by Evie Nichole
“Nah, I’m not rich enough for you.” They both laughed loudly, and Monica slapped her friend’s arm playfully. After a couple minutes, she sighed again, holding her head. “I just want to go back to bed. I am too old for hangovers.”
“You’re right about that. I swear, as soon as we graduated, my body stopped being able to handle any amount of alcohol at all. It’s not fair.”
“Right, just because I have a degree and a real-person job does not mean I shouldn’t be able to binge drink sometimes and rally the next day without a problem.”
“What I wouldn’t give to be twenty-two again!” Zoe sighed with a dreamy look on her face; Monica nodded, smiling through the pain in her head.
“Yeah, then it wouldn’t be weird for you to be flirting with the baby-barista over there.” She nodded to the curly head, who was staring not so discreetly in their direction.
“He’s twenty-one. I asked,” Zoe said with a naughty smile on her face, wiggling her fingers in a flirtatious wave in his direction. He blushed, slightly, and nodded his head in acknowledgement, then ducked behind the espresso machine.
“Oh, only six years. That’s nothing.” Monica was being sarcastic, but Zoe ignored it.
“Exactly.”
“I can’t with you. I’m going back to bed.”
Zoe turned back, looking sympathetic again. “Okay, feel better! Remember, tomorrow’s another day. And it’s Sunday, so you can spend the day in bed again, too, if you want. And I can bring over ice cream and pizza if you need to drown your sorrows with less of a hangover.”
“Yeah, a sugar and carb hangover I can handle. Okay, I’ll text you.” She stood, bracing herself on the table as a wave of dizzy nausea hit her. Then she grabbed her purse and blew Zoe a kiss.
“Tell me if the man calls!” Zoe called as Monica reached the door. Monica glanced back to nod and saw Zoe watching the barista again. She shook her head. Some things never change, she thought, as she pushed open the door and squinted into the lunchtime sun. She smiled again, thinking about the bed waiting for her at home.
Chapter 4
Alan walked through the glass door—held open for him by a young man in a top hat and tails—and nodded to the hostess, who smiled and gestured with an open hand in Monica’s direction. His walk was confident and easy; the look on his face could be described as no-nonsense though he always had a hint of a smile in his eyes. He found Monica’s eyes and held them, noticing no one else as he passed the few tables separating them. When he looked at her like that, when he walked through a room like that, she had trouble remembering why she was mad at him. It was only when his face broke into a puppy-dog “I’m sorry” look that she remembered.
“Thirty minutes,” she said, sternly, though her anger was quickly draining. He bent to kiss her temple then took the seat across from her. Their server had appeared out of nowhere at Alan’s side and Alan said briskly, “Scotch on the rocks, and another for the lady.”
She looked down at her half-drunk Chardonnay, her second, and then looked back at him, expectantly, crossing her arms to emphasize her dissipating frustration.
“I’m sorry, baby. I got caught up in this deal with an overseas client. He was being a real ass about some contract stuff that you wouldn’t find interesting. I called as soon as I got him off the phone.” The server had dropped both drinks at the table wordlessly and was hovering nearby, waiting for the indication that they were ready to order food. Alan looked at her, shame and apology filling his eyes, though confidence still oozed from his every pore. He reached across the table, taking her hand in his, “I’m really sorry, Mo.”
She softened completely. “It’s okay. I understand.”
He leaned back, satisfied, shame and guilt instantly erased from his face. He turned his head and raised his arm briskly and the server glided to them immediately.
“I’ll have the Chef’s special, whatever it is, and I’m allergic to almonds, please inform them. And the lady will have—”
She stumbled over her words, after two months she still found him hypnotizing. “Th-the duck, um, salad. Please.” She didn’t know why she was blushing, and the embarrassment of doing so only made it worse. The server took their menus and disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared.
He downed his scotch, and the server quickly returned with another. She’d never been to this restaurant with him, but had seen this type of service almost anywhere they went; it was like he was a regular at all of the fanciest places. He inspired this respect that almost seemed fearful. She stared at him as he sipped his second drink more slowly. He had a bit of a baby-face except for his slightly receding hairline; he kept his hair very short to camouflage the deepening widow’s peak. He was skinny but not muscular; he ran in the morning every few days, she had learned, and always seemed too distracted to eat. He was somehow always energized.
She definitely hadn’t been attracted to him at first; he came up to her at a party and she wouldn’t have noticed him at all otherwise. As he talked, she found herself falling for his confidence. She took it as a point of pride that she hadn’t let herself remain shallow and rejected him because of his looks. He wasn’t by any means ugly, but he definitely didn’t take her breath away. Her freshman roommate, Lisa, had told her to look out for him, that he might ask her out. He was a friend of her boyfriend, who was hosting the party where they met.
She looked across the table, finding him more attractive than she had that first night. He had started talking about work, about the jerks who wanted to be way too particular about contract agreements and who were clearly stalling for time, about time differences requiring that his phone meetings take place at completely inopportune times for him, about how he would probably have to go back to work right after dinner because there was just too much to do for this big deal.
She’d been zoning out like she usually did when he talked. She never took in the details of what he said, just the general gist of it. She tuned in at this last part, however.
“You’re—we’re not going to your place after?” she asked, feeling like a child.
He looked at her in a way that she knew was supposed to be apologetic but that really came off as condescending. “No, darling, I’m sorry. My work day is only halfway over at this point.”
“Oh.” She was trying to remember if he had said anything about going to his place tonight; she had probably just assumed because they had the past few times.
“Look, this deal should be settled by Friday. How about Friday night we do dinner at that rooftop place you mentioned last week, and then you can spend the weekend with me?”
She nodded, smiling again, and he jumped right back into talking about foreign clients and the tediousness of contract negotiations. She didn’t find it interesting, really, but there was something about watching him talk that kept her riveted.
Chapter 5
She pulled open the glass door, stumbling slightly in her stilettos. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed. She tightened her black shawl around her bare shoulders, cursing the unexpectedly cold weather. She’d wanted to look good tonight; she felt like it was her second chance at a first impression, so she’d worn a long black dress she’d only worn once before to a party with Alan’s colleagues. It hugged her body, flowing along the curves to her ankles, and at the top, it had a high turtleneck with no sleeves, a silhouette that had always made her feel particularly sexy.
She approached the blonde hostess, who was not so subtly looking at her phone, which was hidden only slightly behind the rise of her podium desk.
“Hi,” Monica said, wishing she sounded more confident. “Reservation for Smith?”
The girl—she couldn’t be more than twenty years old—looked up begrudgingly, barely glanced at Monica, and started scrolling and clicking on her computer. Her eyes lit up momentarily at something on the screen, then she looked back at Monica with the same disinterest as before and turned, saying “Follow me” over her shoulder, as she walked away briskly.
/> Monica was adjusting her shawl again and thinking about what drink she would order while she waited, so she didn’t notice the table the hostess was leading her to until the girl stopped and turned, indicating an empty chair across from—
“Jason!” She sounded as surprised as she felt, but he didn’t show any indication that he noticed, as he stood and remained standing while the hostess pulled out Monica’s chair. He stared at her, eyes a little wider than normal, and she felt a jolt of pleasure. Alan had seemed to barely notice the dress when she’d worn it before; she’d only known he approved by the way he pulled her gently around the room to introduce her to almost everyone, saying things like, “This is my girlfriend, Monica. Isn’t she gorgeous?” Thinking back on it made her feel nauseated, but she remembered that she had reveled in it at the time. This, the way Jason was looking at her, was so much more satisfying…and exciting.
Monica turned to say “Thank you,” to the hostess as she scooted into the table and found the girl staring at Jason with a wide grin on her face. She understood, now, what had made her eyes light up before. After a few long moments, where Jason didn’t seem to notice anything, the hostess seemed to realize she was staring and reluctantly turned and walked away without a word.
He is gorgeous, Monica thought, looking at Jason with what, she was sure, was a very similar grin to what the hostess had just worn.
“You’re early,” she said. It was both a question and a statement. She herself had shown up ten minutes early, as she usually did for a date. Alan had always been at least five minutes late…though usually more. Her boyfriend before that was usually just on time. This was a change.
“So are you,” Jason replied, teasing. “Why are you so surprised?” he added, with an easy chuckle. He glanced around and raised his hand for the server; the gesture was more a request than a command, she noted. “Do you know what you’d like to drink?” he asked, suddenly concerned, it seemed, that he hadn’t given her any time to decide. “I’m just having water.”
The server appeared, looking at her expectantly. She had been planning on having wine, but quickly adjusted, not wanting to drink alone while he didn’t…again.
“Water’s great,” she said, with an appreciative smile.
“Thank you,” Jason called, as the server walked away again. He turned back to her, grinning. “Am I not supposed to be early?”
She laughed because he actually sounded a little insecure though still teasing.
“No, no. I mean, yes, that’s great. It’s great. I’m just not used to it, I guess.”
She draped her shawl over the back of her chair behind her, set her small, black clutch on the table, and scooted in a little closer. The server returned to fill her water glass and to refill Jason’s.
“Do you know what you’d like?” he asked, directing his question to both of them, with his hands held stiffly behind his back.
“I think we need another minute,” Jason said. “Thank you.”
He looked at Monica as the server left them again. “I don’t like to make people wait, so I try to be early whenever I can.” He looked down at his menu sheepishly.
“Me too,” she said and smiled, feeling a renewed sense of surprise. “Alan was hardly ever on time,” she added, with an obvious tinge of disdain in her voice.
Jason’s face was unreadable. “Sounds like he was a busy guy.”
She nodded, feeling a twinge of sadness. She was pleased that it wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been a few days ago. She was realizing that she didn’t miss Alan all that much anyway. She looked up and had the feeling that Jason was waiting for her to say something.
“I’m sorry I keep bringing him up.”
“It’s okay, Monica. Really. It’s a fresh breakup. I get it.”
She smiled, looking down. Out of her periphery, she saw him lift up his menu, so she followed suit, happy for the chance to hide her blush.
“I was thinking that their duck looked interesting,” he said, “but their lamb is also supposed to be delicious. What do you think?”
“I love duck,” she said, finding it impossible to get the smile off her face.
“Would you like to share both?” he asked, as if it may be too forward of him to do so.
Her smile widened, and she nodded. They both set their menus down decidedly.
After their server took their order, they sat in a brief silence, punctuated only by the sounds of muffled conversations and the clink of cutlery on china from the tables around them.
He broke the silence. “How are you feeling?”
She sighed, shaking her head. She knew it wasn’t just a generic question; she knew he was referring to her emotional state from the night they met. She wanted to play it off, but she didn’t want to be avoidant…that felt rude somehow.
“Uh, you know, pretty sucky.” He chuckled, but his face showed serious concern. “It’s not that bad, actually,” she continued. “I’m pissed about the job, but if I don’t get the next promotion, my friend Zoe says I should sue, which I might. And Alan—I don’t know, I guess I’m feeling like it was for the best. He…” She hesitated, feeling a rising anger that she knew would make it seem like she still cared too much. She knew it was mostly about her hurt ego and didn’t want Jason to get the wrong impression. Talking emotionally about your ex is bad enough on a first date, let alone a second, she thought with a smile.
“He wasn’t that great, when I look back on everything.”
Jason nodded. There was another pause, and then he asked, “Not great how?”
She didn’t quite want to talk about it, especially not in this setting, but something about Jason put her at ease. She remembered her suspicions from before and pushed them aside, dismissing them as drunken paranoia.
“Well,” she said with a sigh, “he was always late. And he was always completely distracted by work, which got even worse the last month or so.”
“You mentioned that, yeah.”
“Yeah, and I don’t know, at first I was really attracted to his confidence, but when I look back on it, it just seems like arrogance. The way he treated people.” Jason nodded. She was staring over his shoulder, remembering in flashes her time spent with Alan. “He was also really flashy with his money. He was rich, obviously, I found that out quickly. But it was like he wanted everyone to know.”
“How do you mean?” His face was still neutral beside a look she could only describe as intently listening.
“Oh, you know, he always had this ridiculous roll of cash on him that just seems so unnecessary when I think back on it. He pulled it out to pay for everything. Like everyone needed to know exactly how much money he had.”
Jason nodded again. “Right. Why not just use a credit card?”
“Exactly!” she exclaimed, and a smile jumped to Jason’s eyes. “Just seems like he was showing off, doesn’t it?”
“Do you think he was actually worth a lot, or was it just for show?” Jason asked, and once again she had the feeling he was trying too hard to be casual. Maybe he just feels like he’s being intrusive, she chided and shook the suspicion off once more.
“I think he was worth a lot, actually. Zoe thinks he’s at least a millionaire. I don’t know. He never actually said.” She paused, thinking back. “I guess he wasn’t completely flashy after all.”
“Well, maybe he wanted everyone to think he had more money than he did.”
She nodded.
He paused, seeming to get lost in thought. After a moment, he looked up quickly, snapping out of his reverie. “Wish you knew what he sold.”
She remembered that he was in sales, too, and remembered what he’d said about wanting to get rich in his field. She didn’t know anything about sales outside of her retail job during college…and that had been mostly folding clothes. “All I know is he had a lot of overseas clients,” she added, trying to make up for her lack of information. “He took phone calls at all hours of the day and night. It could get really annoying.” Jason nodded a
lmost as if confirming information he already knew.
“Did he ever mention any of his clients’ names?” Jason asked. When she looked at him with narrowed eyes, he quickly added, “I’m trying to figure out what he sold. If you knew one of his clients, I might be able to, you know, guess.” He seemed ever so slightly flustered.
“I don’t remember anyone specific.” She saw a look of disappointment cross his face and disappear quickly. Her mind floated back to the party, the only other time she’d worn this dress. She remembered shaking the hand of a short, fat, gray-haired man. He had told her she looked lovely and asked her for a dance later; she’d agreed only because of the way Alan was looking at her. Then, as Monica looked around the room to take it in, out of the corner of her eyes she saw the man lean into Alan, who had to duck so the man could whisper in his ear. She’d heard a few random words that made her curious, she remembered, but she’d learned early on not to ask Alan anything specific about his work.
“I think it may have had something to do with pharmaceuticals,” she said after a pause. His eyes shot back to hers, and she registered the intensity of their gaze. He seemed to realize how he’d looked, and his face softened once more.
“That makes sense,” he said, and then he added nonchalantly, “There’s a lot of money in drugs.”
He looked at his watch, which she realized was one of the new smart watches. She wondered if he was looking at text messages or something. He did seem to stare at it longer than necessary to check the time. Suddenly he looked up, folding his hands, and smiled. “What makes you think it was pharmaceuticals?”
She was getting tired of talking about Alan. She didn’t like how it was making Jason act either.
“I don’t know, something I heard his coworker say to him once. About an order of pills or something. Can we talk about something else?”
