Year of the Chick (29 page)

“Is this the dumbest idea ever?” I asked. I’d explained it all, from the lifetime of regret that would follow if I never went, to the fact that I’d be ditching her dear friend Arjun.

“It’s not a dumb idea,” she said. “It’s actually kind of cute. A little naïve perhaps, but sweet.” She paused. “Too bad you’re screwing over my friend.”

To my surprise, my eyes started glistening with tears. I guess I was feeling guiltier than I’d thought.

“I’m kidding jackass!”

“What?”

“I mean yes I set you guys up, TWICE…but nothing’s really happened with you two. It’s not like I provided his family with a dowry. And besides, how amazing do you think you are? You think he’s desperately in love with you, after only a week or so of texting?”

I finally laughed, as it felt pretty good to have my ego put in check.

Once that was settled, Eleanor and I got to talking about the trip. Up to and including all the subtle little hints to enhance the physical encounter. “Wear a skirt,” she said. “And make sure your sweater is soft in case you cuddle. Oh, and wash your hair with a salon-grade conditioner the night before. For extra shine.”

Okay, I could remember that.

When it was time to deal with Arjun, I did so the only way I could, considering we hadn’t even spoken on the phone. And so a text message blow-off it was: “Bad news, going to NYC unexpectedly next week. So I won’t be here for the Xmas gala :-( Sorry!”

With the ditch-and-switch accomplished I was almost there.

Only one thing left to do…

***

The trip was fully booked and James was in the loop, so now it was time for some dinner conversation with my parents. Or more importantly some “dinner theatre.”

I waited until they entrenched themselves in wedding or engagement conversation. Then I quickly threw it in. “I’m going on a work trip next week.” I paused for their reaction, while my brain tried reviewing all the details (especially the fake ones) in my head.

“Where?” asked my father in the middle of a mouthful of rice.

“Oh just New York. Trade show. For next year’s patio furniture showcase.”

It was so boring it had to be true!

My brother and sister looked at me suspiciously but I wasn’t deterred.
No way you assholes, don’t even try to mess this up!

“For how long?” asked my mother. She seemed to lose interest halfway through the question. “Neema! Look how dark your elbows are! And why are they so rough? I know a special cream that will lighten them and make them smoother.”

Elbow lightening cream? Does anyone even know I’m here?

“I leave after work next Thursday,” I said. “And I’ll be back on Sunday afternoon.”

My dad grunted.

Was that really it?

“Wait a minute,” he said.

Oh god, the inquisition. JUST BE COOL.

“Yeah?”

“Do you need me to pick you up at the airport?”

“No, my co-worker will drive me home. But you need to drop me off at the train station when I leave.”

“How early do I have to wake up?”

“Umm…six-thirty?”

He sighed in a tortured poet kind of way.

The conversation quickly shifted to whether or not my sister had found a photographer. And a difference of opinion over how much it should cost.

I cleared the dishes, cleaned the table and went upstairs to my room.

Holy crap. I actually did it.

With everything covered it was finally official.
New York City, James Caldwell, here I come!

Chapter Twenty-Five

Laura gazed out the window and smiled.

“We’re officially crossing the bridge now,” she said. “New York baby!”

The lights of the city poured into the cab and straight into my eyes, making me forget it was snowing.

“According to James’s schedule, he’ll be here by the time I go to sleep,” I said. “Yeah as if I’ll be able to sleep.”

I pulled out his e-mail from my bag, and reviewed it for maybe the twentieth time.

----------------------------------

Hello Romi,

My flight lands late on Thursday night, and I’ll be staying at the Hudson Hotel.

I have some errands to run Friday morning, then I’m free to meet you at two-thirty.

I’ll be waiting at the Musings Café that’s next to your hotel.

Don’t be late.

James

----------------------------------

Every time I read the e-mail, my heart jumped up and down like I had just won the jackpot. I’d never been more excited in my entire life. Still, it would’ve been cooler to have our meet-up somewhere epic, like the top of the Empire State Building perhaps.
But a place that’s almost next to my hotel? Works for me!

“He’ll probably be sleeping in his room by two a.m.,” I said, with fantasies running wild in my head. “Maybe I can find out his hotel room number…”

“Would you stop it you freak!” Laura tried to seem annoyed but she was smiling. “I mean you’re finally getting the chance to meet. You can’t wait another night?”

“I can’t wait another second.” I sighed and leaned back, as the inside of our cab turned all different colours.

Broadway…coming right up to Times Square.

“Lots of New Yorkers hate Times Square you know,” I suddenly said. “Too damn touristy.”

“Well touristy or not, I’m pretty sure I got us a deal by staying here. And do you know how many stores I’ll be able to hit? I can use our room as a pit stop for my bags. I’m so excited!”

“Hmm…” I was studying a new piece of paper now. “According to the list of restaurant reviews for Times Square, us tourists can still find a good place to eat!”

“So what’s your pick?” she asked. “Because wherever we’re going, we’re walking.”

I smirked. “I know, I know, less cab fare equals more money for shopping. We’re going to this place described as a ‘hip and sexy Pan-Asian dining experience, with a multi-decked palace and a bold visual essence.’“ I paused to consider what it meant. “We should change into something sexy before we go.”

“Marriott Marquis,” the cabbie announced, in his monotone Indian accent that felt like home.

“Holy shit,” was all I could say. My mouth hung open as I stared at the big hotel.

As Laura and I wheeled our luggage inside, I realized I should’ve delayed my reaction for a moment.

There were certainly nicer hotels in New York City, but whenever I’d been here for training, we’d always get assigned to average hotels with tiny lobbies.

This was not a tiny lobby.

I could barely take in the image end-to-end. Reception desks way over here, elevators way over there, escalators, high ceilings, nice lighting, it was fabulous. And then in the center, a flower-lined perimeter, with comfy leather benches too.

My smile stayed plastered on my face for the entire elevator ride, and once we opened the door to our room on the fifteenth floor, I dropped my bags and headed straight to the window.

“We actually got a view of Times Square?” I felt like I was staring at a Times Square snow globe, with the flurries gently falling on the taxicabs below.

“It’s all about the corporate discounts,” said Laura, who was now busy judging the closet size.

I looked at my watch and escaped from my Times Square trance. “It’s almost nine-thirty, we should get a move on. What should I wear though?” I unzipped my suitcase and started to rummage past my layer of “work clothes,” clothes I’d conveniently planted on top, in case my mother or father ever ventured a look inside.

“Forget what you’re wearing tonight, first things first, take out your outfit for tomorrow, and hang it in the closet to air it out.”

“Right.” I carefully pulled out a brand new short wool skirt, dark purple with the tiniest hint of a checkered print. And my new black sweater was the softest sweater ever made. Perfect for cuddling (
thanks Eleanor
), and thin enough to roll up the sleeves so I could showcase my girly forearms.
That’s right, keep him focused on the skinniest part of your body
. It was definitely not a “cleavage” kind of sweater, but clingy enough to highlight a bra-enhanced silhouette.

“That is seriously the cutest outfit ever,” she said. “But where are the boots I’ve been hearing about EVERY DAY?”

“Oh right.” I smiled. “Hold on a sec.” From the bottom of my suitcase I pulled out the faux suede boots. Jet black and tight, they would hug my legs all the way up to the bottom of my knees.
Hot.
But they didn’t have heels and were complete with treaded soles for winter walkability.
Functional.

Laura came over to my bed and grabbed them. “Oh my god they’re so nice! And they’ll look so hot with your black tights!” She caressed the material. “Do you think they’ll hold up in the weather though? Like if it snows tomorrow?”

“It’s supposed to be clear and sunny. But just in case, I’ve been spraying them with this!” I pulled out a can of protective weather-guard and smiled.

“Maybe they need one last coat,” she suggested.

I nodded and opened the can, holding one boot in the air, and spraying front and back for at least five seconds. By the time I was done with the second boot, my corner of the room was covered in a heavy mist.

“Shit!” Laura squinted her eyes and coughed. “That stuff smells strong!”

She waved the mist away with her flailing arms and scurried back over to her bed. Seconds later, she pulled something out of her suitcase. “I’m wearing this to the restaurant. Royal blue looks good on me, right?” She held the small blue sweater against her body.

I nodded. “Looks great with the blond, trust me.”

“What about you?” she asked.

I finally found the tight slinky shirt I had buried at the bottom of my suitcase. “Green. Emerald green.”

“Sexy! Ten minutes then we’re out the door,” she instructed. “Pan-Asian goodness up next!”

***

The review of the restaurant was accurate enough. The whole interior was rich with colour and Asian artifacts. It did indeed feel kind of sexy, especially with the shadowy effects created by the lanterns. Some of the tables in the middle of the restaurant were located on a pedestal. It was only a two-step climb, but the end result was the sense that you were on display. Laura and I were seated at a table like this. Right in the middle of the action.

I only hoped that it would be a good distraction, from the nerves that were beginning to surface...

***

Not more than a minute from the time we started eating, I groaned and made a face.

“What is it?” asked Laura, through a mouthful of Asian peanut salad.

“These mashed potatoes don’t even taste like mashed potatoes. And they’re green!” I held up a spoonful to my face and scrunched my nose.

“What did you expect when you ordered WASABI mashed potatoes?”

“I thought it was mostly for ‘naming’ purposes. Or maybe they’d give me some wasabi on the side.” I sighed. “Oh well, at least the chicken is good.” I pushed the pile of green to the side of my plate, then suddenly I gasped. “Oh no! What if he takes me to a sushi bar?”

Laura looked utterly confused. “Huh?”

 
“Well I’m just saying, the Mediterranean diet includes a lot of fish. Especially when you’re in Spain.”

“Uhh dude, sushi doesn’t come from Spain.”

“I know! But what if it translates? Like he loves fish which means he loves sushi, which means he takes me to a sushi restaurant, which means I puke just from being there…” I pushed my plate of chicken to the edge of the table and frowned.

Laura put down her fork and cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’re being an ‘alarmist.’ Like why did you come here? Because you thought it would go horribly wrong? Whatever happens, it’ll be good, even if some of it’s awkward.”

“You think it’s going to be awkward?” I could feel myself sweating in my slinky green top.
I hope it doesn’t show.

She sighed and took a sip of her cocktail. “Romes, I mean like ‘cute’ awkward. You know, learning how the other behaves face-to-face. Mannerisms.”
 

“So you think he’s going to hate me in person?” I crossed my arms.

“No! Okay forget it. I’m making an executive decision now: shut the fuck up. Oh, and we’re ordering another round of cocktails.”

She grabbed the waiter’s attention while I eyed her suspiciously.

 
Is he gonna hate me in the three-dimensional world?

***

An hour and another strong New York City cocktail later, I was fully distracted as we made our way through samplers of delectable cake.

“Did you try the one with the swirl on top? You can die once you eat it,” I said. “Let me feed it to you.” I brought the fork to her mouth, since feeding my friend was the obvious thing to do with a buzz on.