High Heels in New York

by A. V. Scott

  Depressed, Melissa tried for a subject change. “So what’s up with you?”

  “Apparently I’m old and should refrain from ever stepping foot on a movie set,” Angie whined.

  “Really? I’m sorry,” Melissa said. Angie was always a hardworking and determined actress. But she hadn’t received a script she liked in months. Melissa gave Angie a lot of credit for doing what she did. It took a lot of self-love and thick skin to be an actress which were two things Melissa didn’t have.

  Angie sulked. “I really wanted the lead in a film that Paradox Pictures is producing.”

  “Oh, the one who created Top Gun? Is it true they’re going to do a remake?”

  “Yes! And I really want to be in it,” Angie said keenly. “I need to be in it.”

  “What happened?”

  “That!” Angie said, pointing to the young blonde all over Marty.

  “Wow.” Melissa’s first impression of the girl was that she looked a lot like Angie. “You know who she reminds me of?”

  “Please, don’t tell me. I already know.”

  “Don’t worry,” Melissa said, spooning more food into her mouth. “It’ll work out.”

  “You better not get fat on me,” Angie scolded, with a slightly alarmed look on her face. “I need you to fit into that sexy black dress for the charity dinner.”

  “I thought you were taking your boyfriend?” Melissa said, hoping that Angie had finally decided to settle down.

  “Andrew has never been nor shall ever be my boyfriend,” Angie said, her voice level. “Why do think that I need a man in my life Melissa? Is it because of my age? Is it because somehow you think that all women should have a man in their life?”

  Melissa raised an eyebrow as she watched Angie speak. She knew there was something more she wasn’t telling her.

  “Okay,” Angie said, pushing a piece of salad around on her plate with a fork. “We broke up.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Why does it always have to be me?”

  “Because it is always you!”

  “Oh, alright. I finally broke up with him which, let’s face it, was a long time coming.”

  “True but I’m hoping you sugar coated it just a wee bit.” Melissa knew very well that she didn’t. That wasn’t the way Angie was wired.

  “You know Andrew, he’s not particularly intelligent.” Angie said, rearranging the napkin on her lap. “So, I had to just come flat out and say it.”

  Melissa covered her eyes, preparing for the imaginary train wreck. She was imagining all the horrible things that Angie could have possibly told him and none of it could be repeated in a church. “I don’t think I want to know.”

  “I told him the Gods honest truth. I told him that he was as useful in bed as a pogo stick in quicksand.”

  “No!” Melissa choked on her water and tried really hard not to laugh.

  “Yes. I stared straight into his eyes and told him Andrew, love is a matter of chemistry, but sex is a matter of physics. I neither love you nor am I physically attracted to your penis,” Angie said, pouring the last drop of whiskey into her glass.

  “Hit him where it hurts huh. Poor guy,” Melissa said, looking at her empty plate and trying to ignore the fact that she was still hungry.

  “You mean poor me!” Angie paused, and then added, “I had to put up with his little wiener for the last two months. And the only reason I stayed with him that long was because of who he was. The way I see it, if I can’t get the parts in movies that I used to, it’s a sign that I have to get hitched. But, there is no way on earth I am going to marry just anybody. The guy has to be wealthy enough to make the Rockefellers green with envy.”

  “So no backup?” Melissa asked.

  “Even I need a break once in a while. I’m not as agile as I used to be. Do you know that men nowadays are more audacious in the bedroom? I’m seriously considering reliving my ecstasy years just so I can keep up,” Angie said, as she signaled to the waiter and asked for the check.

  Knowing the type of men Angie dated, Melissa wondered why her very own Prince Charming hadn’t been charming in bed in a very long time. Jonathan was merely thirty nine years old; he should still have at least five more years of wild uninhibited sexual desires. But the only desires he’d had recently was to get married, knock her up and live in the suburbs. And all Melissa wanted to do was live in the City; keep her girlish figure and shop. “Oh, were you able to get a pair of tickets this year to Fashion Week?” Melissa asked.

  “Actually, I got mine this morning. Some gofer for Berrardi dropped it off,” Angie said, noticing the disappointment in Melissa’s face. “Seriously, there’s a few weeks left. Rebekah and Karen might still send something.” Angie knew that Rebekah Minkoff and Donna Karen were Melissa’s favorite designers so she tried being optimistic, even though it was out of character for her. However, it wasn’t likely that an invitation to anymore designers would arrive. Not when fashion week was a week away. “Who am I kidding? Girl if we don’t get any more invites screw them. Screw them all,” Angie yelled out.

  Marveling in the magical world of Angie, Melissa wondered how she could borrow some of her gumption.

  I should tell her now, she thought to herself. Instead, her hand reached out for the last garlic knot in the bread basket. The alien in her stomach was now happily subdued.

  #

  “I don’t see the big deal. All billboards look like,” Melissa said to Angie, who had been pressing her toward the end of their meal to go with her to look at a billboard unveiling at Times Square. She wanted nothing more than to hurry home and take yet another pregnancy test.

  Just in case.

  “I promise that this one is different,” Angie pleaded, flipping her blonde hair off of her shoulders.

  “Fine but let’s take Bleeker Street. I have to pick up Jonathans’ dry cleaning,” Melissa said as they exited the restaurant.

  “Isn’t it exhausting being the perfect little wife?”

  “I’m not married yet,” Melissa said, perking up. She was so excited to finally be getting married. Just the thought alone made her want to throw glitter in the air. Getting married meant that her mother would finally get off her back and her sister would stop making fun of her for being almost thirty and still unmarried with no kids. Being Latina meant that she was expected to be married, barefoot and pregnant straight out of High School. So at her age, Melissa, along with her eggs, were considered ancient.

  “Admit it; you’ve been dying to be someone’s wife since catching the first glimpse of Ricky Martin on Menudo.”

  Melissa sighed, “All the good ones are taken.”

  “Something tells me you haven’t been his type since the moment the delivery doctor slapped you on your ass and declared you a girl,” Angie retorted causing them to both break out into laughter.

  They continued their walk through the crowded tree lined streets. Commuters were rushing to and from work; tourists were snapping their cameras and finding a little too much humor when the trains shook the ground underneath their feet. Melissa took it all in, the sounds of the street chatter bouncing off her skin, the way all the scents of the City combined, even the way the breeze brushed up against her face. That was New York. Her New York. Then she pictured herself in the streets of London. In a few months she’d be perusing down Oxford Street shopping or catching a show on Picadilly Circus and hoped it brought her as much joy as New York did, though she could never love it the same. At least, she didn’t think that she could.

  They crossed Third Avenue and walked past El Flamenco, a dinner show restaurant intended for tourists that Jonathan had begged her for months to try. Being a local, Melissa reserved her meals at establishments with high ratings on the Zagat and this place had never even made it on the list. So, she always protested.

  And she would’ve kept on walking too but something caught her attention.

  No way. It can’t be, she told herself as she looked inside the restaurant through the fro
nt window.

  In pure disbelief of what she saw, she walked up closer, cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed her face against the glass. She had to make sure that the heat wave hadn’t caused her to witness a mirage.

  There was no mistaking it.

  It was him.

  #

  With her hands still pressed up against the restaurant window, the ground underneath Melissa’s feet felt like it was giving way. Sitting inside, in front of the entire world to see, her fiancé was having lunch with a skinny blonde.

  It’s just lunch, relax, she thought, taking a deep breath. It’s nothing Mel, just take it easy.

  It wouldn’t have concerned her, seeing Jonathan with another woman, except that they seemed very well acquainted and she had no clue as to who the woman was. For all she knew the lady was one of Jonathans’ clients. Over reacting could very well cost him his job and the possibility of his promotion. So, Melissa just stood there, watching them.

  “Shut my mouth!” Angie said when she saw them, “You deserve better.”

  “Weally?” Melissa said, the words tangled in the crumbs in her mouth. “Weren’t you just telling me how great and marvelous this man was? And now you’re telling me I deserve better?”

  “When the hell do you ever listen to anything that comes out of my mouth?” Angie said.

  Melissa shook her head and continued to look on. “It seems harmless don’t you think?” She asked, half-heartedly believing the words as they escaped her lips.

  “Are you kidding?” Angie asked, her voice rising. ”Don’t you recognize the blonde?”

  “No.”

  “Yes you do.”

  “Um, no. I don’t.” Melissa tried to remember who the blonde was but couldn’t.

  “It’s Valerie. His ex-wife.”

  “The Valerie? As in Valerie Clark?” She was in total shocked. Jonathan never mentioned his ex-wife’s last name. So, all this time, Melissa thought Valerie was a regular person, not Valerie Clark, super fashion mogul. “She’s pretty,” Melissa said. What she really wanted to say was, ‘wow look at those boobs.’ But she didn’t. She didn’t know Valerie, not personally. All she knew about her was what Jonathan told her and what she had seen of her in an old photograph.

  And she didn’t look at all like she did in the picture. Melissa remembered a fat girl with stringy brown hair and no fashion sense. Having dinner with her husband-to-be was a pretty blonde that looked fairly skinny and very tanned in a white, knee length, skin-tight silk dress. Instantly, Melissa felt under dressed and fat. She was going to have to do some serious exercise soon or risk her mother’s thickening waistline.

  She tried to tell herself it was just dinner. There was nothing wrong with having dinner with an ex. Right? Plus, he was the one who broke up with her so why should she be worried? And he did buy her that engagement ring. No man would purchase an engagement ring for a lady he’s not interested in. It defied all logic.

  Desperate, Melissa tried to assure herself that she had nothing to worry about.

  “Oh please. She’s so thin she couldn’t cast a shadow. And that my dear is not sexy,” Angie said, grabbing Melissa’s arm and trying to steer her away from the window.

  Melissa knew that Angie was trying to make her feel better. But standing there, cupcake in hand and casual ensemble, she felt more unattractive than ever and she wasn’t the type to be overly critical about the way she looked. At five feet three inches to be exact, she was of average height for a Latina and she liked it that way. She also had a decent backside though it didn’t rival Jennifer Lopez in any way. Looking at Valerie, she assumed her favorite feature was her super-sized breasts. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “That doesn’t look like nothing,” Angie said just as Jonathan leaned in and kissed Valerie very passionately. Slowly, Melissa reached inside the cupcake box again and grabbed the only thing in the entire universe that would make her feel better…chocolate. But then, just when she thought things couldn’t get much worse, she realized it wasn’t chocolate at all.

  #

  Melissa felt her insides tearing apart. Her hands were shaking and her heart was beating a thousand beats per minute. Finding courage beneath all her anger, she handed Angie the cupcake box and pushed open the heavy glass door. Swiftly, she walked inside and crossed the main dining area without taking her eyes off him for a second. He barely even noticed she was standing over him.

  “What the fuck is this?” She screamed at Jonathan.

  “Bloody hell!” He said, eyebrows raised, breath caught in his throat. “Melissa. I, erm,”

  Her eyes glanced over to where he had his hand. It triggered him to stand up quickly. He had been holding her hand.

  Don’t cry.

  Her perfectly manicured hand.

  Bitch.

  Valerie put down her glass of champagne on the table without looking at Melissa. A celebration? What the hell did they have to celebrate?

  And then she saw it.

  A little blue bag with the words Tiffany & Co.

  Don’t cry Mel. Don’t ever let them see you cry.

  “Let’s not do this here,” Jonathan pleaded, looking around the restaurant. Even then, as angry as Melissa was all she could think about was how handsome he was. His hazel eyes were twinkling in the dim lighting and his swarthy complexion and lean, muscular body still got to her right in the core.

  “You’re already doing it here. All of the East Side is watching you do it.” She could feel the bile rise up in her throat. For a moment, he looked as if he wasn’t sure whether to walk toward her or stay at the table. He was dressed in a gray Armani suit that fit him perfectly. The same Armani suit Melissa purchased for him as a Christmas gift last year. It took Melissa an entire paycheck to be able to afford that suit. She remembered trooping it on the Subway to Fulton Street and spending hours at the overloaded clothing racks at a large discount clothing retailer trying to find the perfect suit. Now her fiancé and her Armani suit were both cheating on her.

  Fuckers!

  “I don’t…” Valerie began to say.

  “Don’t even!” Melissa yelled at her. No matter how fancy and glammed up Valerie looked, she was a dirty little bitch in Melissa’s eyes. Melissa didn’t care if she was Valerie Clark. She was a home wrecker and that was all to it.

  “I think it’s time you nick off,” Jonathan said in a low voice, “You’re embarrassing yourself.” His Australian accent caused shivers to trickle down her spine. Quickly, she pushed her admiration for him to the side.

  “Don’t touch me!” she screamed at him, pushing his hand away as he tried to grab her arm.

  He placed the white dinner napkin that was in his hand, on the table. “Don’t act like a wanker.”

  Yuck. If there was one word Melissa could live without ever hearing again for the rest of her life, even from that hunk of a man, it was Wanker. She didn’t know why but it reminded her of ‘whacking’ as in ‘whacking off’. And right now, it was a visual she could do without. “I should act a little crazy ‘cuz I feel crazy,” she told him, trying her hardest not to stab him with the nearest sharp object. “Crazy for loving a no good two timing bastardo!”

  “Beg yours?”

  “No, please don’t beg,” Melissa said, hand over heart. “It doesn’t become you.” She was in shock and everything up until that point felt more like an out of body experience. With the luck she was having today she wouldn’t be surprised if some idiot was recording this tragic episode of her life and within seconds it’d be up on YouTube. She wouldn’t even blame them. It looked as if she were on an episode of Cheaters. She just hoped she didn’t resemble one of those pathetic girls who should’ve walked away before making a complete fool of herself.

  “Melissa, we were going to tell you.” Jonathan continued to explain himself. All it was doing was making Melissa angrier.

  “We?” Melissa screamed, pushing away the tears that were brimming behind her eyelashes. Was he serious? How long had this been
going on? And when did he begin referring to themselves as a couple? “When were you going to tell me Jonathan, after you got tired of putting your tongue down her throat?”

  “It not like that.”

  “Not like what?” By now her stomach was in such a tight knot that she was sure she’d hurl right on their dinner plates.

  “I don’t know,” he said as he looked back at her, then Valerie and then back again.

  Just hit him. Once. Real hard, she thought.

  He shook his head. “I’m- I’m.”

  Was he seriously struggling with those two little words? They were supposed to get married in a few weeks. How could he struggle with an apology to the woman he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life with; the woman carrying his unborn child? (Okay he didn’t know that part but still.) How could he do this?

  Valerie stood up and began to make her exit when Melissa spotted her choice of footwear, a pair of sparkly pink Giuseppe Zanotti platform sandals. That bitch! She wanted those shoes from the first day she laid eyes on them. They hadn’t even officially been seen off the runway.

  “Mel,” Jonathan said, trying to get her attention.

  “Don’t bother. I’m the one who’s leaving,” Melissa said to Valerie in the sweetest voice she could muster.

  “Mel,” Jonathan pleaded again.

  “Stop saying my name like it’s a bloody tranquilizer!” Melissa shot at him.

  “Let’s go home so we can talk.”

  “Talk? You had enough time to talk Jonathan. You could’ve talked to me um, let’s say, before you embarrassed me in front of all of Manhattan.” It was getting really hard to keep her rage at bay. “And believe it or not, I’m the one who has major celebrating to do,” she yelled, grabbing the champagne bottle.