Wow, this was just turning into a marvelous shopping trip now, wasn’t it? Not only was I not getting the dress I wanted, my Dad would know I took his card, and my hulk ex-boyfriend with a vendetta was grilling me. Fabulous. Maybe I’ll get hit by a bus on my way home. Really round out the day.
“Um, listen, Steve. About that...”
Just then, the door to the office swung open and in strode a nondescript man in a nicely tailored suit. After flashing his badge at Steve, he glanced at me.
“Is this the perp?” he asked. I instantly noticed his English accent, which caused my skin to prickle. Oh, I love an English accent! So sexy! Then, I remembered, You are not at a club. This is serious!
Steve and the man (who I assumed was a cop) began discussing details of my “case”, while I attempted to appear forlorn and stared down at my flip flops.
Despite the cop’s unremarkable looks, I was completely entranced and couldn’t help sneaking peeks at him. His cheekbones weren’t half bad and he looks like he works out. This guy has some potential.
“Well, thanks,” the cop told Steve. “I’ll take it from here.”
“I’d keep a close eye on her,” Steve whispered loudly. “Maybe even use the cuffs.”
My neck nearly snapped as I jerked my head toward Steve. Use the cuffs? That son of a bitch! Didn’t you sleep with Gia Franklin the week after I dumped you? You should be thanking me for that opportunity! She’s a world famous porn star now. All I wanted to do was lunge at him from across the desk.
“I’m sure she’ll be on her best behavior,” the officer remarked. “Ms. Parisi?” He smiled slightly and motioned for me to follow him. Instead of pummeling Steve, I shot him an icy glare, gathered my purse, and headed out the door behind the officer. I still felt embarrassed, but at least no one was staring at me anymore. I just looked like a woman walking next to a man in a suit.
“You never told me your name,” I remarked nervously, speed walking to keep up with his rapid pace. You’re rushing so the cop can bring you down to the station and book you? Really? The only reason you’ve ever run for was that sale at Macy’s last year.
“It’s Simon,” the cop told me while flashing me a dazzling smile. Simon? Not Officer so and so? Just Simon? I’m going to be on a first name basis with a cop who is arresting me?
If I didn’t know any better, I would think this cop was trying to pick me up. But of course, why would he be trying to pick up a woman who was trying to buy a dress with a stolen credit card? Don’t be ridiculous, Elizabeth.
We exited the mall into the parking lot, and I expected to find a police cruiser waiting at the curb. But instead, Simon led me to a white unmarked car parked in the second row. A Mustang? Since when do cops drive Mustangs?
“Get in,” he told me, holding the passenger door open. I obediently slid into the front seat, while he jogged around to the driver’s side. He pulled the door open and got in. As he buckled his own seat belt, he reminded me, “Buckle up for safety, now!”
I obediently pulled the belt across my chest and clicked it. Don’t cops usually put the “criminal” in the backseat? I remember thinking as he pulled out of the space and sped toward the exit.
As I gazed down at the virtually naked dashboard, I realized that there was no radio equipment or anything else remotely reminiscent of a cop to be found in this vehicle. All at once, the red flags went up in my head. This guy didn’t have a uniform; he only had a badge. He didn’t look like he was carrying a gun or handcuffs. He did have a Walkie talkie like thing attached to his belt, but you could get those at Radio Shack.
“Are you really a cop?” I asked in an accusatory tone as I scooted closer to my door. I gripped the handle, just in case I needed to hurl my body out of the moving vehicle.
Simon grinned. “Nope! Just your knight on a white horse”" He looked at me, waiting for me to laugh. “Get it? It’s a Mustang! A mustang’s a horse?”
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. “What?” I asked with a mixture of annoyance and fear. Oh my God, Elizabeth! You twit! You got in a car with a stranger! All those stupid dinner time conversations about stranger danger that you thought were Mom and Dad being overprotective and now it’s happened to you! At age twenty-two!
“I’m your knight in shining armor! On a white horse!” Simon repeated, still grinning at me, but his face fell when he saw my traumatized expression. “What’s the matter? I saved you from the real cops,” he tried to explain.
“How? What?” I was stammering. Who was this guy and what was his deal? He was driving in a direction that was nowhere near my house or the police station. Think, Elizabeth, think. Didn’t we have a safety seminar on campus freshman year? That avoid “how to avoid date rape” one? I frantically tried to recall what it was I was supposed to do if this situation arose. It was getting dark, maybe I could signal a passing car with a flashlight. That was, if I had a flashlight.
Simon pulled the car over onto a deserted side street and stopped. Oh crap. He’s going to rape me and chop me up into tiny pieces. I’m going to be on the front page of the paper tomorrow.
Instinctively, I checked my outfit. It was cute, but I remembered I was wearing underwear with a hole in it. Damn it! I didn’t want my body found in crappy underwear.
“That stupid security bloke back there at the mall was going to call the cops on you. I was in the store shopping for my Mum’s birthday and I figured you needed saving.” He leaned toward me with a sly grin. “A pretty girl like you wouldn’t make it in the clink.’ His warm breath on my neck gave me goosebumps. The good kind. I giggled involuntarily.
Stop laughing! This isn’t funny! I bet that he sweet talks all his victims before he…well, victimizes them. My brain was reminding me that I should be petrified of this guy, but all I really wanted to know was, is he going to kiss me? He had me feeling weak in the knees and I wasn’t even standing up.
“So you’re not a cop?” I giggled. Stupid girl, if he’s not a cop he could be a crazy rapist or killer, my mind was screaming, but my body was ignoring it.
“Not in a million years,” Simon replied with a grin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he said, “Idiot didn't even look at the badge.” Leaning closer, I inspected the silver medallion closely. It said “Firefighter”.
I raised my eyebrows as I felt a tingling in my nether regions. “You’re a firefighter then?” Firefighters were much hotter than cops, anyway. I’ve never been with a firefighter. This could work.
Simon chuckled. “Wrong again.”
My face fell. Damn it. I wanted to see if he had abs like the guys on the calendars.
“It's my stepfather’s. He used to be a volunteer,” Simon explained with a wicked grin. “You swipe credit cards, I swipe badges.”
My face got hot. “But I...” Then I shrugged my shoulders. The jig was up. “How did you know?”
“I’ve got good instincts,” Simon replied with a wink. “That’s how I knew you were too sexy for prison and I knew I must save you.” I immediately felt butterflies in my stomach. Hell, I think they were full-fledged hummingbirds.
“Well I hardly think they send you to prison for borrowing your father’s credit card,” I replied with a laugh. Actually, it was more like a titter. I was falling apart like some foolish teenager in front of this guy. All because he had such a charming accent. I was silently cursing all those English novels I read in college. They made British men seem so damn sexy. That and Hugh Grant.
“It’s a slippery slope, my dear,” Simon told me, his gray eyes twinkling. “First it’s ‘borrowing’ Daddy’s card, then his car, and before you know it, you’re booking holidays to the Caribbean at his expense.”
I clapped my hands together. “Ooo, I could use a vacation to the Caribbean!’ I grinned as Simon leaned in closer. I was acting like an airheaded fool and I had absolutely no power to shut myself up. Please let him kiss me, God. I’ll never ask for another thing as long as I live.
“
Maybe you need a rich boyfriend to take you there,” Simon replied with a sly smile.
My heart started pounding in my ears. Oh please, please let him be rich. Sorry, God. I lied. “Maybe I do,” I purred. “You interested in the job?” I leaned in closer to him. Our noses were practically touching. Who are you, Elizabeth?
“Definitely,” Simon replied as his lips touched mine.
I admit, I went home with him that day. Okay, so maybe I have gone home with a guy on more than one occasion. It doesn't make me a slut. I haven’t done that in years. Not since Austin. Austin was the last guy I went home with. Because of my lack of sexual activity in high school, all my pent up sexual desire erupted in college. Not that I was promiscuous or anything. I just had a few boyfriends. Okay, like a dozen. Or maybe a dozen and a half. I didn’t sleep with all of them. Just most of them.
“Elizabeth!” Nora was screeching at me, interrupting my walk down memory lane. I automatically covered my ears. Damn her voice was grating after she had a few drinks.
“What?” I screeched back.
“Are you even paying attention? Jose has been waiting!” She batted her eyes at the Hispanic waiter standing next to the table, poised with a pen and pad. Jesus, does she ever stop?
Nora was man crazy. Specifically, any man with Hispanic or Italian blood. It was like a sickness. We frequented every Mexican, Italian and Portuguese restaurant in the tri-state area so she could gawk while she dined. She claimed the “Latin men” were the most unselfish lovers. You would think being divorced from one Puerto Rican was enough. Not for Nora. She was relentless and always on the lookout for her next Latino ex-husband. Although, even though they were Italian, she hated both my brothers. Who could blame her? They were imbeciles.
I gazed at the plastic menu that Nora had waved in my face. I was filled up on chips and half of Nora’s quesadilla. And my margarita, apparently. I stared at my glass that was now empty. Funny, I don’t remember drinking any of it. “I’ll just have another margarita,” I told the waiter.
Nora sighed as she handed the menu back to Jose. After he walked away, she remarked, “You really need to eat more, Elizabeth.”
I rolled my eyes as I sucked on my straw. “We’re not all blessed with skinny genes like you, Nora. Some of us have to watch our girlish figures. Hell, if I’m serious, I probably could go the next month without eating.”
“Oh stop it,” my best friend chided. “You’re absolutely fine.” She eyed the fresh drink that the waiter was dropping in front of me. “But, if you’re really serious about trimming your waistline, you might want to stay away from those things. The sugar alone will kill you.”
“Thanks so much. You’re not exactly the poster child for AA.” I took a long sip while shooting her a dirty look.
Nora held up her hands. “I’m just saying. You’re constantly complaining about not being able to eat because you’re afraid of getting fat. If you cut down on the drinks, you could probably eat more.” She stirred her own margarita while adding, “And it wouldn’t kill you to go to the gym with me every once in a while, either.”
“Oh God, with the gym again.” I rolled my eyes.
Nora was a gym fanatic, working out every day. Sometimes, she even went twice a day. She took Zumba, spin classes and Step classes. She did weights, the stepper and the elliptical. You name it, Nora has tried it. If there was a gym full of Latin/ Italian men and margaritas, Nora probably would never leave.
It wasn’t like I never graced the inside of the gym. In fact, I had a membership to two of them. I signed up for the second because I forgot that I belonged to the first. Sometimes, I even went. Some people work out daily or even every other day. I was on more of a yearly workout plan. Specifically, January second of every year. And I religiously donated my money to both gyms each month. I hope they were buying new equipment for all the “Noras” that utilized their facility every day.
“You could use an exercise routine,” Nora pointed out.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I’m fat and hideous and blah, blah, blah.”
“No. You’re certainly not. But you are a chronic complainer and I’d rather see you do something about it than complain. Plus, you’re only twenty-eight years old. How are you going to get a man to fall in love with you if you don’t even love yourself?” Oh, did I mention Nora was a psychologist? Not only was she a psychologist, she thought she was my personal psychologist—she was constantly psychoanalyzing me.
“I do love myself,” I replied defensively.
“Then you need to show it. Take better care of yourself.” Nora speared the remainder of her quesadilla. “Or Austin will never want to settle down with you.”
“Austin and I are doing fine, thank you very much,” I retorted.
Nora smirked. “When was the last time you talked to the superstar?”
I felt my face turn beet red. “Not since Sunday, but he’s on the road and you know...”
Nora raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. It made her look like a cartoon villain. “You know I would never interfere in your relationship...”
I snorted, causing my drink to squirt out of my nose. “Ha! Since when? You have interfered with every relationship I’ve had since we were eighteen years old!”
Nora pretended to look offended. “I’m hurt.” She stuck her already pouty lips out further. Collagen was another one of her obsessions. “And you know that is totally not true.” She swigged down the last of her third margarita. “We weren’t even friends until our second year of college,” she reminded me between sips.
“Whatever. I’m just reiterating that you have interfered in my relationships.”
“So not true,” Nora retorted. She waved at the waiter while pointing to her glass. “Name one relationship that I interfered in.”
“Simon!”
“That’s hardly fair, Elizabeth. That relationship was imploding all on its own.”
“No. Simon is here. Behind you,” I hissed as I tried to hide myself under the table. Nora swung around in her chair to look at the front door. “No! Don’t turn around! He’ll see you!”
Nora turned back toward me and made a disgusted face. “Too late. He already saw us.” I lifted my head to see that it was true. Simon was indeed on his way over to our table. He was waving merrily as he approached.
“Hello, ladies,” he called out cheerfully as he swiped a chair from the table next to us.
“Hey!” called out the older woman at that table. “That’s my husband’s chair! He’s in the bathroom!”
“Oh I’m terribly sorry,” Simon cooed in his most sincere voice. “But I’ll only be a second. And if your husband ate here, he’ll be in the loo for a lot longer than I’ll need this chair.” He winked and I could swear the woman swooned. She giggled as Simon sat down at our table.
“No need,” Nora remarked with disgust. She pulled her wallet out of her purse and slapped two twenties on the table. “I’m leaving.” She stood up and I grabbed her hand.
“Nor, you don’t have to go. Simon will go.” I glared at Simon expectantly as Nora pulled her hand free.
He shook his head. “I can’t go yet. I need to talk to you, Lizzie.”
“Stop calling me that!” I nearly shrieked.
“Sorry. I keep forgetting. You liked it two years ago,” Simon pointed out.
“That was before you...” I stopped myself. “What do you want? I was having a nice dinner with Nora.” I glanced up toward my friend, but she was already gone. I could see the back of her head as she pushed open the door to exit the restaurant. I threw my hands up and scowled at Simon. “Great! Thanks. I was having dinner with my friend. Something you obviously don’t know anything about.”
“I don’t know what crawled up her arse,” Simon shrugged.
I glared at him. “Are you serious right now? After what happened you don’t understand why she hates you? You really haven’t changed at all, have you? Your brain will never catch up with your ego.”
“I thought
maybe time heals all wounds and all that jazz.” Simon grabbed Nora’s fork and started tracing the lines already carved into the table. “It did for me anyway.”
“Well it doesn’t for normal people. You know, the people that you hurt,” I informed him as I folded my arms across my chest.
“I’m sorry,” Simon apologized, and for once he actually looked like he meant it.
“Okay,” I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “What was so urgent you couldn’t wait till I got home or...” I picked up my cell phone and waved it in his face, “call me on my cell?”
“I’ve lost my key,” Simon announced as he took a sip of Nora’s margarita.
I stared at him with my mouth open. “Are you fucking for real, Simon?” I glanced at the screen on my cell phone. “It’s nine thirty on a Wednesday night. Where are we going to get a key made at this hour?”
Simon shrugged as he continued to inhale the drink. “Don’t know. I guess it will have to wait till morning. But I couldn’t get in the apartment and I was waiting for you outside in the hallway, when your creepy neighbor came out in his skivvies and sat down in a chair and took the paper out. I thought he was going to drop a deuce right in the hallway. I dashed out of there and was wandering around the city. Then I remembered you and Nora always do Mexican on Wednesday nights so I hit all the Mexican joints in a five mile radius searching for you.”
“You did not.” Completely fabricated story. Mr. Jackson may be eccentric, but he wasn’t crazy. And there is no way he could have hit all the Mexican restaurants in a five mile radius. There was probably a hundred of them.
“Okay, I didn’t. I followed you here and waited outside until it got too cold.”
Disgusted, I shook my head and I waved the waiter over. “Can I have the check?” I asked sweetly.
Simon made a face. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going home, Simon. I’ve had a long day. I’m tired.”
Simon pouted. “No! Let’s not go home yet! Let’s hang out. Have a few drinks! Just like old times.” He elbowed me playfully. “What do you say, pal?”
[2013] Note to Self- Change the Locks Page 3
