The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series)

by Tami Anthony

  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.

  “It’s a great party,” I reply as I look over at his plate of food. “The yams were really good.”

  “Yeah, I love yams,” he tells me.

  “Me too,” I agree, nodding my head. OK, I’m not much of a genius here, but when a conversation goes straight to yams, that may be an indication that you have absolutely nothing to talk about besides yams. As great as Carter is as eye candy, I don’t know if we have anything to socially discuss … or maybe my nerves are getting the best of me. Is it hot in here or is it just me?

  Carter looks at the television screen and laughs. “Oh, I love this movie,” he says to me. “I used to watch this every Christmas when I was a kid.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” he answers. “I even tried licking a frozen flagpole when I was ten and let’s just say
that the movie’s pretty accurate when it comes to that part. My tongue was stuck for two hours before someone came to help me.” I laugh at his story. “I couldn’t taste food for weeks after that.”

  “Is that freezer burn of the mouth?” I ask.

  “It might be,” he ponders. “I don’t know if they’ve come up with a name for stupidity like that.”

  “Maybe people can call it ‘The Carter,’” I suggest.

  “No, they can’t because I didn’t do it first.”

  “True,” He’s funny in a corny sort of way. It’s refreshing to see that he’s not just another hot guy in a suit (even though hot guys in suits aren’t bad to gawk at). Carter actually has a bit of a witty personality. He would be perfect in my clientele list!

  “So, Leslee,” Carter starts, “what do you do?”

  “Besides avoiding flagpoles?” I ask and he laughs. “I’m a matchmaker.”

  “Oh, interesting,” he says. “So is it just divorcees and widows that you work with? Little people and crossdressers?”

  I laugh. “No, I work with all types of people,” I answer. “Everyone is deserving of love no matter what or who they are.” I reach over to the coffee table for my purse, pull out a business card, and hand it to him. “This is my company,” I tell him. “We help everyone find their soulmate so they can live happily ever after.”

  “Is it a good business?” he asks and I nod.

  “You’d be surprised at how busy it can be,” I answer. “No one wants to be alone for the holidays.”

  He ponders on my statement for a second. “That makes sense.”

  “Yeah, so if you or anyone you know needs a good match,” I tell him, “just pass them on to me.”

  Carter looks at the card then looks at me. “Well, I was thinking more along the lines of—”

  Ding! Ding! Ding! I hear a bell from the other room. A group of people along with Karen and Russ stumble into the living room, laughing. “It’s that time of year again!” Karen slurs as she pulls out mistletoe from behind her back. She hangs it over her and Russ’ heads and they kiss. Everyone claps. “Who’s the next lucky couple to kiss under the mistletoe?” Karen smiles as she scours the room. Her eyes then lock on Carter and me. I freeze.

  “No,” I say sternly.

  “Yes, yes, yes!” Karen replies as she walks over to the couch. She begins to dangle the mistletoe over me and Carter’s heads. “Kiss him, you bitch!” she yells. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Everyone begins to chant with Karen and I begin to shake my head. I know I’m blushing at this point. This is so embarrassing. I hate drunk people.

  Carter and I look at each other and nervously laugh. This just seems like peer pressure to me. Didn’t we learn in elementary school that peer pressure is bad? I can’t take this anymore. The chanting has to stop and there’s only one way to do that.

  I grab Carter’s head and press my lips onto his. I push away from him leaving him a little shocked. There’s silence in the room and all eyes are on Karen waiting for her to say something. She smiles. “Now that’s what I call a kiss!” she yells and everyone begins to clap. I now know that I’m blushing and a tad embarrassed at what I did. I just kissed a complete stranger in front of a room full of people. I grab my purse.

  “I have to get out of here,” I tell Carter as I rise from the couch. “It was nice meeting you.”

  “You’re leaving?” he asks.

  I have to think of something that’s not obvious. I don’t want it to seem that I’m leaving because I’m not much of a PDA type of person. “I, um, have another party to go to,” I tell him. “Perhaps I’ll see you at the wedding in two weeks?”

  “I’ll be there,” Carter says.

  “Great!” I say enthusiastically. “I’ll see you then,” I tell him and jet out of the living room and through the front door. Once I’m outside, I take a sigh of relief. Ah! There’s nothing worse in life than drunken friends who force you to kiss strangers, but thankfully the stranger wasn’t that bad. In fact, he wasn’t that bad at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Good morning, Lisa!” I greet my receptionist cheerfully as I walk into my office, latte in hand.

  “Morning, Leslee!” she says behind an exuberant red rose arrangement sitting on the receptionist desk. She stands up to show her face. “These came here today.”

  “Oh, they’re beautiful!” I gush and absorb the refreshing smell of the roses. I look at Lisa who’s holding a card. “So … are these from your fiancé?” I ask her and she laughs. “I didn’t know he was such a romantic!” I exclaim. “You better tell me what you did for him to send you flowers like this.” I begin to think. “Is it your birthday? Because if it is, I’m sorry that I forgot.”

  “Leslee, these aren’t my flowers,” she tells me, smiling. “They’re for you.”

  I begin to ponder for a moment. Who in the world would send me roses? Could they be from the crazy foot fetish guy? The convict? Eric? My mind starts spinning.

  “Dear Leslee,” Lisa starts reading the card. “It was a great pleasure meeting you the other night and I’d love to get to know you. You are beautiful and funny in every way and I’d be honored to take you to dinner. I yearn to see that vibrant smile of yours once more. Love, Carter.” Carter? I think to myself. He’s interested in me?

  “Hmm …” I begin to think. I look at the roses again. These are some nice roses he picked out. Should I call him, thank him, and go out with him? How come I didn’t see this coming?

  Lisa hands me the roses. “I’m sure you’ll want to put these in your office,” she says smiling. “So I guess the real question is ‘who is Carter and what in the world did you do for him to send you flowers like this?”’

  “I don’t really know,” I tell her. “We met at a party, we had a short conversation, we kissed under some mistletoe—”

  “Whoa, you kissed him?!” Lisa asks and I nod my head.

  “It really wasn’t a big deal,” I declare and Lisa smirks. “It was peer pressure!”

  “Sure it was.” Lisa is not buying it. I don’t even know if I’ve fully convinced myself that it was just a kiss. It wasn’t a bad kiss. It actually was a good kiss even though his breath tasted like yams, but to be fair that could’ve been my breath, too.

  I pick up my roses and head into my private office. I shut the door and place the arrangement on my desk. I turn toward my filing cabinet, then turn back to look at the roses. They’re just sitting there on my desk, haunting me. I try to ignore them and the fact that Carter is even a tad bit interested in me. What does he even see in a woman like me? I’m not reserved like him, I’m clumsy, sometimes too outgoing, I come from a crazy middle-class family and he’s obviously upper-class status, Mr. Boss and all. Could he even handle a woman like me? I sigh. Pick up the phone! I think to myself. Call him! At least thank him for the roses. I plop in my desk chair, pick up the phone, and dial the phone number on the card.

  “Carter Duvall’s office,” the secretary chimes on the other end of the phone.

  “Uh, yes,” I stutter trying to regain a sense of composure. “Is Mr. Duvall available at the moment?”

  “He’s actually in a meeting right now,” she tells me. “Would you like to leave him a message?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Can you tell him that Leslee Robinson called?”

  “Oh, you’re Leslee?” she asks cheerfully. “Did you like the roses? I assisted Mr. Duvall in choosing the perfect arrangement for you.”

  “Yes, they’re beautiful,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “Mr. Duvall is a wonderful man,” she tells me. “He’s very involved in his work and he’s very successful.”

  “It seems so.”

  “He said so many wonderful things about you.”

  “Really?” I asked, confused. It wasn’t like our conversation at the party was a long one.

  “I’ve never heard him speak so highly of a woman before let alone date anyone,” she says. “He was really happy to talk about you.”
r />   “Is that so?” I begin to smile.

  “You know what? Let me check and see if he’s in his office,” the secretary tells me. “I usually tell people he’s in a meeting, but nine times out of ten, that’s not true. It’s just our strategic little way of screening his calls. One moment, OK?”

  “Um, OK,” I reply uneasily as she puts me on hold. I wonder if his secretary assisted him with the card, too. Of course a woman would know what another woman wants to hear. In a sense, he kind of cheated in winning me over.

  “Leslee?” Carter says on the other end of the phone. “It’s Carter. How are you doing?”

  “I’m well, thank you,” I say politely. “Thank you for the roses, too. They really made my day.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” he replies. “I’m glad you like them.”

  “Yeah,” I laugh. “Your secretary did a great job picking them out,” I say jokingly. He laughs.

  “You caught me,” Carter says. “Flowers aren’t my area of expertise.”

  “No worries,” I reassure him. “They are gorgeous and they are sitting on my desk as we speak.”

  “Listen,” he starts, “I have these tickets to the Nutcracker for tomorrow and I wanted to know if you’d like to accompany me to the show.”

  I pause. I never seen the Nutcracker before, then again I was never interested in going. It’d be something new to experience, I guess. Carter would be a new experience for me altogether. Victor never took me to something as cultured as the Nutcracker. It was always dinner and clubs. I should try new things with new people. That’s what I always tell my clients so I should be doing the same, right?

  “I would love to go with you,” I answer. “What time?”

  “Well, it starts at eight, so I figure we can have dinner before then,” he tells me. “Can I pick you up at six?”