The Perfect Find

by Tia Williams

  How could that innocent, sweet boy turn into the person who lived in her lustiest fantasies? Feeling pedophile-ish, Jenna smiled politely. “Precious.”

  “It’s like he was in second grade five minutes ago. I still see him as a child.” She eyed Jenna. “No doubt you do, too.”

  Jenna nodded rapidly. “I do. Spilling wine on me at that wedding. That’s how I see him.”

  “Right,” said Darcy dryly. “You know, Eric was always popular growing up. Apparently he’s fun to be around. I get why you enjoy him.”

  “Well, everyone does.” Jenna was sweating.

  “His father was fun to be around, too. Talented, but wasted it. I worry that he’ll end up like Otis. Sure, Eric had college success, but he’s in the real world now. And his life choices are so foreign to me. His film? If I were trying to break into festivals I’d find out who was on the board and suck and fuck until their dicks were too hard not to let me in. I’d have hustled everyone I knew for cash to hire the hungriest publicist. I would’ve dropped a MAC truck on the competition. All that matters is the end game.”

  “He’s serious about his artistic integrity, Darcy,” she said. “I doubt that sucking and fucking are on his agenda.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, Homecoming Queen. When you grow up with nothing, integrity gets you nowhere. Do you know how gothic my childhood was? When my dad caught me drinking at fourteen, he sent me to this off-the-grid Catholic reform school for a summer. The nuns ran the place like a lesbian S&M porn horror show,” she said calmly. “When he found out I was pregnant, they shipped me back, and the nuns tried to beat Eric out of me. And when I managed to run away, I came home to no home. My family was gone, no return address. I had Eric to spite them. My life was fucked, but I grinded to make opportunities for myself. Eric’s life is golden, but he behaves like he’s starting from nothing. He grew up with the children of movie execs. Why won’t he reach out to them? His mother could pay off those board members. I have no patience for his integrity.”

  “I had no idea your childhood was so tough.” Jenna struggled to find an appropriate response. “And I’m sure it must’ve been really hard for you raising Eric, having to be the mom and the dad.”

  “I never thought of it like that.” Darcy pushed away her plate. “I was the father figure working my ass off to provide. But I didn’t have a wife, so Eric raised himself.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He was so self-reliant. Why pay for nannies when your kid knows how to use your ATM card to catch a cab home from school, order takeout from Serafina’s, and then finish his homework and put his own self to bed? It taught him to be resourceful, that no one saves anyone else in this world. You’ve only got you.” She took another sip of wine and raised an arched brow at Jenna, daring her to judge her.

  “Oh,” said Jenna, quietly horrified.

  “You should see your face,” Darcy said, chuckling. “You know, powerful men spend fourteen hours a day lying, cheating, stealing, raping, pillaging—doing whatever it takes to win. Ever asked Brian how he got so rich, so fast? I bet he’d have an interesting answer. Men like him are considered heroes. They’re applauded for it. No one expects them to join the PTA, or chaperone field trips, or have Snickerdoodles waiting on the table after school. I built my company from the ground up. I sit in rooms with VP’s from Yahoo and YouTube—me, the tiniest woman on Earth—and since my cock is bigger than all of theirs, I leave with every dollar in their wallets. Where’s my applause? I don’t get any. Because I’m a mother, I get you looking at me like I should be burned at the stake.”

  “I don’t think that.”

  “Sure.” Darcy smiled. “You know, I had a mom who knelt on the floor in her room, praying to God, while my dad tried to give me an abortion by pouring mineral oil down my throat. Eric has a mom who broke her back to give him a life full of opportunities. His lips should be glued to my ass, every day.”

  “I’m sure he appreciates you,” said Jenna, carefully.

  “No, he idolizes his dead, deadbeat dad. Ain’t that some shit.” She threw her shoulders back. “I’m only hard on Eric because I want him to be tough. Cutthroat. Like we were, at that age.”

  Jenna chuckled at the ridiculousness of this. “I was never cutthroat.”

  “No?” She laughed. “Of course you were. We’re black women in fashion. We’re work in an industry that either thinks we’re invisible, or ghetto savages who don’t know the difference between a peplum and a perineum. Where entry-level PR cunts mistake us for dressers backstage at the shows. Where we have to dress better, write better, and schmooze better than Becky just to be taken seriously.”

  “I didn’t get to where I got by being cuthroat,” said Jenna. “I worked hard and I was ambitious. But looking back, I can see that I was charmed. A lot of our peers worked hard but weren’t as lucky. The career, my personal life. It all seemed…ordained. Like it could never fall apart. What I wouldn’t give for the clueless self-confidence I had at twenty-six.”

  “Is this the clueless self-confidence that empowered you to steal the Bazaar job from me?” Darcy asked, with slight amusement.

  “They hired me after you got fired for selling borrowed Gucci pieces to Barneys. Everyone knows it.”

  “Lies. But it didn’t matter, because then I was banished from editorial. I had to start my career all over on the business side, selling ads. Wearing Theory slacks and taking corporate meetings with tampon brands.”

  “Where you made history. The first black publisher of Seventeen, and the youngest.”

  “It’s not what I wanted. I wanted to be a creative. Like you.” Darcy took a sip of her wine. “Anyway, I got everything I wanted in the end. I always do. And I’m truly pleased with what you’ve done at StyleZine. Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” said Jenna, clinking her water glass with her Pinot Noir glass.

  “Being a mother makes my teeth hurt,” said Darcy, apropos of nothing. “Did you ever think about having kids?”

  Jenna didn’t know if it was the stress of being confronted about Eric, or the idea that for the first time, Darcy seemed like a real person. But in a move she’d regret forever, she let her guard down.

  “I did.” Under the table, she ran a hand over her tummy, an unconscious move she did often. The skin there was taut: no stretch marks, no post-pregnancy loose skin. How she would’ve killed for both. “All I ever wanted was for me and Brian to be married, and be parents. I thought he did, too, but things…changed.”

  “Brian motherfucking Stein,” said Darcy, tisking. “I remember when he proposed! He changed his mind? See, this is why a bitch like me keeps a few goons on the payroll. I’d have had him jumped outside one of his high rises.”

  Jenna smiled, humorlessly. Had she really just spilled one of the most excruciating parts of her past to Darcy Vale? She wielded insider information like a machete. Certain it would come back to bite her, Jenna took a sip of water and searched for ways to change the subject.

  As their waitress plunked the check down on the table, Jenna said, “Thank you for lunch, Darcy. It’s been illuminating.”

  “It’s not over,” said Darcy, pulling her card out of her wallet. “I asked you to lunch for two reasons. First, to give you talking points for my New York magazine interview. Stay on message, which is that, under my direct guidance, we’re singlehandedly responsible for breathing new life into the street style genre and revolutionizing fashion ecommerce.”

  Direct guidance? Inside, Jenna was raging. Darcy had nothing to do with their success!

  “The other reason?” she asked.

  “My son has a crush on you.”

  “No, Eric’s way too professional to…”

  “Don’t embarrass yourself, sunshine. You know he does,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I’m all for you being a mentor, giving him advice. But the ki-ki’ing will stop. He’s a distraction, and I need you present. Plus,” she said, “you know how guys his age are. The slightest bit of encouragement; they fal
l in love. Don’t give him any hope. Because then he’ll have a broken heart, and The Perfect Find will be compromised—and if you thought 1996 was bad between us, 2012 will blow your wig off. We clear?”

  Jenna was clear. Darcy noted her closeness to her son, didn’t like it—and without even knowing the half of how inappropriate their relationship was, she wanted it to stop.

  Jenna looked Darcy in her eyes, thinking, in seven hours and forty-one minutes I will be exactly where I’m dying to be: velcroed to your kid. No one will deny me this—the least of all you, you mean girl midget. Fuck you if you think I’m staying away from him.

  Jenna favored her boss with her brightest smile. “I hear you, Darcy. Loud and crystal clear.”

  www.stylezine.com

  Just Jenna: Style Secrets from our Intrepid Glambassador!

  Q: “I’m going on a first date with this OKCupid dude, and I don’t know what to wear. We’ve been sexting for a month, so I’m almost certain I’m going to sleep with him. What do I wear that communicates that I’m all for the first date lay, but I’m not a slut?—@LadyBlahBlah1985

  A: First of all, kudos to you for finding a guy on OKCupid. (I shuffled through my girlfriend’s account once, and was traumatized by the pics of shirtless “brand managers” posing in state school baseball caps in front of bad cars). You’re right to nix the hooker getup. On a he’ll-be-having-me-for-dessert first date, it’s more about the scorching hot details that might not be obvious to him. What’s happening under your clothes. You could go sophisticated in a wrap dress, or more casual in jeans and a slinky tee—doesn’t matter. Because what he’ll remember is that you weren’t wearing a bra. Or that later, he discovered you had on a garter belt. If he’s already well aware he’s bone-bound—make him sweat all dinner long, dying to peel your layers.

  For naughty date underthings that’ll bring him to his knees, head over to Yandy.com!

  CHAPTER 18

  Jenna walked into Home at exactly 8:03, and realized she’d been there in two of its former incarnations. In the Nineties it was a gay disco called Oliver’s, in the 2000s it was a hip-hop lounge called Fluid, and now it was a so-cool-that-only-the-coolest-had-heard-of-it underground sushi bar. It was amazing-looking. In fact, Home was only look—there weren’t enough stools or liquor options for it to be consid-ered a proper bar, and it only sold sushi downstairs (which only had five tabletops). The only lights were raw red light bulbs hanging from the industrial ceiling, and the deejay was spinning early Nineties hip-hop.

  Jenna made her way through the space, which was flush with artsy-looking cool kids in all their indie/street finery—and scanned the bar for him. For the first time since she’d returned to New York, she didn’t feel too old for the room. All she felt was electric anticipation.

  Eric was somewhere in there; somewhere close. She’d already gone through the stages of disbelief that she was actually going through with this and decided, for tonight, to ignore the red flags. Eric was right. The universe had placed them in front of each other for a reason, and it was their job to figure out why. She’d be damned if she’d been through hell to finally find this kindred spirit and then turn her back on him.

  Jenna Jones

  iMessages

  October 2, 2012, 8:06 PM

  Eric: Where are you?

  Jenna: I’m here! Where are you?

  Eric: Here.

  Jenna: Where?

  Eric: I see you. You’re so gorgeous. Turn around.

  She did. He was standing behind her, his expression brighter than Christmas morning.

  For a second, Jenna felt awkward. She’d been anticipating this moment, and now she didn’t know how to greet him. Should she kiss him on the cheek? Shake his hand? Give him a pound? But then something else took over and she did exactly what she felt. Jenna flew into his arms so forcefully that they stumbled backwards against the wall. And they stayed there, hugging like they might never see each other again. They were smashed against each other, every part of their bodies crushed together. Eric’s face was buried in Jenna’s hair, and she was on her tiptoes, her arms wrapped so tightly around his neck she was almost choking him. It was sensory overload.

  “You smell so good it’s stupid,” he groaned.

  “You have like zero percent body fat!” She ran her hands up and down his V-shaped back. “Do you work out?”

  “No. Yeah? Is basketball working out? Whatever. You’re not wearing a bra.”

  “It didn’t go with this shirt.”

  “How am I supposed to focus if you’re not wearing a bra?”

  “Do you have a six pack? It feels like you have a six pack!”

  “If you think I do, we can run with that.”

  Eric squeezed Jenna tighter, lifting her off her feet. Had anything ever felt better? She let out a tiny, satisfied sigh. “Sexiest sound ever,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “Eric,” she whispered, lightheaded.

  “What?”

  “We should probably let go.”

  “No,” he murmured.

  “We have to. This a little embarrassing.”

  “Okay.”

  They pulled apart, so that they were still holding each other, but not in a death grip.

  “We’re not,” breathed Jenna, “just going to jump in bed.”

  “Then stop looking at me like that. Or we won’t last two minutes in here.”

  “We went out on a limb to do this, so let’s have a proper date.”

  “Absolutely. Dinner. Conversation.” He kissed her nose. “And then bed.”

  “Seriously! Let’s do this right.”

  He let go of her. “Let me look at you.”

  Since she was going to the Lower East Side, Jenna decided to channel mid-80’s Madonna (“Desperately Seeking Jenna”): stretchy black skirt; short, black off-the-shoulder sweater; and studded booties.

  “God, Jenna.”

  She beamed at him.

  “It’s almost like now that you’re in front of me, I don’t know what to do with you.”

  “I doubt that very seriously,” she said. They decided to skip having a drink at the upstairs bar, and go straight downstairs to the restaurant, where it was quieter. Really, they just wanted to sit down and get as close as they could to each other.

  Eric grabbed Jenna’s hand—it was easy, natural, like they’d done it a million times—and led her down the stairs. On the way down, he gave two girls hugs, said, “Wassup” to their boyfriends, and introduced them all to Jenna. The girls recognized her and were impressed in an aloof, New York-y way.

  Downstairs was the same design, but smaller and darker, lit only by the same raw red light bulbs. There were only a handful of tables, all overpopulated—but one was empty. Eric whispered something to the half-naked hostess and then walked Jenna over to their table. They moved their chairs so they were inches apart, and then sat down. Giddy with closeness, Jenna and Eric held hands on top of the table, just because they finally could.

  A purple-lipsticked waitress delivered shots to their table. They clinked them together and downed them. And then Jenna signaled her to bring another round.

  Eric looked at her with amusement. “Already?”

  “I need to be tipsy. I’m a little nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s me and you. On a date. What do we do now?”

  “I get what you’re saying. It is mad weird. Nothing happened in order. Like, we met, hooked up, you said I was your boyfriend, then you hated me, then we became friends, and now we’re on our first date.”

  “Precisely!”

  Shyly, Jenna looked down at her hand in his. She couldn’t believe that she’d fallen this hard for him. They’d only known each other a month, and he was a baby. But when she was in his arms upstairs, she knew she belonged there. And in this corner with him, she felt more herself than she had in ages. Their situation was bonkers, but their thing? It was real.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

&
nbsp; “Were you telling the truth about never having been in love?

  Just hearty like?”

  “That’s a trap. No woman ever wants to hear about her man being in love with anyone else.”

  “Who says you’re my man?”

  Eric gazed at her for a beat, and then slid his hand behind her neck. He leaned over as if to kiss her, but then pulled her head back, and planted one on the base of her throat. Jenna melted.

  “Tell me I’m not,” he said, low, into her ear.

  “We’ll see,” she said. With a saucy smile, she pulled his hand off of her hair and, on the way down, let it graze one of her braless nipples. She dropped his hand on the table.

  “You’re killing me,” said Eric.

  “Back to my question,” she said. “Have you ever been in love?”

  “I never said it out loud, but a couple of times I thought I was.

  But now I know I wasn’t.”

  “Slick.”

  “Not slick. Real,” he said. “I answered you with complete honesty! Respect my vulnerability.”

  She smiled. “I respect it. I’m just not used to a man saying exactly how he feels.”

  “I don’t know how else to be,” he said, and Jenna believed him. “Hey,” she said. “This might be weird, but I brought you something. It’s really small and I know your birthday isn’t for another month, but…”

  “You brought me a first date gift? I didn’t know we were doing this!”

  “No, I was unpacking boxes and found something I knew you’d like. Something old.”

  She handed him a gift bag, and he looked inside.

  “Jenna,” he whispered, his mouth dropping open. At the bottom of the bag, he saw a boxy, obviously decades-old Polaroid. “It’s a Polaroid ‘Impulse,’” said Jenna. “From 1989. The film isn’t made anymore, but there’s some left in the camera.”

  “I knew it was an Impulse! I’m a camera tech geek! Yo, I think this is the best day of my life.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Jesus, who is this woman?”