But since it wasn't a date, instead of slowly leaning in, Slick just filled me in a little more about Ms. Bennett, “She told me that they're going to be engaged pretty soon, and she wants to get a jump start on the house hunt.”
“Really?” I chuckled, “Someone's in for a rude awakening.”
Slick opened the door for me, then put the keys back in the lock box before leading me back to his car. “Who's that?”
“Ms. Bennett. She thinks they're getting engaged pretty soon. Sounds like she's starting to get impatient. I wouldn't spend too much time looking for houses for this couple, my friend.”
In a smug tone I hadn't heard from him since before the inheritance rumor, he said, “You're pretty insightful for a receptionist, aren't you?”
I turned and looked at him. He looked down quickly, knowing he'd slipped up. I kept staring at his head, since he refused to meet my eyes. “Yeah, I guess I am. Though I know that shocks you, that an idiot receptionist can do anything other than lace up her own shoes correctly.”
He lamented, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, honestly.” He paused and I could tell he was trying to spin it. “I meant it as a compliment...like uh, you could do more than answer phones.”
It wasn't even close to a good save. He meant it just like I took it; like he thought I was an idiot. I didn't push it though; I still wanted dinner.
I sighed and smiled. “It's okay. Sorry I took it wrong.” And because I couldn't resist, I added, “I know you respect me and value my opinions. Otherwise you wouldn't have brought me to look at houses, right?”
I saw his face go blank, and instead of making him think of something to say, I turned and headed toward his car. “I'm starving, where are you taking me to dinner?”
When Slick asked me where I wanted to eat, I told him to take me where he takes his clients. I could go to a regular diner anytime. I wanted to see his idea of impressive.
It was a fun show. We pulled up to a tiny building with valet parking. I wasn't surprised about the valet, but I was a little shocked that Slick allowed someone else to drive his car/first born/reason for living.
Slick led me through a set of plain double doors. I noticed that there was no sign on the building or the doors. “What's the name of this place?”
He shook his head. “It isn't named. I call it Sticks.”
I looked over my shoulder at him as we walked through a narrow hallway. “Why Sticks?”
“Because the owner and I used to be in a band, and he was the drummer. Sticks.”
“What's this guy's name?”
“Brian.”
I shook my head. “Well then why not call it Brian's?”
He shrugged and nodded at a very tall, very thin blonde. She smiled and wordlessly turned to lead us through a minuscule, albeit packed dining area. Instantly I felt like an amazon as I followed our waif of a hostess. Every table sat incredibly low to the ground. The patrons were sitting on what looked like couch cushions.
Noticing the women, I began to feel even worse; like an under-dressed amazon. Every one of them sat with their legs to one side, appearing uncomfortable, but perfectly groomed in their pencil skirts and heels.
Blondie stopped at a table in the corner of the room. I sat my purse down on the floor, unsure of how to proceed. Thank goodness I'd worn my black pants to work, I wouldn't want to imagine this experience in a short skirt. I watched as Slick sat down. He crossed his legs as though it was perfectly normal to sit on the floor while dining, then looked up at me expectantly. “Aren't you going to sit?”
“Uh, absolutely. Criss-cross-applesauce it is then.” I dropped onto the cushion, manually pulling my feet into position.
Blondie looked at me timidly, as though I'd just challenged her to a pillow fight. (Which I wouldn't have dared to do, by the way. My pillow was the only thing keeping my ass off the hard concrete floor). She then looked over a Slick, her smile instantly reappearing. She handed both menus to Slick, which I thought was incredibly rude, then asked what we'd like to drink. I took a breath to speak, but Slick beat me to it, ordering a bottle of red wine.
I was on the verge of telling him how rude it was to just assume my drink order, but thought better of it. I knew I had to pretend to be in awe of him, otherwise my little charade wouldn't last long.
He smiled at me and handed over a menu. At least he was going to let me choose my meal.
I looked around taking in the room, then I remembered what we were talking about before the awkward sitting exercise. “Explain this one to me, why don't you call this place Brian's?”
He shook his head and chuckled. With a tone that was better suited for addressing a three year old, he explained, “The food is incredible here, but the name Brian doesn't really conjure up the image of fine cuisine.”
Luckily, the menu was large and I was able to roll my eyes without him catching me. I took a minute and read over the dishes. “Mick? This is the place with the incredible food?” I read from the menu, “Back to Basics: meatloaf and garlic mashed potatoes, open faced turkey or roast beef sandwich, chicken and dumplings?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Fine cuisine? I can make this stuff...I do make this stuff.”
He shook his head firmly. “Just wait until you taste it. Brian is a genius in the kitchen. After tonight you wont be able to go a week without eating here.”
Still mystified, I took a second look at the menu. In addition to more home style choices, I caught a glimpse of the prices. Again I was thankful for the oversized menu, because my mouth fell open. Forty-five dollars for chicken pot pie? Possibly this food made you lose weight as you ate it? Why else would it be worth so much? Slick didn't even open his menu. He took out his phone while he waited for me to decide. I watched as he busily texted back and forth with someone.
When a very tall, very thin brunette came to take our order I chose the barbecued chicken and mashed potatoes. Mick asked for his usual, which turned out to be the chicken and dumplings.
Slick was right, the food was delicious, but I had a hard time enjoying it. It had been a long time since I'd been in circle time, and after forty-five minutes of sitting, my right foot was completely numb. I tried to adjust, but in order to sit differently I needed more legroom, and with a man sitting four inches behind me at his own smurf table, it wasn't going to happen.
I listened to Slick brag about his paid off condo and his very broken-in passport. I smiled and nodded, all the while willing the blood to travel to my foot which now felt like it was destined for amputation.
An eternity (or thirty minutes) later, Slick signed the check and looked over at me. “Ready to go?”
You have no idea. I nodded and carefully got off the floor. Once I was standing with my weight on my left foot I opened my purse. My plan was to pretend to search for something long enough for my foot to regain consciousness.
From behind me I heard a deep male voice, “Excuse me, ma'am.”
The man who'd been sitting behind me was trying to get up, and I was blocking him. Imagine how excited I was to see that his face was right at my butt cheek level. Out of reflex I stepped forward, remembering too late that my foot was out of commission. I stepped down on my foot, and as though it was made of play-doh, my ankle bent and I was a goner.
I saw Slick's look of alarm as I fell forward. It seemed to happen in slow motion. I saw the horrified faces of the other diners as I stumbled forward and reached out for anything to break my fall. With my hands out, I hit our table, tilting it off it's little square base. Our dishes crashed to the floor just as I did; loudly.
I was sprawled on the floor, afraid to move because my hands were in the middle of the broken glass. The entire room was silent, staring at me, obviously wondering who let this wildebeest out of her cage.
After a few moments, I looked up at Slick, frozen above me. “Mick, I can't move- my hands are in the glass...”
Ever the statue, he didn't move an inch. Suddenly I felt hands move under my arms, lifting me-somewhat
effortlessly-to my feet. That's something. At least whoever was lifting me didn't add to my humiliation by grunting with effort. As I was moved, I heard pieces of food that had been stuck to me, fall to the floor. I turned to see the man who'd been sitting behind me. He held me at the waist and looked at my hands. “Are you alright?”
I examined my hands and other than a few small cuts, they were fine. “Yeah...thanks for the help.” And for being the one person in the room with a soul.
I looked back at Slick. “Would you mind getting my purse?” I held up my hands. “I can't exactly...”
He snapped back to reality. “Sure.” He took my purse and made tracks toward the exit while I slowly and shakily followed. I was horrified. My clothes were soaked and covered in the uneaten food that I'd landed in. My hair felt heavy, and though I didn't touch it, I suspected from the smell that it was covered in the barbecue sauce from my chicken. I kept my head down, trying to avoid the stares. That didn't really work though, since everyone was sitting on the floor, and therefore in my direct eye line.
Once we finally got outside the restaurant, I thought the worst of my humiliation was behind me. I was wrong. After a couple minutes of standing on the curb the valet finally brought Slick's car around. I walked halfway to the car door before Slick stopped me with a raised hand. He addressed the valet, “Would you mind getting us a few towels from the kitchen?”
The valet scurried off, as most people tend to do after being given orders by Slick. He looked at me with absolutely no sympathy. “I don't want any of that food on my leather.”
Chapter 6
As you can imagine, after our very successful dinner, Slick kept his distance for awhile. You might wonder how he could resist spending time with someone so graceful.
Work was still improving. It had been a few weeks since my “family tragedy” and I'd stopped getting the concerned looks from everyone. They had all switched over to sheer friendliness.
I had just finished faxing something for one of the agents when I noticed the little huddle taking place across the room. Conferring about something important-to them at least-were the two most enviable agents at Lawson & Stone. Gina and Tess. They were both very successful-and not just because they were both stunning. They were also very sharp and well connected. They knew anyone who was anyone, as it were. Naturally, neither one had ever spoken to me. Even after my inheritance rumor, they had only warmed slightly, giving me polite smiles and nods.
I pretended not to notice as they ended their little meeting and approached my desk. Gina set her black, Epi leather, Louis Vuitton briefcase on my desk (it was my favorite thing about her) and smiled down at me. “Estelle, we were hoping you'd join us for lunch. Plans?”
Was she making fun of me? I'd always hoped that no one noticed me eating in my car everyday, but it was easily possible that someone had seen me. I checked my watch automatically, stalling for an answer. “Well, I don't have any specific plans, no...”
Tess reached across the counter and turned off my computer monitor. “It's settled, you're going out to lunch with us. Just us girls, let's go.”
I looked around, automatically feeling guilty. It was barely eleven, and if I wasn't there answering the phones one of the agents might complain. Even though I could pretend to be in mourning, it wouldn't save me if someone missed an important call.
“If you're worried about the phones, forget it.” Gina waved her hand at me. “If they can't get through, they'll call back. Besides, we all have our cell numbers on the listings anyway. Come on, I'm starving.”
I decided to go for it. Wasn't this the whole reason I'd pretended to come into money? If I didn't take advantage now, I'd never get another chance. I set the phone straight to voice mail, grabbed my purse and we were off.
Sitting across from Tess and Gina I felt completely out of place. Again. At least the table we were sitting at was designed for adults. As awkward as I felt, I could only hope this co-worker dining experience would end better than my previous one.
We were at a trendy little cafe down the block from the office. The floor was polished concrete and the walls were covered with bright Pollock-esque paintings. Our table was coated in clear shellac, just like you'd see on a bar top, but instead of wood under the clear coating, it was a rusted sheet of metal. It was interesting, but I thought it belonged on a wall, not under my food.
Our waiter had just set down our food when I heard Prince's song, “Kiss”. Gina grabbed her phone, glanced at the caller ID, then exhaled loudly into it, “What?”
I watched with curiosity as Tess leaned closer to Gina and mouthed, “Is it him?”
Gina nodded and made a strangling motion at her own neck. I found it so interesting that she had her own personal life. It felt just like when I was a kid and I saw one of my teachers, Mr. Blake at the grocery store. He was pushing a basket while his wife walked beside him holding their baby. When he saw me he said hi and that he'd see me on Monday. It was bizarre to me that my teacher had any life outside of the classroom. Ludicrous as it was, I'd never pictured Gina any other place than the office. Until now.
She was still talking on the phone, her voice filled with warning, “Damn It, Steven! We've been over this and I'm sick of it. You want out, right? That's what you've been telling me for months! So, for Christ's sake, get out! Get into your ridiculous lime green Hummer-that we couldn't afford if we had kids-and leave!”
She punched at her iphone with fury, ending the call, (you know, the high tech version of slamming the phone down) and turned instantly to Tess. “I am so tired of this! What else am I supposed to do?”
Tess soothed, “Nothing else. This has been going on for too long already. You don't want kids. He knew that from the beginning.” I was blown away as I watched Tess softly rub Gina's back and whisper, “I know you love him, Hon, but there's no happy ending here.”
I knew this wasn't something I was supposed to see. I didn't know what to say, so I looked at my menu as if I hadn't heard anything. Gina took a deep breath and looked up at me with a weak smile. “I'm sorry to drag you into my drama.”
“Please, don't be sorry.” Cautiously I added, “Is everything alright?”
Gina shrugged. “No, not really. It looks like I'm going to be divorced.” She took a sip of her iced tea and elaborated, “Steven and I have been married for four years. He knew when we met that I didn't want to have kids, and he felt the same way. But over the last year he's changed his tune. Now all we do is fight about it-”
Tess jumped in, “Which is crazy. He's known all along how you feel.” She shook her head, disgusted. “I don't understand why everything has changed so suddenly.”
Gina sat up straight and waved her hand, dismissing the topic. “Let's talk about something else.” She looked at me. “Like you, Estelle. Tess and I have been meaning to ask you to lunch, but we're always so busy. How do you like Lawson & Stone so far?”
So far? Had it escaped her attention that I'd been working there for over a year? I looked at the two women sitting across from me. I knew they'd only asked me to lunch because now I had something of value to them, but after seeing Gina upset about her marriage, and Tess being so supportive, I was having a hard time hating them. I missed the good old days.
“I'm enjoying my work, it was hard to get acclimated, but it's been over a year now, so I think I've got the hang of things.”
Completely missing the point of my comment, Tess asked, “What do you do when you're not working? Are you married? Kids?”
I shook my head. “Neither. No boyfriend either, before you ask. Just me and my apartment.” I know, I was baiting them, but I couldn't help it.
Tess leaned back as though I'd insulted her and inhaled sharply, “Really? You're still renting?” She shook her head, disapproval blatant in her tone, “That is such a waste of money. You should let me show you some places, now's the time to buy.”
And there it was. Just when I was doubting my first instinct, out came the fangs. I pretended to c
onsider her advice before responding, “I know, I hear that so often, but buying a house is such an intimidating idea for me. I-”
Tess let out a tinkling little laugh. “That's what agents are for, Estelle. I can show you the ropes. Besides, you know you can trust me, we're friends.”
I nodded, taking in her “from the heart” advice. I stole a glance at Gina who was turning her head back and forth, tennis-match style. I could have been mistaken, but I swore that I saw resentment in her eyes.
“Tess, I have to say, I really appreciate your advice, and it really means a lot to me that you'd go out of your way to help me.” I smiled at her like we were matching diary, slumber-party best friends. “I don't know if you guys heard or not, it's been a few weeks...but my grandfather passed away...” I looked up to see Gina looking slightly ashamed, while Tess looked triumphant. “He left me some money, and I've been toying with the idea of buying something...” Because it was too good to pass up, I added, “Especially since I've been spending time with Mick.”
As if she'd been slapped, Tess jerked back. “Oh my God, Mick the Prick!”
Well what do you know, a variation on a theme.
She ranted, “I can't believe how slimy he is!” She leaned over the table. “Estelle, I'm going to be honest with you, I did hear about your...tragedy, and I'm so sorry. I haven't said anything because I wanted to give you some time to grieve.” She looked down and shook her head. “But I've seen Mick talking to you, and I hate that he's trying to take advantage of you.”
With as much innocence as possible, I asked, “What do you mean, take advantage of me?”
Tess rolled her eyes. “Estelle, you know how Mick operates, don't you? He will do anything to make a commission. I usually let people be, but you're a friend, and I don't want him talking you into a home that isn't right for you.”
The Millionaire Myth Page 3
