by Suzie Nelson
Josh reared back as if slapped. “Oh, I see. So your plan is just to use me as free labor, is it? Just because I’m not bringing in the big bucks my time isn’t as important?”
“No, Josh, that’s not what I—”
But Josh had already stalked out of the apartment.
The realtor raised her eyebrows. “Well, honey, let’s be honest. I wouldn’t trust him to plug in the coffee machine correctly.”
Angie chuckled. “He does sometimes forget to turn it on,” she admitted.
“What do you think about this place?” the realtor asked. “It’s your money, so it’s your choice, girl.”
Angie went up to the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one wall of the living room. “I love it,” she said. “And I know that I’m never going to get another chance like this one.”
“That’s for sure,” said the realtor. “Half-finished condos are not that common. How about I let you talk to your bank. I’ll put off my other prospective buyers for 24 hours. You go home and have a good long think about what you want.”
“Thank you,” said Angie, peeling herself off the window.
When she and the realtor came out onto the street, Josh was waiting in the car, texting.
He glanced at Angie as she slid into the driver’s seat. “Look, babe, I know it’s really pretty and everything, but I’m just trying to be practical. Buying is a huge risk. What’s wrong with renting? We’re happy renting, aren’t we?”
Angie didn’t look at him as she started the car. “You’re happy renting, Josh. I’m buying that condo.”
And that’s exactly what she did.
Since then she’d put countless hours into fixing it up. First was the flooring. She got recovered pine from a condemned high school gym and had it sanded and polished until it gleamed. She painted the walls sage green and butter yellow and robin’s egg blue and had beautiful granite counter tops put in the kitchen. She learned to install light fixtures and switches and put in every single one herself. These days, the apartment was the envy of all her friends and one of Angie’s proudest accomplishments. She’d learned so much during the process. It was like working out – after having done it, she felt stronger and more self-confident than ever.
If only that self-confidence could get me another job, she thought sadly as she pulled out a tailored yellow dress that brought out the warm notes in her tanned skin and the hints of red in her rich brown hair. Claire hated it when Angie wore yellow.
“It’s so unfair,” she would moan. “No one loves yellow more than me and no one looks worse in it than I do.”
This was true on both counts. Claire had countless yellow accessories – both for herself and her apartment – but couldn’t wear it because it made her look like a plague victim.
“Like I’ve never had a single vitamin in my life,” as she, herself, described it.
But the little 50’s inspired yellow dress, with its capped sleeves, peplums, and pencil skirt was one of Angie’s favorites. And she was feeling low today. She needed the boost. So she slipped it on, savoring the silky feel of the lining and zipped up the back, lifting her long hair up and out of the way.
After rummaging around among her shoes for a while and rejecting several more traditional options, Angie drew out a pair of cherry red leather t-strap heels with a look of triumph. Apparently, she was feeling bold tonight. That was another thing she loved about dressing up for the girls – she didn’t have to confine herself to just the ‘sexy’ look. She could have fun and they’d still love it. When it came to women they wanted to sleep with, men, she’d found, were traditionalists. They liked the little black dress and the tall black heels. Which was a great outfit. A classic. But it got a bit boring after a while.
The shoes were a souvenir from a spring break trip to San Francisco, back when Angie was still in college. She, Claire, and Odette – another close college friend who had since moved to Seattle – had driven up in Claire’s brother’s rusty old Honda station wagon and had one of the best holidays of Angie’s life. It had been in the fourth year and the girls had decided that the traditional drunken beachside bacchanal wasn’t for them. They’d rented a little apartment with a tiny balcony with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge and they’d all cram themselves onto it in the evening for a glass of wine and, in Claire’s case, a cigarette, before heading back into the city for the night.
One day they’d decided to tour all the (many) vintages clothes stores that San Francisco had to offer and, in one of them, Angie had found her red leather heels under a pile of fur coats she’d been digging through. She’d dragged them out of the coats and held them triumphantly above her head like they were a gold medal at the Olympics. She knew without checking that they were her size. She could feel it.
Claire sighed. “You have got to be kidding me, Angie. When the hell are you going to wear those?”
Odette laughed, “Are you kidding, Claire? She’ll probably wear them to class on Monday. You know how Angie likes to make a splash.”
Claire shook her head and sighed again. “God, you are so lucky that you have legs the length of California, Angie. You can pull off literally anything. I hate you.”
Angie looked up at Claire as she squatted to try on the heels. “Don’t give me that, Claire. Not when you’re the only one petite enough to actually fit into any dress made before 1970. I have to make do with vintage accessories. Let me enjoy my crumbs!”
Claire giggled and Odette put one hand on her waist and cocked her hip. “You’re both such whiners. How do you think I feel? Too tall for everything!”
Claire and Angie shared a look. “You don’t need clothes, Oh,” said Claire finally. “Clothes are just a crutch for the rest of us mere mortals. You’ve transcended them.”
Odette snorted, but Angie nodded. “Seriously, Oh, she’s right.”
Odette, or Oh as Claire and Angie called her, was the most beautiful person Angie had ever seen in real life, and Angie lived in L.A. It was true that Claire was very pretty: delicate and cute, like some sort of wood nymph with her large blue eyes, tiny pointed nose, and beautiful, pale skin that looked like it belonged to a movie star from the 1930s, all topped off with a tangle of blonde curls. And Angie had a certain classical Italian beauty with her square face and tall cheekbones, and her green eyes that her natural tan made all the more striking.
But Odette was on a whole other level. At five foot ten she was tall for a woman, taller even than Angie. But, as Claire always joked, most of that seemed to be leg and neck. She had perfect ebony skin that never got splotchy or burned when she spent too long in the sun – which always made fair-skinned Claire green with envy. And her long graceful neck made her exuberant curls look like some sort of large wild flower. When she tilted her head to the side and looked at men with her enormous brown eyes, rimmed by impossibly thick lashes, and her perfect, broad red lips slightly parted, they couldn’t help themselves. They turned into a gibbering mess. Not to mention she could wear anything and still look like she just stepped off the catwalk – provided, of course, that she could find anything that fit her.
As Angie did up the shoes, her fingers lovingly caressing the soft, supple leather, she thought back to that trip and smiled. Those had been some of the best days of her life. She missed Odette. They were still close, but it had been a few years since they’d actually seen each other face to face. Thank God for country-wide texting.
“Maybe we should organize a road trip,” Angie told herself as she went through her jewelry. “Claire misses Odette even more than I do.”
Making a mental note to bring it up tonight, Angie slid on some thick, geometrically cut plastic bracelets in royal blue, plum, and cherry red and decided that was that. Checking her phone for the time, she hurriedly did her makeup, opting for an extra bold winged eyeliner and a lipstick that matched her shoes almost perfectly. She twisted her hair into a bun, with just the right number of tendrils escaping to soften the look.
&n
bsp; Her phone dinged as a text arrived. “I know, I know,” she told it. “I’m heading out the door right now!”
As she’d expected, it was Claire, texting to make sure she was still coming and asking if she wanted to share a cab. Claire only lived a few blocks away and sharing a cab meant saving a few extra dollars. Which, admittedly seemed ironic when they were heading out for an unnecessary dinner, but Angie would rather save on the cab then have to miss out on a good time with her best friends. Deep down inside, however, she knew that if she didn’t find a job soon it would be home-cooked meals and the bus for her sooner rather than later.
But that was a grim thought and she pushed it away, grabbing a blue and purple striped silk clutch and filling it with the essentials. Claire and the cab would be here any second.
Taking one final look at herself in the mirror she smiled and nodded. Pippa, their group of friends’ most traditional member, would be horrified by her outfit tonight, but it made Angie feel rebellious and strong. And, as her mother always told her, a woman should dress first and foremost for herself.
It was advice that Angie had only recently taken to heart. While she’d always been attracted to funky, eclectic clothing, she’d kept her favorite outfits at the back of the closet. Any time she went out on a date in something a bit fun, Josh would always make a face and say, “You’re going in that?”
She’d learned to tailor her outfits to his tastes, but it hadn’t meant that hers had changed. In fact, one of the first things she’d done after he’d left had been to donate all his favorite outfits of hers to the Salvation Army store by her office. Except for a few which she and Claire had burned along with some old photos. It had been very therapeutic, if maybe not the most mature reaction.
Now she felt like she was making up for lost time. Whenever she went out (unless it was for a job interview) she tried to wear something that made her happy, something just a tiny bit (or a lot a bit) unusual. It made her feel more honest, like she was letting the world know who she really was before even opening her mouth. Plus getting dressed was just a whole lot more fun these days.
The taxi pulled up in front of her and Claire opened the door from inside. “Wow, girl!” she greeted her as she got a look at Angie’s outfit. “You look like a million bucks! Oh man, will Pippa hate it!”
Angie laughed, sliding into the taxi and kissing Claire on the cheek. “I was literally just thinking that exact same thing.”
“Great minds, honey. Great minds,” Claire grinned, tapping her temple. “How are you, aside from fantastically dressed?”
Angie made a face and shrugged.
“The interview not go well?” Claire interpreted with a sympathetic expression.
Angie shook her head, her shoulders slouching ever so slightly. Claire wrapped her arms around her friend and laid her head on Angie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll find you something. First order of business at dinner: brain-storming your comeback.”
Angie smiled, leaning her head on her friend’s curls. “Thanks, Claire.”
“Dinner’s on me,” said her friend, letting go of Angie’s shoulders and sitting up, straightening her dark blue silk dress. Claire had gone classical, with a simple, well-cut flapper-style dress and tall, black patent leather heels. Her unruly curls had been wrangled into a loose French braid and that kept them out of her face.
“No, Claire, I don’t need your charity. I’m fi—”
“It’s not charity,” Claire interrupted, holding up a hand. “It’s an I’m-sorry-the-world’s-full-of-blind-idiots present. Just accept it.”
Angie smiled and shook her head. “We’re going somewhere really upscale. It’s going to be really pricey.”
“Of course,” said Claire, sniffing. “I only give expensive gifts.”
The girls looked at each other for a moment then broke out laughing. Claire had a reputation for being absolutely terrible at giving birthday and Christmas presents, often just bringing whatever she happened to see as she went to the party. On the other hand, Angie thought to herself, when it came to impromptu or unexpected generosity, Claire was always spot on. She always knew when someone needed a little something to brighten up their day, week, or month and she was always ready to supply that something. It made her a very, very good friend.
“Thanks, Claire,” said Angie, taking her friend’s hand in hers. “Oh, I was thinking...”
“Here comes trouble,” Claire quipped.
Angie smacked her arm gently. “I was thinking we should go visit Odette one day soon. It’s been really way too long.”
Claire’s face brightened immediately. “That, Angie, is a brilliant idea. I would love to see Oh again. God, I miss that girl. She would know just what to do to get you a fab new job. Mark my words, if she were still in town you’d have been hired months ago. That woman knows everyone.”
“And everyone loves her,” Angie nodded.
“Well, can you blame them? With those cheekbones? That neck? Gah!” Claire threw up her hands. “The woman is like a Goddess among men.”
Angie laughed. “Well, let’s talk to her about. See what she thinks.”
“For sure,” Claire nodded. “Skype date this weekend?”
“Perfect,” said Angie.
“Great, I’ll text her,” Claire replied pulling her phone out of her black, beaded clutch as they pulled up in front of the restaurant. “Ooooh, finally,” she said, looking up from her phone. “I’m starving!”
Angie laughed. “You’re always starving, Claire. It’s your natural state of being.” It was amazing how much food Claire could cram into her tiny body. The woman could out-eat a horse.
Inside the restaurant, Pippa, Jean, and Laura were already waiting for them.
“Oh my God,” said Laura, leaning forward and whispering as Claire and Angie sat down, “You’ll never guess who just came in here.”
Claire raised her eyebrows and leaned in too. “Try me,” she said. Claire was known for celebrity-spotting. It seemed like wherever she went, a celebrity of some kind or other was bound to follow. The girls often joked that if her job as an investment banker ever somehow fell through, she could always become a member of the paparazzi.
“Sasha Pollock!” Laura hissed.
“What?” Claire’s eyes widened. “Nah, you’re kidding me. He’s, like, a total recluse.”
“Yeah, well, he’s come out of his shell tonight,” Pippa agreed, giving Angie’s outfit a despairing once over. “Angie, what on earth are you wearing?”
“I think it’s perfect,” said Jean, shaking her head at Pippa. “You’re so boring, Pippa.”
“Classy is not the same as boring,” Pippa replied.
“Can we stick to what’s important here, please,” said Laura, shushing the other girls with her hands. “Sasha Pollock is sitting in the same room as us.”
Claire and Angie obediently craned their necks back to catch a look at the famous, and famously reclusive, actor. Laura was right. Sasha Pollock was undeniably sitting a few tables away, in a quiet corner, perusing the menu.
“God, he’s literally the most beautiful person in the entire world,” said Claire, shaking her head. “And I don’t even like boys.”
Angie giggled then cleared her throat as Laura and Jean glared at her. Sasha Pollock was no laughing matter, apparently. But Claire was right: he was beautiful. Tall and muscular, he had an air of rugged, slightly wild masculinity that was hard for most Hollywood actors to truly pull off. His thick, sandy hair was streaked with pale gold and he kept it longer, its tips brushing his chiseled jaw. As he read the menu he would rake his fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead in one fluid, extremely sexy, gesture.
“God, I’d love to run my fingers through his hair like that,” Laura sighed, watching him.
Angie snorted with laughter again and Claire smacked her arm. “Don’t laugh at Laura’s lust,” said Claire, clucking at her friend. “You once slept with a
rock-climber named Chad because he was Jason Momoa’s blonde twin. And, lest we forget, not only was he named Chad, but he also had the world’s tackiest fake Maori tattoo on his bicep. So let’s just keep the judgment to ourselves here.”
“Oh my God,” Angie groaned. “I had forgotten about that awful tattoo. And his awful shell necklace.” She shuddered delicately. “I take my laugh back, Laura,” she said.
Laura rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. It’s dumb to fawn after him, but I saw him in Night of the Jaguar in my first year at college and I’ve just never gotten over it. I think I came just watching that movie. No hands or anything.”
Claire screeched with laughter and the elderly couple at the next table glared at her. Clearing her throat like Angie had done, she lowered her voice. “It’s true. Your first Hollywood crush stays with you forever. Personally, I will never get over Angelina Jolie in Tomb Raider. I died.”
