by A. V. Scott
The waiter returned and handed her a glass of whiskey, full to the brim. Before he could even turn around to wait on another table, she downed it and asks for another. Then she picked up her cell phone again and dialed the investment company handling her retirement account.
A cheery young voice answered the phone. “Good afternoon, Finch and Howell, how may I help you?”
“Yes, get me Mr. Henry please.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Angelina Stevens.”
“Oh my gawd, the Angelina Stevens?” The girl squealed, “Oh my, I’ll get him right away.” Angie heard a click sound and then classical music ensued. A smile crept up on Angie’s face. At least someone still remembered who she was.
“I’m so sorry, he’s out to lunch. Would you like to leave him a message?”
“That’s alright. I’ll call back.”
“Are you sure? Oh my gawd, I have to tell my mother I spoke to you. She just loves your movies. I mean, not that I don’t love them, I’ve just never actually watched them. Well, except the one with that sexy co-star Brian something. He is just so hot!”
“Brian Sommers,” Angie said, digging the left heel of her Prada shoe into the top of her right foot, trying to distract herself from the reality that she was a has-been. Of course, little miss sunshine remembered the hot costar. Then again, who wouldn’t? He was hot. Bad in bed, but that was another story.
“Yeah, Brian Sommers,” the girl continued.
“Okay well, tell your mother I said thank you. I really must be going now,” Angie hung up the call and looked around for the waiter. The thought of no one remembering who she was ten years from now made her feel insignificant. But she didn’t want to do go through with something that she really didn’t want to do. No one does a job well done when you’re hand is forced. Being pressured into doing something you didn’t want to do meant you had to go along with other people’s ideas, other people’s wants and needs and people telling you what to do. This did not sit well with her. She hated being told what to do.
The waiter returned again with her second glass of whiskey. She gulped it down again like a true southern woman and asked for another.
It had been five years since she had to go cold turkey from drinking hard liquor. After having emergency surgery a year ago for cirrhosis, she swore she’d cut back and she did. Occasionally, during an event or a celebration, she’d have a mixed cocktail, but once a week, when she met up with Melissa, she’d indulge in a glass of whiskey. Usually, she’d sip it slowly, feeling the warmth fill her mouth as she swirled it around with her tongue and then finally after it numbed her tongue, she‘d close her eyes and swallow. To her, drinking whiskey sometimes rivaled sex.
And sex was exactly what she was thinking when she received a text message from Carlos the trainer. I want to ravish you, read the screen on her cell phone. Immediately, her face flushed a bright shade of red. There was no way she was going to have sex with him again, even if he had given her pleasure she had never felt before. Seeing him three times was two times too many. One more would be considered dating and she was not the dating kind. Figuring it was easier to ignore the text message than to reply which would cause him to send another, she put her cell phone on vibrate and tucked it deep in her Louis Vuitton.
By now she was fidgeting under the table so hard that her knees were bouncing up and down causing her heels to make a loud clicking sound that echoed throughout the restaurant. A young couple seated across from her started to look around. She was sure that they were trying to locate the source of the noise. She quickly placed her hands over her knees and desperately looked at the front entrance for Melissa. She should’ve been here by now, she said under her breath.
The waiter returned with another glass and Angie finally felt at ease. But then, just as the waiter was about to leave, a young, sexy blonde walked into the restaurant wearing a skimpy outfit and holding on to the arm of none other than Marty Steinberg, the CEO of Paradox Pictures.
“Just bring me the God damn bottle,” she told the waiter.
#
On the wretched account that she was super late, Melissa succumbed to taking the subway which she only took during emergencies such as this one. It’s the only way to cut across town in ten minutes. Cabbing it would make her so late that by the time she’d get to the restaurant it’d be time for dinner.
Entering the Grand Street train station, she tried to remind herself that everything would work out. It had to. Her gut however, told her that she needed a miracle. She purchased her Metrocard from the teller and swiped the card at the turnstile, barely making it to the crowded platform in time to catch the train. Unfortunately, it’s crowded inside the subway car as well. Not that it was much of a surprise. Between tourists and locals, the trains are always just as crowded as a can of sardines. And on some occasions, they smelled like it too.
Taking hold of a tiny space on the hand rail above her head, the sound of a wailing baby pierced her ears. It felt as if her ears were bleeding. Looking around for the source, she wanted to catch the parents’ attention and give them the You-better-shut-that-kid-up-now look. Shaking her head, she looked around the crowded train. The facial expressions of the other passengers told her that they were feeling the same way. She made a promise to herself right then and there that if and that’s a big if, she had this baby, it would not cry. Heck, it would not cry or poop. Her baby would just sit there in the crib like a pretty little porcelain doll.
A few minutes later, when the train reached her stop, a group of NYU students bum rushed the doors as they opened. She exited cautiously, making her way off the uneven platform and up the crowded stairs. When she reached the top, the glare from the super strong sun, bouncing off the skyscrapers caught her off guard and she almost toppled backwards. It was the second heat wave this month and she hated it. The late summer humidity made her clothes cling to her skin like a leech making her very uncomfortable.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that the streets were also uber crowded. Every Sunday, from ten a.m. to three in the afternoon, the sidewalks were lined with food vendor carts selling heart attacks on a stick at a bargain rate, artists selling their masterpieces (Which still wouldn’t be worth anything after they were dead.) and street entertainers that couldn’t cut it at the circus. The only thing worth taking a look at was produce vendors because their prices were a steal when you compared it to Whole Foods. It wasn’t that Melissa didn’t like Whole Foods. Who doesn’t love checkout lines that reach the sidewalk? She assumed that was the reason why most grocery stores in Manhattan offered a complimentary delivery service. Not that she could benefit from that either since she rarely cooked.
Melissa tried maneuvering through said vendors, but barely taking five steps, three people bumped into her and a bike messenger almost made her right leg part of his bike. Struggling to make her way through the crowd, she spotted a vendor selling something she couldn’t say no to, cupcakes. Her stomach quickly did a three point cheer. Licking her lips, she detoured to the table.
“Do you have red velvet?” She asked a short brunette behind the cupcake table.
“Sorry. Sold out,” she said, smacking her gum around in her mouth.
Melissa quickly thought that she looked like a cow and she was afraid of cow girl getting saliva on her cupcakes. “Um, okay. What’s your best seller?”
“Red velvet. But our Creamsicle is a close second,” she said pointing to a cupcake with orange frosting.
Just my luck, she thought.
“Is it any good?” she didn’t really want any other flavor. As far as she was concerned, Red Velvet was the best cupcake flavor in the universe and anyone who declared otherwise had shit for taste buds.
Cow lady nodded.
“Okay.” Melissa said, “I’ll take one.” She opened her Michael Kors purse and searched for her sunglasses and cash.
Cow lady put disposable plastic gloves on her hands (Thank God!) and placed the cupcake in a
box. Curious, Melissa ordered a couple more flavors and then continued happily to her destination.
Slowing her pace as she crossed the street, she took in the exquisite bands of color in the sky. The colors reminded her that she hadn’t watched a sunset in a long time, not by herself or with Jonathan. Not that they could get a nice view of the sunset nowadays. The best places to watch a sunset in New York were gone when the North Tower of The World trade center was destroyed. She remembered clearly that on its 106th and 107th floor there were indoor and outdoor observation decks, and a complex of venues that included The Greatest Bar on Earth and two restaurants, Wild Blue and Windows on the World. The latter was her favorite place to sunset watch while sipping Cosmos. It was also the very place where Jonathan and her first met. Just the thought of that day put a huge smile on her face and for a moment, she wasn’t thinking about the foreign object inside of her.
2
“Where the hell have you been?” Angie shouted to Melissa when she finally arrived. Angie was sitting at their usual table in the back by a large window that faced the avenue. It was their favorite spot to people watch.
The delicious aroma of oregano, tomato and basil lingered in the air, entering Melissa’s nostrils every time she inhaled. She walked over to Angie, smiling and gave her a big hug.
“Seriously?” Angie asked, looking at the cupcake box in Melissa’s hand. Anyone who knew Melissa knew very well that she couldn’t say no to cupcakes. And you couldn’t tell by just looking at her. Melissa was a damn-good looking girl but at the rate she let her sweet tooth take over, she was sure to gain a few unwanted pounds.
“It was on the way,” Melissa contended as she took a seat across from Angie.
“When are you going to admit that you’re an addict?” Angie leaned forward, smoothing her French manicured nails over Melissa’s pastel pink cardigan. “Lanoler?”
“Only the best,” Melissa smiled, unfolding her napkin with a snap.
Angie sat back in the wooden chair, eyeing Melissa’s outfit from head to toe. “Just look at you, a few years ago you were barely able to afford a pair of Nine West jeans and now you’re sporting hundred dollar cardigans and red bottom shoes.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Melissa said, staring at her best friend in awe. Angie was the epitome of an All-American beauty; blonde hair, big blue eyes, totally fab and today she looked even more fabulous in a sexy black mini with red heels and recently tucked skin. (Or so she thought it was recent.)
One wouldn’t know by looking at Angie, but during her childhood, Angie bounced around from foster homes to her drug addicted mother. It was shear perseverance that got Angie where she was today. Sometimes Melissa thought Angie was more of a New Yorker than she because Angie wasn’t afraid of anything and always got straight to the point, no bullshit and no sugar coating. Angie said it was due to her Southern upbringing. Melissa knew better. Angie was who she was. Geography wouldn’t have changed that fact.
“Anyway, tell me the good news,” Angie continued, not waiting for Melissa to answer.
Oh shit! How did she find out? Was I showing already? Can you show this early on? Melissa thought and then tried to sound oblivious. “What news?”
“When I saw Jonathan at the Tiffany counter yesterday I wanted desperately to be you,” Angie squealed, clasping her hands together. Her excitement was too much for Melissa to handle.
“Are you sure it was him?” Melissa asked incredulously. “He usually doesn’t even go out to lunch. He orders delivery just so he could stay at his desk and get more work done.”
“Of course it was him,” Angie looked confused. “I was on my way to get a manicure and you know how I hate to be late so I didn’t even get a chance to say hello. But it was him. I’m sure of it.” She shook her head, and stood firm. “It was him.”
Finally noticing Melissa’s arrival, the waiter delivered her food and asked for her drink order. Taking the interruption as an opportunity to finally take in a deep breath, Melissa looked over the drink menu as if she didn’t have it memorized. But she wasn’t ready to discuss the fact that she was knocked up. “He was probably getting something for his mom. Her birthday is coming up,” Melissa said, and then turned to the waiter. “Water please.”
“Water? Are you sick?”
“No. I just don’t feel like drinking.”
Angie gave Melissa a puzzled look. “Not feeling like drinking is like not wanting to have an orgasm. And who doesn’t want an orgasm? I have one at least three times a day.”
“They have weekly meetings for that you know,” Melissa said jokingly.
“Darling, I’m not only a member, I’m the damn president.” Angie laughed, pushing her plate to the side. “Anyway, good for him for buying his mother something nice. You’re already spoiled as it is.” Angie liked to bother Melissa about her social status because Melissa wasn’t used to being treated like a princess. Jonathan had been spoiling her since the very first day they met and she wasn’t used to life in the fab lane like Angie was. So, Angie felt it was her duty to show her best friend how to enjoy this new life of wealth and privilege. After all, Jonathan had the money and loved spending it on her. What girl in her right mind would say no to a little spoiling here and there from her soon-to-be husband?
“One day it’ll be you,” Melissa assured her friend.
“I’d much rather masturbate with a cheese grater than let the same man pound my vagina for the rest of my life.” Angie said, taking a sip of her whiskey.
The visual made Melissa close her legs together tightly. It was just like Angie to turn her head at marriage. She loved her freedom and wasn’t going to let anyone, especially a man take that away from her. Sometimes, Melissa envied her tenacity. Just for shits and giggles, Melissa took a loud exaggerated gasp. “And you have to kiss with tongue. Can you imagine?”
“Joke all you want, you’ve already committed yourself to Jonathan. If you don’t get married it’s like you’ve wasted the last two years of your life. You have no choice but to treat your relationship like an investment and get your return ten times fold,” Angie said, finally taking off her shades and placing it inside her purse.
Shoveling a heaping spoon of food into her mouth, Melissa considered the truth in Angie’s statement. “I suppose.”
Angie’s eyes followed the spoon from the plate into Melissa’s mouth. “Think about it Mel, having a man in your life is like buying a pair of designer shoes or a couture bag. You spend thousands for the right seasonal accessory. You use it every day. You take care of it. You love it like no other accessory exists,” she said, pulling a makeup bag from inside her purse. “But, when the new season arrives, so does newer and better accessories. So, you go out and purchase a newer and better accessory while the old one sits in the closet collecting dust until it makes a comeback.” She stared straight in her friends’ eyes and unzipped the makeup bag. “Except sometimes, it loses its pizazz and never comes back into style.”
“Like Lindsay Lohan?” Melissa teased.
“How is Mr. fabulous anyway?” Angie asked, dabbing red lip gloss on her already glossed lips.
“He’s fine, still trying to make partner and still trying to convince me that my trip to London is a stupid idea.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say stupid… per say,” Angie muttered. She hadn’t wanted to put her two cents in about Melissa’s trip because she knew how badly Melissa wanted to go. But, this day and age, it just wasn’t safe for a woman to travel outside of the USA alone.
“You too?” Melissa screamed, slamming her napkin on the table. Okay, she was being a little over dramatic but who wouldn’t. Long before she met Jonathan, she had decided, that she was going to be taking a two week trip to London by herself. The trip would be one of those last hoorah moments where she could say goodbye to single life and Angie, along with her mother, did not approve of such a trip.
“Cranky are we?” Angie asked.
“I’m so damn tired of everyone telling me
what’s good for me,” Melissa said in between bites. “I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions.”
“Give down the country why don’t you.”
“Sorry,” Melissa could feel a stress headache coming on. “I have a lot of stuff on my mind.”
“Anything you want to share?” Angie asked, finishing her drink. “You know, come to think of it, I’ve had the best experiences in Europe that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.”
“Did it involve a hot French guy and lots of sex?” Melissa asked.
“Make fun of me all you want but one day you will realize that sex is like air; it’s not important unless you’re not getting any,” Angie said, shaking her head.
“I like sex.” Melissa said, defensively.
“Says the girl who schedules sex like a dentist appointment,” Angie snapped.
Melissa knew that Angie had hit the nail right on the head with that declaration. But isn’t every body’s sex life different? “Just because I like to be prepared it doesn’t mean I don’t like sex. I mean, what if I didn’t shave? What if I’m having, you know – leakage? That would just ruin the mood,” Melissa said. She didn’t care if it wasn’t normal to schedule sex. It worked for her and Jonathan.
“Darling,” Angie sighed. “Your sex life hasn’t been in the mood since Hilary Clinton was sexy.”
Melissa stuck out her tongue. Just then she had an epiphany. She would not be having sex for nine long months! Technically you could have sex while pregnant, Doctors even encouraged it. But there was something about trying to enjoy something so intimate while there was an innocent bystander inside of her, getting its head bashed in that grossed her out. So that was it, if she kept the baby, she was going to be fat and sex deprived. These realizations made her want to walk into the gynecologists’ office and slap her across her face with her plastic container of birth control pills that had promised to keep her baby free.
