering if everyone was going to jump out from under the tables, screaming, “Surprise!” After a moment, I sat down to check my cell phone, thinking Andrew might have texted me where they went. But I had no messages. “OK then,” I muttered. “I guess they ditched me!”

From behind me, I heard a girl's voice say, “No, they didn't.” I turned around and faced Bethany. “They went to Press Box across the street. Wanted me to tell you to meet them there.”

“And you stayed behind to tell me?” I asked, surprised.

Bethany laughed. “Not quite. I'm waiting for a friend to confirm the location of the next stop on my bar crawl this evening. I figured I might as well stick around here.”

“You're not going to Press Box with the others?”

“Not my style. But I figured I'd take advantage of the free cocktails now to get my buzz on for the main event later!”

I visualized Bethany donning a blond wig like Lady Gaga and dancing to the latest house music with a bunch of coked-up rock stars.

“Wanna come along?”

Assuming she was joking, I laughed out loud. “Yeah, right! I'm sure I'd fit right in!”

Smiling brightly, Bethany said, “Sweet! I'll text my friend and tell her to add your name to the list.”

Wait…. What?
Was she serious? Did she really just invite me to a party when the only words we'd ever exchanged prior to that night were “Lexis” and “Nexis”? Did I really just say I'd go? What if I was the only one without bright streaks of color in my hair? My blond low-lights certainly didn't count. What if they started discussing recreational drug use? Would it be uncool to admit that the strongest drug I'd ever ingested was doctor prescribed Tylenol with Codeine?

I had at least 100 more “what-ifs” to run through and hadn't yet reached the double digits when I found myself speed walking to keep up with Bethany as she raced to the downtown 6 train on Lexington Avenue.

The subway was surprisingly packed for a Thursday night at 10:30 but Bethany and I squeezed into the subway car, our hands practically touching as we and about three strangers gripped the same pole for balance. I looked over the other passenger's heads through the dirty train windows and watched the train across the platform leave a few seconds before us. I felt a twinge of envy at the people on that train since it was headed uptown, in the direction of my apartment. But I'd humor Bethany by having a drink before leaving. At least it was a Thursday night and work the next morning was a built-in excuse not to stay out all night.

Bethany shouted over the rumbling of the train, “We're going to Lex Bar. It's in Murray Hill!”

We were standing uncomfortably close and I leaned my head back to tease myself into thinking I had any semblance of personal space. “Cool,” I said, relieved that we were not headed to a more exotic neighborhood off the grid and completely unfamiliar to me.

“Cool if you like frat boys and girls who shop in Banana Republic,” Bethany said, laughing.

As the doors of the train opened I crossed my arms over my down jacket, which was hiding my Ann Taylor blouse. Uncertain whether Ann Taylor was better or worse than Banana Republic but confident that it didn't make much of a difference either way, I followed Bethany out onto the street.

C
HAPTER
26

I had no idea Bethany was so smart. When I told her I was trying to lose five pounds and didn't want to use up all my calories on fruity drinks, she told me about the vodka-shot diet. She'd lost thirteen pounds the year before simply by doing a shot of vodka once every half-hour instead of ordering full drinks. Although I wasn't a big drinker anyway, I figured I'd give it a shot.
No pun intended.
I was on my second one and I felt great. I didn't even miss the soda or cranberry juice.