Finding Mr. Right (22 page)

I grabbed my toothbrush and sighed. Today was the day I’d start over with my diet. No more French fries for me. I’d make the healthy choice from now on – broccoli or spinach, all the way. Maybe I’d even get broccoli and spinach; that would show everyone. No longer would people look at me in horror when I ordered French fries with my cheeseburger, with a regular Coke, and chocolate cake for dessert. No longer would I think I’d hear them whispering about me and my choices. From here on out, I’d see the respect in their faces at my choices. Maybe I’d even become a vegetarian. And then Blake would be begging me to get back together with him. He’d wish he hadn’t dumped me so unceremoniously then. I was going to lose all the weight once and for all, and I was going to show everyone that a new Maggie Lane was finally here: strong, smart, sassy, and thin. With a cool Chanel bag, to boot.

***

I walked back into my room after my shower with new verve and purpose and smiled when I saw the flashing light on the phone. I ran to it, thinking that perhaps George Clooney was on the line, wanting to take me on a hot date. Maybe he’d seen my photo in the paper and wanted to date me. It wasn’t George, but I was still pretty happy as I answered the phone and listened to the message. It was Oliver and he had explained the situation to his sister and she was going to issue a retraction. Yay! I wasn’t going to be sued. And the best part was he asked me out for lunch – today, if I was available. I just needed to call him back and let him know. I felt slightly guilty at my joy. Kinda like a slut. But it wasn’t like I was going to sleep with Oliver, and it wasn’t like it would be an issue if I did anyways. Blake had dumped me. Cruelly and coldly. He didn’t care about me. So why should I care about him?

It wasn’t like I wanted to be in his arms all day and all night. It wasn’t like he was the first person I called when I was sad, happy, or needed help. It wasn’t because when he laughed at my jokes, I felt like the funniest person in the world. I tried to ignore the feelings of guilt as I wrote down Oliver’s number so I could call him back. Blake had been the love of my life for so long that I wasn’t sure if I really loved him and wanted to be with him, or if I just loved the idea. Maybe we really weren’t made for each other. He had dumped me pretty easily and quickly. I mean, if he had really loved me, he would have stayed with me and we could have talked over our issues. I sighed and jumped back onto the bed and hugged his pillow to me. It smelled like Blake, and I inhaled deeply. I realized how much I missed him as I lay there. I just wanted my friend back, the one who was there to support me through thick and thin, no matter what happened. Maybe he had done us both a favor; maybe we should just go back to being best friends. Maybe we weren’t cut out for being more. Maybe Oliver was the one for me.

I had always fancied English men, and I knew all the words to Oliver Twist. Maybe that was a sign. Maybe we could sing songs together. And he could move to Los Angeles to see how the relationship went. I was starting to warm to the idea as I ignored the gnawing pain and stress in my stomach. And what was lunch? It was nothing. But at least I’d be able to see if we were meant to be.

Dear Diary,

Did you know that all English people don’t absolutely adore ‘Oliver Twist’? And that many of them haven’t met the Queen? I mean, I know I haven’t met President Obama, or President Bush or President Clinton, but still. I’m talking about the Queen here. If I lived in England, I would try and make sure that I at least had tea and sandwiches with her. How fancy would that be? Twining’s tea with cute little cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. I would likely have to go to McDonald’s afterwards because the sandwiches would be unlikely to fill me up, but what a story for me to tell while I was ordering my chicken nuggets and fries. They’d most probably be so impressed, that they would supersize me for free and ask to take a photo with me and stuff. I figure I’d make a better Englishman that most Englishmen. Oh, and Oliver is swoon-worthy.

So, I have to admit that I was only kind of excited to call Oliver back. I was happy to speak to him, but I was still feeling a bit bad about Blake. He had really hurt my feelings, but instead of doing the sensible thing and thinking over everything that had happened and asking for another conversation, I decided to jump right into another relationship. Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. One date with Oliver didn’t a relationship make, but I did have a guilty feeling when I dialed the numbers and agreed to meet him for lunch.

As I got dressed, the fat blues hit me, and I blamed it on karma. Nothing I tried on looked good. It just didn’t seem fair. Gayle could wear skinny jeans and look skinny. I wore skinny jeans and I still looked like I had thick thighs and biker calves. Even my normally slimming black V-top made me look and feel pudgy. I almost wanted to cancel the date or lunch or whatever we were calling it. As I put on my makeup, I pulled up YouTube on my iPad (thank you, Blake) and practiced singing different songs from Oliver Twist. “Consider yourself at home, consider yourself…”
Damn,
I thought to myself as I went to meet Oliver,
I had already forgotten the words to the song I was going to say I loved the best.
I guess I would just have to throw in a witty and cool way to say to the waiter, “Please, sir, may I have some more?” I was giggling to myself as I walked into the restaurant. And I have to admit, my heart was beating fast as I saw Oliver.

He turned towards me with a huge smile, and I walked towards him with as confident a walk as I could, feeling as dowdy as I did. He was wearing a blue and white rugby shirt, with faded blue jeans. His blond hair looked blonder than ever, and I wanted to ask him if he dyed it. I’d never thought a guy in England could get such golden tresses, with the lack of sunshine they had here.

“Hi, Maggie Lane.” He greeted me with a hug, and I hugged him back eagerly.

“Hello, Oliver Richards.” I smiled at him, while groaning inside. I thought it was a bit weird to be using last names in a greeting. “Good to see you.” I grinned, and we sat down. I looked around a little disappointed. It looked to me like we were in a health food store. Everyone was eating wraps and salads, and I couldn’t see any burgers or fries anywhere. I tried to keep my sigh to myself; I knew I was on a diet, but I figured I could have one last burger before I really said goodbye to all oily foods.

“Well, this looks like a great place to eat,” I lied.

“Thanks, it’s one of my favorites.” He smiled at me kindly. “I know how you Americans are into your healthy eating.”

“Uh, yeah.”
Not me,
I thought.

“They have great alfalfa and spinach sandwiches.”

“Ooh, sounds yummy.” I tried to fake a smile as a waitress brought over two menus.

“Would you two like to start off with our green juice today?” she asked us in a bored voice.
Even she knew that this food sucked,
I thought.

“Green juice?” I asked her inquiringly.
Was that green because it was apple juice or because it was more alfalfa and spinach?

“Yes, ma’am. Our fresh juice has broccoli, lemon rinds, spinach, kale, and carrots.” She smiled at Oliver as he made a happy sound.

“That sounds delicious. I’d love one,” he grinned.

“Any other fresh juices today?” I asked, my voice weak. I could feel all hunger and thirst leaving me.

“We also have our carrot, orange, ginger, and celery juice.” She looked at me again, and I knew that she knew I had no interest in any of these healthy juices. There was no way that anyone who was a size 12 or higher was a health food nut. She knew it, and I knew it.

“I’ll have the green juice.” I smiled at her smarmily.
Take that, bitch,
I thought. “I only hope it’s as good as the ones I make before I go to the gym every day.”
And another point for me
, I thought.

I saw the waitress give me a look up and down, and I knew she was wondering what gym I went to, because it wasn’t doing a great job.

“And we’ll order in a minute, thanks.” Oliver dismissed her and turned towards me. “I guess you go to the gym a lot in the States, huh?”

I nodded, not wanting to actually speak a lie.

“That’s one of the things I love about you guys; you are all so health-conscious. Not like most of us Brits, who only want to eat sausages and chips.”

“Well, you know. It’s just something that happens when you live in LA.” I smiled. “And I only really started going to the gym recently.”

“You are so modest, Maggie.” He leaned forward. “This may sound funny because of how we met, but there is just something about you that makes me laugh.”

“Well, I’d do anything for you, dear, anything; for you mean everything to me.” I beamed and giggled. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem as if Oliver recognized that song from Oliver Twist, because he looked at me like I was a bit off. “I’m just reciting a song from Oliver Twist,” I explained slowly.

“Uh, okay?”

“It’s a book written by Charles Dickens that was turned into a movie and a play.”

“I know who wrote Oliver Twist.” He laughed. “I’m just not sure why you chose to randomly recite the words to one of the songs.”

“Oh, it’s one of my favorites.”

“Okay.” He turned to his menu. “I think I know what I’m getting, what about you?”

I looked at the menu and tried to pretend that there were many items that looked appealing to me, as opposed to none. I didn’t want a vegetable sandwich or wrap. Not with a vegetable drink. I looked for the items on the menu that seemed like they would taste the least gross. It was between a cream cheese and Brussels sprout wrap and a mushroom and Brussels sprouts sandwich. Those were seriously the best choices. I honestly wanted to cry.

“I think I’m ready.” I smiled, hoping that the Brussels sprouts were at least well-seasoned and roasted so that they were of a more crispy texture.

“Want to share a seaweed salad?”

“Sure.”
No.
I sighed as we placed our orders and hoped that I would be able to keep the meal down.

“So what do you normally eat when you go out?”

“Uh, sandwiches.” I smiled at him widely, not wanting to tell him I was a weekly pizza eater who loved to go through Taco Bell, KFC, and McDonald’s drive-thrus, and sometimes in the same night.

“Ha, you Americans love sandwiches.”

“I guess it’s because we are all practicing for when we meet the Queen.”

“Which Queen?” Oliver looked at me with a frown. “I thought there was no monarchy in the States.”

“Queen Elizabeth.” I wanted to add
duh
, but thought maybe we shouldn’t get into an argument too soon. “So how many times have you met her?”

“Met who?” His eyes crinkled, and he leaned back and scratched his head.

“The Queen. Prince William’s grandmother,” I said slowly.

“I’ve never met her.” He spoke matter-of-factly.

“You haven’t?”

“Have you met the President?”

“Well no, but…”

“Why would you think I have met the Queen?” He laughed. “You Americans are all the same.”

“I take offense to that you know,” I pouted.

“Maybe you should take offense to your question.” He rolled his eyes and our banter was interrupted by the food being brought to the table. It looked gross. I was none too happy – Oliver was being rude, and I was hungry and wanted a burger and fries.

“This looks good, shall we tuck in?” He smiled at me cordially, and I was surprised at how quickly he had gotten over our little squabble. I was ready to keep it going. How dare he say that all Americans are the same? I didn’t say that all Brits had bad teeth and pale skin, did I? Hadn’t they heard of tanning salons? I mean, not everyone suited the English Rose look, if you asked me.

“So what do you do, Ollie?” I asked as I chewed on a Brussels sprout that tasted like nothing other than a Brussels sprout.

“I’m an artist.” He smiled at me, his eyes twinkling.

“Artist?”

“You know – like a painter.”

“Oh, nice.” I tried to think of some famous painters’ names to drop in.

“Do you like art?”

“Yeah. I loved Andy Warhol.” I thought of the one artist I knew was pretty poppy.

“He’s a popular artist.” He smiled. “I’m more of a Monet man myself.”

“Oh, I like money, as well.” I smiled.

“You like money?” He looked at me with a confused expression, and I felt myself blush.

“I mean, I like having a lot of money so I can support my favorite artists. You know, the indies.”

“The indies?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

“The talented but unknown artists, like you.” I beamed at him, and he laughed.

“I do imagine that certain philistines and ignoramuses haven’t heard of me.”

“What?” I had a feeling he had just insulted me, but he had spoken so quickly that I wasn’t sure if I had heard him correctly.

“Nothing.” He pointed at me. “So which indies do you support?”

“Ah, Blake Gayle.” The words tripped out of my mouth before I could think properly. “He’s famous in Los Angeles.”

“Huh.” Oliver frowned. “Never heard of him.” His hazel eyes sparkled. “I guess he’s not on the same level as Bradley Cooper in terms of fame.”

“No.” I looked down, embarrassed, hoping he wasn’t going to ask me about the whole debacle his sister had gotten me into.

“You’re a funny one, Maggie.” He chuckled to himself and pulled his phone out.

“Oh no, please tell me you’re not taking a photo of me for another tabloid,” I groaned. “I couldn’t take it if you were.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He grinned. “I just got a text message and wanted to respond to it.”

“Oh, sorry.” I wrinkled my nose. “My bad.”

“That’s okay. Want to go to the park?”

“What, now?” I put my fork down, happy to get away from the horrible meal.

“Yes, now.” He pulled out some notes, placed them on the table, and jumped up. “Let’s go.”

“Ooh.” I ran after him and left the restaurant, excited to go on an adventure with a handsome Brit. “So which park are we going to?”

“Did I say the park?” He grabbed my hand. “Let’s go to a museum.”

“Museum?”

“Yeah. You can show me the artists you like.”

“That sounds fun.” I groaned inside. I couldn’t imagine anything romantic happening in a museum. Not like in a park. He could grab me and give me a big kiss in the park. Or we could snog. That’s English for kiss. But snog sounded a lot cooler.

“Or we could go to the trocadero.”

“What’s the trocadero?” I was worried it was going to be something academic.

“A computer arcade.”

“Fun. Let’s go to the trocadero.”

“Awesome. Maybe we’ll see some stars.”

“Do you think so?” I said eagerly, leaning towards him.

He laughed. “You really are an LA girl, aren’t you?”

“Kinda,” I sighed.

“What’s wrong, Maggie?” He pulled me to the side of the busy street and looked at me in concern. “You’ve seem a bit worried. You okay?”

I wanted to tell him about what had happened the night before with Blake, but even I wasn’t that stupid. I knew that would be the end of any possible relationship between us, if I went on about my ex-boyfriend. “I’m fine, thanks.” I faked a smile and he grabbed my hand.

“Just because you’re not blonde and skinny doesn’t mean you’re not a fabulous girl, Maggie.” Ollie’s voice was earnest, and he looked at me in concern. I looked up at him in shock at his words. How dare he say I wasn’t skinny! Guys aren’t meant to say things like that. “You’re prettier than most of those plastic ladies anyway,” he continued before I could talk.

“I, uh, I’m not sure what to say.” I wasn’t sure if I felt happy or mad at his comments.

“I want you to know that I like you because you aren’t the typical LA bimbo.”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “Wait, did you say you liked me?”

“Yeah.” He grinned and kissed my cheek. “Hey, I’m sorry but I’ve got to go. My sister needs me.”

“Oh, but what about the trocadero?” I looked at him with my best pouty face. “I thought we were going to play video games.”