“Well,” Lara says, setting her BlackBerry down, “odds seem to be against us in some ways. Oh for two with Emily’s man, Robin’s the only preggers one here…”
“Oh!” Robin exclaims. She takes the last bite of her cupcake and licks her index finger clean of frosting. “Back to that, Emily. Bobby and I finally got you that date I’ve been talking about.”
“You had to twist his arm or something?” I say with a laugh. “He sounds promising already.”
“No, what I mean is that we agreed he’s really the best match,” she explains. “We had a couple men we thought might work, and since I’ve got one chance in this Operation Blind Date, I didn’t want to waste it. I wanted to pick the best guy. So…”
“Is he hot?” Jackie gets straight to the details.
“He is attractive,” Robin says. “He’s the tall, dark, and handsome type. Kind of a Prince Eric.”
I giggle. Leave it to Robin to reference Disney princes when it comes to describing men.
“Ooooh,” Claire coos. “So a Jon Hamm kind of thing going on?”
I furrow my brow and look at Claire. “Who?”
“Don’t you ever watch TV, Em?” Claire sighs dramatically. “Don. Don Draper.”
I look at her, deadpan.
“From Mad Men. Oh, Emily, you silly girl. How can you not watch Mad Men?”
“The AMC series,” Sophie says, catching my glazed expression.
“Claire,” I say, “I don’t even have cable, much less AMC, whatever that is.”
“Well, Prince Eric, Don Draper from Mad Men, same thing,” she says.
“You and Mad Men,” Jackie says with a roll of the eyes.
“Conner got me hooked,” Claire answers.
“Anyway,” Robin says with a clap to the table, the gold of her sparkling engagement ring making a pinging sound against the metal, “Prince Eric, if you will, is a very nice guy. He’s never been married, is definitely single, and when Bobby and I asked if he’d be interested in going out on a date with a well-traveled and stunning photographer,” she gives me a wink, “he said he’d love to!” She throws in, “We showed him a picture of you. He said you were really pretty, and he commented on your dreads.”
“Hey,” Jackie says rather loudly. “If he liked those dreads you used to have, then you’re golden.”
“Ha, ha.” I give Jackie a slight nudge. “This sounds good, Robin.”
“When’s the hot date?” Claire asks eagerly. She bounces slightly on her stool.
“He’s busy next weekend,” Robin says, “but the following weekend, if you’re free…”
I look to Sophie, not sure if I told her I’d lend a hand here then or not.
“Of course you’re free,” Sophie replies breezily. “I can push the schedule around if I need to. Get yourself a hot date!” She leaps from her barstool and saunters to the front of the café.
“And if Jaime doesn’t work out—” Robin says, “his name’s Jaime, by the way. Jaime Geeson. If Jaime doesn’t end up working out, then I’ve got something else exciting to share.”
“Engaged, a little boy on the way,” Lara says, “and more surprises, Robin?”
Robin smiles and says, “Exciting news for Emily.”
“Yeah?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
“I was looking through all of those stunning proposal pictures you took.” I nod quickly. “Saw your spread in your magazine about the summer music scene in Seattle, and those beautiful shots of the harbor, too.” Robin habitually runs a hand across her stomach in a circle. “Bobby and I don’t know why we haven’t thought of it sooner, but what would you think of us propositioning Forster & Banks for a coffee table book? Or a photo book or something like that for you? With some of your work?”
“Like a published piece?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I don’t know what the subject matter would be. God, you’ve been all over the planet and you shoot everything brilliantly.”
I feel myself flush and tell her she’s exaggerating.
“Whatever the subject matter,” she continues, “Bobby and I really think you’d have a great chance of getting a published piece through Forster & Banks. The house is always looking for local writers and artists.” She makes a clicking noise with her tongue, then says, “Don’t think we’ve done a photography book recently. But anyhow, that’s all the more reason to do one. I know we’ve done some in the past. Your work is fabulous, Em, and, with two ins at the house with myself and Bobby, I think you could definitely get an offer.”
I’m a bit gobsmacked. I’ve never imagined my work in print, as in a book. I’ve never even considered selling any of my photos, and I’ve been asked before. I’ve always just given a free copy of my work away if someone really wants it that badly. Aside from some freelance jobs or my gig at the magazine, I’ve never viewed my work as professional and something to be paid for.
“That’s—that’s,” I stutter. “That’s awesome. I would love that.”
“Bobby and I will see what we can do,” Robin says gaily. “I know our calendar is closed for the remainder of the year, but first quarter next year? Maybe second? You’re a shoo-in, my dear.”
“Wow,” I breathe out. A book of my work? A book with my name on it? Filled with my photos?
“Think about what you’d want to do. Portraits, nature, country-specific…” Robin reaches for another cupcake. “Hey, Sophie!” she calls over.
Sophie reappears with a fresh pot of tea and sets it on the table. “Refills if anyone likes,” she says, gesturing to the kettle.
“Do you have a box I can put this in?” Robin asks Sophie, holding up a cupcake. “I want to take some to Bobby.”
Sophie nods her head to her right, where a bakery-pink cardboard box rests atop the small table underneath the chalkboard. “I’ve filled a box for you already,” she says to Robin. “Even slipped in a Rose cupcake…for Rose.”
“You’re the best,” Robin says. She scoots back her cane-webbed chair and picks up her box of treats.
“Big day tomorrow, huh?” Robin asks, looking up at the chalkboard before her. It already has tomorrow morning’s long list of “to bake” items on it. The list is a long one, and I am so glad that Gatz is pulling the morning shift. I’m so excited about the possibility of putting together a coffee table book, I think I’ll be up late into the night poring over my photos, considering the plethora of subjects I can feature.
***
“He’s not cynical,” I say, sure of myself. “He’s a realist, and it comes out in his work. It makes his stories come alive.” I can feel my eyes grow wide.
Talking about Paul Theroux’s transplanting books is almost as thrilling as zipping through Bavaria on a high-speed ICE train. It’s like boarding that boat bound for the Galapagos or alighting at San Pedro station in Cusco after an exhausting and exhilarating travel to Machu Picchu. His travel accounts are just the thing I need when I’m getting the nomadic itch but have to stay put for a while longer. On the flip side, sometimes he describes his travels so perfectly that I’m ready to hand my passport to any border-entry officer I can find.
“I think he’s cynical,” Susie says. She closes her copy of The Great Railway Bazaar and looks at Ben, the book club “host” of the evening. “Your favorite book is written by a very embittered cynic, Ben.”
Someone two seats down from Susie, an older gentleman—apparently a regular, though I’ve never seen him in the few times I’ve made it to the monthly meetings—adds to Susie’s opinions. “I have to agree with Susie on this one, Ben. Mr. Theroux seems at odds with the world. He’s a stranger in strange lands, and it shows.” He rubs at his beard. “He has no care for insulting or making light of the people and the customs he encounters on his journey here.” He lifts up his copy of the book. “Absolutely no political correctness in this book, whatsoever.”
“If I may,” Ben interrupts, holding up two fingers. “We should commend his honesty, however brazen it may be. Archaic, even, but do
remember that this book was written decades ago.” Ben taps his tattered copy of The Great Railway Bazaar.
“Still not an excuse for poor manners,” Susie says gruffly.
“Agreed,” Ben says with a calmness that makes me break out into a grin. He’s been getting quite a bit of heat from almost everyone at the meeting tonight, and his favorite read of all time is getting a ribbing. He remains calm and responsive the entire time, nevertheless.
“The beautiful and almost lyrical words the author chooses,” Ben continues, leaning down onto his brown cord-clad knees, “however surly you may think he appears, are so perfectly woven throughout the story that you can’t help but be mesmerized.”
Ben hunkers further down in his position, casually flipping through the book’s pages. He withdraws his pair of Harry Potter-like reading glasses, slowing his paging pace.
“And his travels!” Ben suddenly exclaims. “Paul’s adventures! Aren’t those enough to whisk you away and, well,” he scratches the top of his head, “almost make you forget any hint of cynicism or reproach?”
The group is silent. Even Susie, who was shaking her head heavily throughout the early portion of Ben’s stance, is sitting there looking befuddled.
“I completely agree with Ben,” I say. “It’s the travel master at his best and most eloquent, and…I’m in love with this book.” I smile and look at Ben. “It’s a masterpiece, and it’s no wonder it’s still a popular read. Paul Theroux is simply brilliant.”
When the group finishes the discussion and slowly begins to filter out, some feathers still ruffled, some gaining a new and positive perspective on the latest club read, I tuck away my worn copy of The Great Railway Bazaar and take a peek at my cell phone. I could hear it vibrate during the book discussion, and I swore it was Jackie. She and Andrew kind of had a bit of a row last night. He left for the Cayman Islands early this morning, on business, and the two had yet to kiss and make-up. Jackie texted and called several times before the sun rose, crying about how her marriage was a complete nightmare. I finally told her to just put the phone down and come on over.
Today she seemed to be doing better. Andrew had sent an email to say he’d arrived in the islands safely, and that seemed to quell the afternoon bout of anger that had brewed inside Jackie.
Come the evening, however, Jackie was back to brooding when I had to leave for my book club meeting. (I’d never miss a meeting when one of my favorite books of all times was up for discussion.) I told Jackie the meeting wouldn’t be longer than an hour, hour-and-a-half.
Two-and-a-half hours later and I’m just now packing up my stuff to go. Jackie’s probably beside herself.
I notice that I have a ridiculous number of missed calls and text messages, all from Jackie. The poor girl. I promised we’d go out tonight—something to get her mind off arguing with Andrew about…to be honest, I don’t even know what. I don’t even know, because when I asked Jackie to explain the row, she just said, “It started off with throwing away his copy of The Wall Street Journal and that’s all I remember. It snowballed from there. Then he left.”
“Edgy night, wouldn’t you say?” a voice says from overhead. I slip my phone in my pocket and sling my patchwork bag across my chest. I stand up and turn around.
It’s Ben. He’s wearing an abashed expression, both hands deep in his tight pants’ pockets. “Thought we’d have to get the fire extinguisher to put out Susie.”
I laugh and nod in agreement. “The book’s not for everybody. I really enjoyed it, though. Great pick, Ben.”
“I can never get enough of it.”
“You should have brought your girlfriend to the group tonight,” I say randomly. “It’s a favorite of hers, isn’t it? And Steve’s always suggesting we try to grow this group.” I wave my hand around. “Plus,” I lean in, “our side could have used all the help tonight.”
I catch a strong scent of his enticing cologne and stifle a smile. God, he smells really good. I pull myself back from him, suddenly overcome with a twinge of discomfort.
Ben’s a really handsome guy, and his literary taste is obviously something we have in common. He’s totally the kind of guy I’d love to go out on a date with. Trouble is that girlfriend of his.
“Uh, yeah, well,” Ben says, looking behind him, then scanning the emptying room, “I think we did a decent job standing our ground for Theroux.”
“Yeah,” I say with a grin, looking up in his dark blue eyes. There’s a cheerful and warming characteristic about them. His face always seems like it’s smiling; it’s inviting and kind of comforting.
Judging by his forehead’s width of height above me, he’s probably around five-nine, maybe ten. Just right. His build is lean. Actually, Gatz could be his body double. It’s that lean build, not super muscular or so skinny you want to shout, “Eat a sandwich, for heaven’s sake!” Ben’s forearms are sinewy, and thanks to his rolled-up sleeves, I can see one of them is covered in a thick and intricately detailed cross tattoo.
If Operation Blind Date doesn’t end up working, I could always wait around for Ben to lose his girlfriend. Then I could pounce. I really think we’d hit it off.
“So, see you next month?” Ben says suddenly, slightly startling me from my “what if” daze.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, blinking rapidly. “Looks like we’re heading down the Victorian era.”
“Jude the Obscure,” he says. “Never read any Hardy, so this will be a first.”
I head towards the exit of the small library room with Ben, thumbing the strap of my bag in a doltish way.
“When I heard it was Victorian, I was hoping we’d get a Dickens read,” I say.
“Aww,” Ben moans. “Pickwick Papers. Brilliant!” He shakes an enthusiastic fist.
“Brilliant, indeed.” I feel the familiar vibration of my phone in my pocket. “I’ve gotta jet, Ben. Catch you next month.”
I trot down the short line of cement steps and jog to the nearby bus stop, answering the incoming call from Jackie.
“Where the hell are you?” Jackie’s voice shouts into my ear.
The bus pulls up the instant I arrive at the stop, and I hastily deposit three dollar bills into the meter. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” I tell her. “I’m on the bus home as I speak.”
“Change of plans,” she says, her voice cutting out. I can hear a garbled cacophony of what seems like music cutting in and out over the line.
“Jack? Jack, what’s up?” I say loudly.
“Delicious,” her voice returns, the cacophony still carrying on. “Lara and I. We’re at Delicious. Be here, or be square, girly!”
Chapter Seventeen
“Girl!” Jackie almost screams, bobbing and swaying on Delicious’ dance floor to the loud house blend. “I so wish I could do this dating game with you.”
I roll my shoulders and head to the music, loving this new David Guetta re-mix. “Stop it, Jackie,” I shout in response.
“I mean it.” She rapidly shakes her hips as the drumbeat intensifies. Her tight tube top has crept up past the rim of her equally tight, black leather mini skirt, thanks to her wild dance moves, and she’s now showing off much of the very large and colorful butterfly tattoo that covers her lower back. “Getting to be free and wild and just having fun!” she cries. She throws her head back and lets out a catcall. I don’t know how she can walk, much less bust these kinds of crazy moves in shoes that I’m surprised aren’t giving her a nosebleed.
“You can have fun and dance and hang out with the girls and still be married, Jackie,” I say loudly, slowing my shoulder roll. Jackie, however, begins to jump up and down, waving her hands about wildly.
I look over at Lara, who’s bobbing and swaying to the tunes, but in her usual reserved way. She’s wearing a pair of conservative black trousers that I’m fairly certain are part of her office wardrobe, and a very simple black, collared blouse with small brass buttons, the top two unbuttoned. Jackie had already undone the third button and was about to tackle the
fourth, but Lara protested.
“Emily’s right,” Lara says, starting to snap her fingers in beat with the music. “You can be attached, in a monogamous relationship, and still have a great time out, Jackie. Look at us!” She rocks her head side to side. “This is fun!”
“That’s right,” I pipe in. “This was a great idea. I feel good, letting loose, having fun.”
“It’s not the same, babe.” Jackie yells only the first part of her sentence, because the tracks change and the music becomes more mellow. She points to the bar. “Not the same. To the bar!” She grabs Lara by the wrist, and we traipse to a section of available barstools.
“You can have a blast when you’re single,” Jackie says. She pulls her petite self up onto a stool. “Clubbing and dancing and going out is so much more fun when you’re not married.”
“I may not be married, but I am in a committed relationship,” Lara says after she orders us a round of drinks. “I’m still having fun.”
“Married and committed are different.” Jackie crosses her legs and makes an “ah-ha” expression. “I live with Andrew, so he’s like, part of my routine. A boring routine, half the time. Well,” she pauses for dramatic effect, “that is when he’s actually home long enough to be a part of my routine.” She shakes her head rapidly, letting out a heavy sigh. “When you live with your partner, your whole life changes; it becomes so drab. You’ll see what I mean, Lara, when you and Nathan move in together. You and I can commiserate.”
“Then I’ll give ya a ring this weekend,” Lara says with a gleam in her eye.
“What?!” Jackie and I shriek together.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say. “How long have you been holding out on this gigantic news, girly?”
The bartender brings us our drinks.
“Thanks, doll,” Jackie tells him with a flirtatious wink.
“We talked about it this past weekend,” Lara says, breaking to take a sip of her newly arrived cocktail. “Nathan and I want to take it to the next level.”
When Girlfriends Take Chances Page 15
