Year of the Chick

by Romi Moondi

  He laughed. “Not the second part! I love that there aren’t any stuck-up bitches here. You know the ones who never give you the time of day? Those girls don’t go to ‘rock bars’ and I love that.”

  “Well I’ve never been a fan of stuck-up bitches either, so I guess we’re both winners!” I smiled and looked away but he wasn’t finished.

  “Do you know what I ALSO love?”

  “Uhh...no.”

  “I love that you’re funny...and different.”

  Wow, this guy is spreading it on thick.

  As the song faded out a slower one started up. I didn’t know this one, and while it still had a rocky feel, the guys and girls were moving into slow-dance position.

  That’s when Andrew took me by surprise, suddenly slipping his arms around my waist. He pulled me close and looked me dead in the eyes.

  The second he touched me, alarm bells sounded in my head and they all screamed “James!”

  I couldn’t attribute my fear to any form of logic. It was only a dance, I’d never met James, and I didn’t even know how much he liked me.

  Despite all absence of logic the dance felt wrong.

  I pulled away but that didn’t make it any better. All I could see was Andrew’s mouth heading straight towards mine. I turned my face just in time for his lips (and tongue!) to smack my cheek.

  In his shock at the rejected kiss he released me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I’m not really here for that tonight. Just dancing and having fun.” I slowly cast my eyes up towards him, and he didn’t look very impressed.

  “That’s not a problem at all. This town is full of teases. I just didn’t think you were one of them.”

  Before I could finish gasping he was already walking away. So he thinks I’m a tease, big deal. As if I’m not allowed to dance without sucking someone’s face? I have rights!

  Eleanor arrived at the perfect time, as the voices in my head were getting louder.

  “Did you finally get rid of those losers?” I said. I laughed at the thought of those cretins, but stopped when I noticed new people right behind her.

  “Yeah, they’re gone. So Romes...I just ran into a couple friends. You know Lucy already.” We exchanged standard smiles and hellos.

  “And this is my friend Arjun.” Eleanor stepped aside as he approached, this full-fledged Indian man.

  He flashed a friendly smile and started talking. “Hey there, Eleanor’s told me a bit about you.” He didn’t have an accent at all, but I could sense that he was here for a reason.

  What’s going on?

  “Romes, I need to help Lucy scope out some guys. Why don’t you two get a drink before last call?” She walked away with a wink, and before I knew it Arjun was leading me to the bar.

  This time I did need a drink, so I sipped it hard as he told me about his job in the city. He was nice, with a good sense of humour too.

  Nevertheless, I fumed at the thought of being set up with a guy, any guy, when Eleanor knew damn well I was already “occupied.” And why an Indian guy? Eleanor had at least six white friends who were cool and single. So why did she run for the first spicy man she could find?

  Maybe she’s trying to arrange me, just like my parents.

  I excused myself in a quiet rage, heading straight towards Eleanor and Lucy.

  I grabbed Eleanor by the shoulder and spun her around.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” I yelled. I wasn’t sure if she could hear me over the music, but her lip-reading skills would fill the gap.

  “What are you talking about? Don’t you like Arjun? You guys would be perfect together!” She smiled her warmest smile. As if that would make a difference.

  “Oh I see, he’s perfect because we have the same coloured skin? Because we’re from the same culture? Is THAT your view then? Cultures shouldn’t mix? Then why are we even friends?!”

  Eleanor’s face rearranged into an angry expression. “That’s not what I was trying to do! He has the same sarcastic humour as you, I thought you guys would hit it off!”

  “And that’s the other thing! Who are YOU to go around setting me up, when you know what’s going on with me and James!”

  “Oh THAT? Well actually I have no idea what’s going on with you and James. Does HE even know? And believe me I’m rooting for you, but he is not your boyfriend. He’s not anything to you until you meet. YOU NEED TO ACCEPT THAT!”

  Wow, low blow.

  I heard myself growl, an actual, audible growl, as I contemplated slapping her across the face. Or maybe I could take someone’s glass and smash it against her head.

  So how did my night go from “living in the moment” to THIS?

  Chapter Seventeen

  I awoke to find half my body hanging off the side of the bed, arms dangling freely like a corpse.

  What time is it?

  It was barely even eleven a.m. Way too early to deal with the day.

  I turned the other way to find my pudgy cat Tommy sitting on my pillow. He looked angry.

  “Hey precious, did anyone give you breakfast?” My words only came out in a whisper, as I’d clearly lost my voice from the night before.

  His angry expression changed to widened eyes and a desperate meow.

  After two stumbling attempts, I rose from my bed and in an instant my head started throbbing.

  Here comes the hangover.

  My stomach felt rotted and empty, but the simple thought of food set my vomiting cylinders in motion.

  Whatever was churning inside I managed to send it back down, as I slowly made my way to the basement. I grabbed Tommy’s food dish and started to remember the events from the night before.

  Blue T-shirt guy, feeling guilty for being an “almost-’ho,” El trying to arrange me with her Indian friend...oh yeah, THAT.

  I poured some kibbles into Tommy’s bowl, as my emotional thermometer started rising. That bitch is just as bad as my parents. There was so much more I could’ve said to her last night, but all I could do was storm right out of the club. I remembered Amy and her boyfriend trying to stop me, but I almost knocked them over as I darted for the exit.

  I also remembered the eighty-five dollar cab ride home, which could have been avoided if I’d slept over at Eleanor’s like I’d planned. On the other hand, eighty-five dollars so I didn’t have to see her face? Worth it.

  The only thing I remembered after that, was stumbling into the house at three a.m.

  I looked myself up and down.

  At least I’d somehow managed to put on my pajamas.

  I dragged myself up the stairs and back into bed. I was not going to deal with Eleanor today, but my parents would be home in a few hours. This only left me two more hours to rest, before I’d have to scrub off all the booze that was encrusted on my skin. So I drifted, all the way past drooly land, into the valley of slow rhythmic breathing, and right up to the doorstep of vivid dreams.

  But then I remembered my car. My car that was sitting abandoned in the train station parking lot.

  Dammit.

  ***

  By four o’ clock my parents were comfortably home with their cups of tea in hand, and the television spewing out their favourite Indian soap opera. As for my car it was safely in the driveway now, but only after a twenty-dollar payment to my younger brother, since I’d forced him to crawl out of bed and drive me to the station.

  Sitting in my room (and perfectly able to hear that goddamn Indian show), I cranked up the music on my laptop. A moment later I turned my attention to a script, an edited script that James had allowed me to preview. I was so excited to read the words that defined his biggest passion. I sank my teeth into page after page, captivated by every engrossing description.

  His story was a tale of true love mixed with harsh realities; from social-class divide, to conflicting ambitions, to years apart, this script made the online thing seem easy.

  Two hours later I sent him my reaction with some special encouragement. This script was going to be
his worldwide breakthrough. It felt so good to know that, but even better to tell him in my very own words.

  On the slightly negative side, he still hadn’t mentioned anything personal in his e-mails of late. I didn’t want to be greedy, as I very much appreciated the writing talk…but is that all we’d be from now on?

  What about the flirting? And what about his visit to Canada?

  ***

  I zipped in and out of the aisles of the liquor store, my eyes darting back and forth the entire time. Someone might’ve thought I was nervously preparing to rob the place, but my eyes were only darting to keep a close eye out for Indian people. Or Indian men to be exact, since Indian women weren’t supposed to drink, and therefore wouldn’t ever be seen in the aisles of a liquor store.

  Which of course meant that neither should I.

  Yet here I was, looking for the perfect bottle of wine for Jayla’s engagement party. Yes, my now-engaged rebellious Indian friend living in Australia was back in Canada for her party.

  And she needed the perfect wine.

  I tried to concentrate on wine labels, but I still couldn’t fathom that Jayla was even in the country. She’d announced her engagement in an e-mail seven months ago, and since then I’d gone from dead inside, to hopeless, to intrigued, to infatuated, to happy, to in love, to frustrated, to angry, and now to worried. Seven out of nine were attributed to James.

  A lot had happened and she didn’t even know a thing about it. But in under an hour, I would get to know a lot about her. Her man, her ring, and her halo of happiness. If only I could introduce her to a man of my own: “Hey, do you mind logging into Facebook for a sec?” Right.

  I eventually found a reasonably-priced bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, straight from the vineyards of Chile. To be honest I didn’t know shit about wine, but a “friend of a friend” had brought it to a party once, so I was sold.

  I paid for the bottle and grabbed it in one fluid motion, excited to have made it through my liquor store visit without any Indian contact.

  And that’s when I bumped into an Indian spy.

  By “Indian” I meant he even wore a turban, just like my father once had. He stepped aside to let me pass, but not before eyeing the following: me, the bottle, then me once again. He may have even shaken his head in disapproval, but I didn’t wait around to find out for sure. How could I? Any longer and his brain would scan my face through his “Indian facial recognition program.” The last thing I needed was this man to find out who I was, so he could go and tell my dad that I had broken “prohibition for women.”

  I unlocked my car and hurried in, to save myself from any further judgment by the Indian look-outs. Carefully placing the bottle in the passenger’s seat, I referred to Jayla’s e-mail print-out, complete with the directions to her parents’ house.

  It wouldn’t take long to arrive at her house by five o’ clock on a Saturday. And all I had to do was be home by eleven. I was actually surprised by the generous curfew, but I suppose it had to do with Jayla being Indian. Not to mention that her parents would be there to chaperone.

  Of course I didn’t feel the need to tell my parents she was marrying a white guy, or that her mother was a lover of the wine.

  Details, details...

  ***

  I turned the corner to Jayla’s street with my mouth gaping open. It was mansion after mansion, with manicured lawns expertly maintained, and a three-garage minimum standard.

  As for Jayla’s home it did not disappoint. Four garages and a lawn complete with beautiful shrubbery.

  And is that their Benz in the driveway?

  I was shocked by the wealth of her parents. I’d worked with her every day for two whole years, and she’d never even mentioned it once.

  I approached the huge double-doors with the heavy bronze-plated knocker. Or maybe it was pure bronze, what the hell did I know? Tapping it three times, I stood there and nervously waited.

  No one came.

  There were cars parked all along the street. Maybe it was hectic inside and no one could hear me.

  I banged it again with double the force, and finally the door opened.

  “DUDE!” she screamed.

  It was Jayla, in a spaghetti-strap floral-printed dress, perfect for this warm autumn day which was more like the last bits of summer. And the jet-black hair draping down to her elbows? Well that was perfect too.

  We suffocated each other in a hug, finally stopping for a breath ten seconds later.

  “You look amazing!” I exclaimed.

  “So do you Romes! I’m LOVING the pink lacey top, you’re so much girlier than I remember!”

  Did I used to dress like a man?

  She grabbed the bottle of wine from my hands, a motion that put her engagement ring into the spotlight. It was a beautiful rock, raised on a pedestal and sitting on a platinum band, which itself was adorned with six mini diamonds. Yet another perfect thing.

  “Oh and by the way, why didn’t you ring the doorbell? When I walked by I thought someone was breaking down the door!” She snorted. “Loser.”

  Oops. I shrugged my shoulders. “So listen, I have a question. Since when are you SUPER rich?”

  Jayla shook her head. “I’M not rich. I live in Sydney where I only buy things on sale...but my parents? They do alright.” She winked and led me down the hall.

  I walked through the enormous kitchen, which was all about the huge marble countertops. Meanwhile I smiled at the various strangers who were picking out their appetizers. A bunch of them were older and probably relatives, but there was also at least a dozen party-goers closer to my age. They might have been Jayla’s high school friends or university pals, but all in all they were a glowing and attractive bunch.

  Jayla stopped at the patio door which led to a beautiful yard, complete with a deck, gazebo, and multiple lounge chairs surrounding a man-made pond. At least twenty people were already milling about, strolling through the yard and enjoying champagne.

  Suddenly she steered me by the shoulders, and back in the direction of the appetizers. “Go eat some food, mingle with Laura and her SEXY boyfriend, and we’ll catch up later for a serious session. I just have to go downstairs and help the men.” She rolled her eyes. “Translation: my dad and Adrian can’t figure out how to unhook the speakers. We need some tunes outside dude!” She laughed and skipped down the stairs.

  Laura’s already here? Laura and DAVE?

  I’d been hearing about “gym-boy” for almost two months now, but had yet to finally meet him for myself. By now he was more than just a gym-boy, as Dave and Laura had been spending nearly all their extra time together. Coffees, dinners, romantic summer walks in the city, they’d been inseparable.

  I couldn’t spot them in the yard, so I grabbed a plate and filled it with appetizers. I chose vegetables, chicken kebab, and a spring roll. It’s not THAT unhealthy. Next I grabbed a glass of champagne from a tuxedo-vested man serving drinks.

  Dressed up servers and champagne? Do I even belong here?

  With hands full I carefully made my way outside, bumping into an Indian granny as I did. The granny patted me on the shoulder, nodding and saying “Ohh!”

  I had no idea who she was but I returned the smile, since I of course was a part of this wider clan. The Indian tribe.

  I walked around the yard a bit, listening to people rave about the food or each others’ clothes. Eventually I settled in a chair by a trickling fountain. The sound of the water in conjunction with the singing birds, the warming sun, and smell of flowers were altogether overwhelming. I closed my eyes to soak it all in.

  “Well hello there.”

  My eyes quickly opened, and standing above me was Laura in a loose brown halter top, beaded coral necklace and washed-out jeans. She looked earthy, tanned, and...the hell with Laura, what about this hottie with his arm around her waist?

  He offered his hand and a smile. “Hi, you must be Romi. I’m Dave.”

  I put down my glass and stood to shake his
hand. I’d seen pictures of him, but the two-dimensional version didn’t do a thing for the original. He was muscular and tanned with a shaved head, perfect teeth, and the sort of cologne that made me feel like dropping these already low-rise jeans. He wasn’t that tall mind you, but the perfect height for my little Laura. Like a big brown bear hovering over Goldilocks.

  Her perfect boyfriend...and I’m so damn jealous.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. “I like your shirt.” Wow, what a loser thing to say.

  “Yeah...thanks. Hey Laur, do you want another drink?”

  “Thank you, I would love another drink. A vodka and---”

  “Cranberry. Yeah, I remember.” He smiled at her and walked away.

  Laura took a seat in the lounge chair next to mine. “So...what do you think?”

  “Well I love that he calls you ‘Laur,’ and I’ll take him once you’re done. PLEASE?”

  I laughed but it was hard to mask my own troubled yearning. I was feeling like the odd one out in this garden party of love.

  Laura sighed. “I still don’t even know where he came from. How he randomly fell into my lap. I’d never even used a leg-press before! But I went for the machine, and so did he at the exact same second!”

  “Well yay for leg-press machines!” I chugged back the glass of champagne, drowning my envy in the fizzling yellow bubbles.

  “It just goes to show Romes, accidents do happen with a purpose. And that’s why they call it fate.” She smiled as I stared at my empty glass.

  How inspiring, now where is Mr. Tuxedo and that tray of bubbly?

  Dave returned carrying three fresh drinks in his colossal hands, including more champagne for me. Well this guy keeps getting more and more perfect.

  We ate and drank and talked and laughed. I was emotionally removed from the experience, but mesmerized by his dazzling smile. His moving mouth on that three-dimensional head which was only two feet away…it was a fascinating concept.

  Out of nowhere my ears flooded over with Indian music.

  “I guess the speakers are all hooked up now. Does that mean Adrian’s here?” I craned my neck and looked around, but all I could see was a yard packed with up to fifty people by now. Much like Dave, Adrian was a total hottie in pictures. But would his in-person presence drive me insane as well? I was hoping so, as eye-candy was all I had going for me tonight.