The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series) (36 page)

“Leslee, it’s
my
wedding day!” she proclaims.

“No,” I answer. “It’s your and Russ’ wedding day. You have to meet him halfway with some things.”

“OK, I guess you’re right,” Karen agrees. “So what about you?”

I shrug. “What about me?”

“When are you going to start dating again?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer quickly. “When I’m ready, that’s when.”

“And are you sure that not being ready has absolutely nothing to do with the whole Eric disaster?” Karen asks and I pause. Why does she have to bring it up? It’s been months since I’ve seen him and I haven’t spoken with him since that night. It was a stupid thing, a meaningless thing. People do dumb shit in their adulthood which can cause loss of friendships, unexpected
pregnancies, and so on. I was
drunk that night and we were dumb. Are people not allowed to do stupid things anymore without hearing comments from their friends?

“That night should’ve never happened,” I tell her. “It was just a mistake between friends, that’s all.”

Karen smirks. “A mistake that was waiting to happen since college,” she mutters under her breath.

“OK, I don’t know what to say to him,” I admit. “I haven’t tried contacting him and he hasn’t tried contacting me, so I’m assuming that we’ll both forget it ever happened.”

“All right,” Karen answers slowly. “One more question and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Sure,” I say, even though it’s driving me crazy how she could just ask about Eric and me as if it’s not a sensitive subject (but it actually is!). It just feels weird talking about him like this and I really don’t know why.

“How come you turned him down in college?” Karen asks and I just shake my head.

“Because at the time,” I start, “I did like him, but I was afraid to get hurt. Happy now?”

“No,” Karen blurts out. “I want to know more.”

“It’s nothing,” I tell her. “We’re two totally different people now with two totally different lives. It would never work out between us.” I hand her the oversized gift bag. “You do realize that you have just ruined this moment for me.”

Karen’s mouth drops. “What is this?” she asks.

“Consider it an early wedding gift,” I tell her. She looks at me in surprise, and then begins to take the big white gift box out of the bag. Karen pauses for a moment. “Well, go ahead,” I demand. “Open it.” She flips the lid off of the box, stares at what’s inside, and then happily screams.

“Holy Vivienne Westwood,” she utters in amazement as she partially pulls out the designer beaded wedding gown. “Oh my God! This is beautiful. When? How? Why?” For once in Karen’s life, she is speechless. Finally, I’ve found somethi
ng to shut her up, even if it ca
me with a very hefty pricetag.

“It’s your ‘something new,’” I explain. “I saw that you had marked it as your dream dress in one of those bridal magazines you were carrying around. I pulled some strings with a friend in New York and I bought it for you. I knew that you weren’t completely satisfied with the dress you had, so I figured there’s nothing wrong with upgrading.”

Karen begins to breathe heavily. “I don’t know what to say,” she blurts out. “I’m just so happy!” Karen turns to me. “You are the best bridesmaid and friend ever. Thank you!” She hugs me and doesn’t let go.
Another smothering bear hug,
I think to myself. My best friend is truly crazy.

She puts the dress back into the bag and we begin to walk down the art museum stairs. “I don’t know how this day will get any better,” Karen says, smiling. “I now own a Vivienne Westwood wedding dress. I can die happy now.”

“Please don’t croak before your wedding day,” I joke. “Someone has to wear that dress down the aisle.” I point out a newspaper vendor on the street and we walk towards it.

“So how is the matchmaking business going?” Karen asks.

I nod my head. “It’s doing very well considering I don’t have a relationship of my own,” I tell her. “Sometimes I feel like I’m contradicting myself, and other times I’m just happy to see others so happy around the holidays.”

“Yeah, true,” she answers. “Speaking of the holidays, you better be at my annual holiday party next week.”

“I will. I can’t wait,” I say. “I haven’t been to a party in months it seems.” I order a coffee then pick up a newspaper from the vendor and begin to skim it over.

“Well, make sure you come hungry because they
’ll be a lot of food and drinks,
” Karen tells me as my eyes are glued to the first page of the newspaper. My jaw suddenly drops. “What’s wrong?” Karen asks and I just shake my head. The heading of the paper just says it all:
New York City Anchor Man: Broke, Homeless and a SEX ADDICT.
The picture underneath the title is none other than Victor, my ex-fiancé, looking like a drunken deer in headlights with terrible morning shadow. I smile as I put the newspaper back in place and pick up my coffee. We begin to walk away from the vendor.

“Anything good in the national news today?” Karen asks.

“Let’s just say that my holiday has just gotten a hell of a lot happier,” I answer, laughing. I just
love
karma, don’t you?

It’s officially the evening of Karen and Russ’ big holiday party, the event that they’ve been looking forward to all year, well except for the wedding of course. Here I stand outside of Karen and Russ’ door sporting a short, black satin dress paired with black stockings and black high heels. All this black is making me feel like I’m going to a funeral or something. I hope this party won’t be the death of me. Matchmaking has made me so exhausted lately.

Barely managing to ring the doorbell while holding a stack of gifts for the almost married couple, I stand outside in the cold December weather of Philadelphia wishing that I had put a coat on. This is by far one of my dumber moments. Is it possible to get a brain freeze without drinking something cold?

I can hear Karen stomping toward the door and knocking over things in the process.
Could she already be drunk?
I think to myself. The door flings open exposing a tired-looking Karen with a goofy smile on her face.
Yes, she is in fact intoxicated, and it’s not even seven o’clock in the evening yet.
Who in their right mind does that?

“Leslee!” Karen yells with a glass cup in her hand exposing the spiked egg nog that I’m sure she’s been drinking all day. It’s funny because I’m usually the drunken messy chick at the parties, but tonight it’s the hostess herself.

“Karen!” I yell back with enthusiasm. “Happy Holidays!”

“You too!” she replies then hesitates to think. “Oh, come in! Come in!” she says and I struggle to get into the doorway. Karen just watches me and doesn’t think to help. I can’t be mad though. She’s drunk as hell and looks like she can barely function. I guess she gets a free pass on manners … just for today.

I walk into the living room and place the presents under the big fake pine tree that stands in the corner. The wonderful couple has decorated this piney piece of plastic with purple, silver and blue glass balls (the blue balls had to be Russ’ idea), mini Corona beer bottles, mini dreidels,
Simpsons
ornaments, and a big silver star topper … with a picture of Nelson Mandela taped in the middle. My mouth just drops open.
Are they fucking serious?
I think to myself.

“You like the tree?” Karen slurs excitedly. In her own little world, this tree is just as artful as a Picasso painting. I just don’t get it. “I incorporated all the December holidays onto the tree,” she says proudly and I look at the ornaments and start to think.
Oh, yes. I fully understand it now. A massive holiday clusterfuck.

“It’s very nice,” I respond rolling my eyes. Karen is smart. I know she is. She almost has a Ph.D. for crying out loud, but this multi-holiday tree? I’m beginning to question my friend’s intelligence. What the hell?! It’s just so…
tacky
.
“Um, what did Russ’ parents say about your special tree?” I ask.

Karen laughs loudly. “Oh, I put plenty of vodka in the punch so they were too drunk to notice,” she tells me and I nod.
Of course.
“Did you meet everyone?” Karen asks and pulls me into the middle of the living room to begin her introductions. “OK, so on this couch there’s Randy, Alisha, you remember Alisha, right?” I nod. “Next to her is her boyfriend, Shawn. On the other side of the room …” Karen continues to point out people and I smile and introduce myself. The annoying thing about meeting everyone is that everyone has someone. It’s like a big holiday couples party and I’m the only one that’s single (except Randy, but his hair is a little funny looking so that could be the reason why). I feel like the pizza-faced girl at the middle school dance that the boys don’t want to dance with. I’m all lonely and single, and it’s messed up because I run a matchmaking business. How on Earth can someone who successfully sets up couples not find love for herself? Typical.

“Onto the next room!” Karen announces and leads me into the dining room. The table is beautifully arranged with red roses in different sized vases, white candles, and a spread of the most delicious food set on silver platters and dishes. My eyes are set on the honey baked ham and the candied yams.
Mmm … yams.
I think to myself. I grab myself a plate and start piling the food on. Hell, if I’m gonna be single at what seems to be a couples party, I might as well be well-fed. Karen hands me a glass of red wine.

“There’s plenty of food and wine, so eat and drink up!” she says. “Sit where ever you want, don’t eat the brownies unless you’re planning on getting high, and I’m going downstairs to check on Russ and the guys. Happy Merry Kwanzaakah!” Karen shouts and stumbles her way to the basement door. I look down at my plate and try to figure out how much running I will have to do in order to burn off all these holiday calories. A marathon should do the trick. Still looks good though.

I make my way back into the living room with my food and have a seat on the couch next to Randy. I smile at him and he ignores me.
Dickhead,
I think to myself. Instead of smiling back, he
’s
completely infatuated with what’s playing on the television:
A Christmas Story.
Honestly, I think this dude is high.

“You’re Randy, right?” I ask trying to spark up a conversation. I take a sip of my wine.

“Yeah,” he bluntly replies and continues to watch the TV. I’ve convinced myself that I will get this guy to talk to me even if it kills me. No, I am not trying to get into his pants or get a date with him. I just need someone to talk to and to make it seem like I’m having some sort of fun.

“So, how do you know Karen?” I ask politely.

“I don’t,” he replies.

“So, how do you know Russ?” I ask and Randy gets up from the couch and walks away. I am rejected by a loser which makes me an even bigger loser. Now I’m left on the couch with Alisha and Shawn who are both completely drunk and about one second away from having sex with each other. Being single during the holiday season sucks. It’s no wonder I have such a great business. At least I have my yams. I take a small bite and savor the flavor. Mmm, it’s good. How come my mother never cooked this way? Avoiding my emotions with food is probably not a good idea at this point.

After practically dry humping next to me on the couch, Alisha and Shawn pull themselves up and take their private party upstairs. I look around and see that most of the people that were in the living room are now in the dining room or the basement. I sigh. The only ones that are left are me and the couple that have fallen asleep on the loveseat.
Loveseat, ha!
I think to myself. Even the names of couches are turning me into certified holiday Grinch.

“Excuse me?” I hear a deep voice say from behind me. “Is this seat taken?” Instead of turning around to acknowledge the person, my eyes stay glued to the television like the TV addict who ditched me.

“It’s all yours,” I answer as I sip my wine.

“Thanks,” the man says as he sits next to me. I take a short glance at him, then to the television, and then back at him.
Has Christmas just come early for me? Because a very gorgeous man is sitting right next to me,
I think to myself. He’s a thirty-something African-American
work of manly art in a
suit. I look into his green emerald eyes and he smiles at me. “I’m Carter,” he introduces himself and puts out his hand. I continue to stare.
Say something!
I think to myself.
Why aren’t you saying anything?!

I put out my hand to shake his. “I’m Leslee,” I say, still staring. “I’m, um, Karen and Russ’ friend.”

“I work with Russ,” he tells me. “I guess he felt obligated to invite me to his party.”

“Oh?” I reply. “And why is that?”

“Because I’m his boss,” he laughs.

“Oh.”

“I mean, we are friends,” he retracts. “Russ and I, we just work together.” It’s beginning
to
sound like he’s rumbling through words now. Quite frankly, I don’t know what else to say either. I just nod my head.