Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“Hello Weaver,” Kate says, chuckling. “I lost you there for a minute. And you’re blushing, by the way, slut. So I guess you remember who I’m talking about.”
“I remember,” I say, dreamily. “But I can’t really give you any tips. That night was just…I don’t know, magical. I mean, what were the chances that this stranger I’d run into in the metro would be at your restaurant and then would be interested in me?”
“Chances of someone being interested in you are high, my dear. Why are you selling yourself short?”
“I’m not. Or at least I don’t mean to. I’m just saying, Chris, Paris, that night, well I couldn’t have planned it if I wanted to. Some things are just serendipity. Right place, right time.” I pause. “Magic,” I say wistfully.
After I came home from Paris, I spent hours daydreaming about Chris, wondering if I’d ever see him again, whether he thought of me too. My thoughts often float back to that evening, to those steamy windows in Paris, to his strong hands that left bruises on my hips that only faded after I’d returned to New York. Although lately the fantasies have grown mistier. There’s the hint of Chris still there, his face, his body, but it was morphing into WildCaptain too, I realize with shock. The things I’ve learned about him, his humor, the give and take we so easily developed, it was folded into my vision of Chris.
I take a long sip of my drink, trying to avoid Kate’s eyes since my own may betray my thoughts. I don’t want to tell her about WildCaptain, and talking about Chris is inexplicably all mixed up with my growing, and confusing, feelings about him.
“Do you have regrets?” Kate asks.
“Regrets?! No, it was one of the best nights of my life,” I say, and I mean it.
“No,” Kate says. “I meant, do you regret that it didn’t lead anywhere? That you had to leave him and Paris behind. Isn’t there a part of you that wonders if it could have led somewhere?”
How can I explain to Kate that I met Chris, this amazing guy, at the exact wrong time? Everything that night was perfect, but for that night. Just one night. There was never any future for us, and it wasn’t just the distance. It was the email I’d received just before I left for Paris. My acceptance onto Sugar Girl and the year I planned to be a cam-girl, chatting naked with clients to earn fast cash. I couldn’t have expected anyone to want to be with a girl like me. Not like that.
“The only regret I’m worried about is that you keep playing shrink and we lose our primo reserved booth at Le Bain.” I throw back the rest of my drink, push Kate’s toward her, urging her to finish her drink.
“Why are we talking about Paris? Paris is so last season, Kate. We’re here, in New York City, together. Again!” I drag her toward the front door, and drag us away from this conversation and hopefully, on our way to making some new memories together.
6
Weaver
My hours of nightlife research have not prepared me for the scene I encounter at Le Bain, and it has little to do with my months of being a practical recluse. One a scale of one to ten, Le Bain is a twenty. It’s a total spectacle from the moment we walk in, and it is the exact right spot for me and Kate to spend our first night together.
Kate and I pile into the elevator with a gaggle of the most eclectic, the most stylish New Yorkers I’ve ever seen. Velma at the deli wears the same brown smock every night. My doorman always wears the same crisp green suit, so these club goers are a feast for my eyes. The woman in front of me is sheathed entirely in feathers. I’m squinting at the bizarre dress, trying to figure out if they’re glued to her or sewn onto some invisible mesh. Kate pokes me in the side as she sees my hand creeping out to touch her.
“No touching!” Kate scolds, grabbing my hand back, as if I were a child or a dog.
She’s right. I guess I need to brush up on my social skills. It has been a while since I’ve been out. I realize if I’d worn my plain, usual black cocktail dress, I would actually stand out amongst this group in ass-less chaps, what looks like a green screen suit, and a woman who’s wearing a completely bejeweled jogging suit. I can’t decide if the latter is worn ironically or not. Are jogging suits in? Is irony?
The elevators open up onto an enormous room. The lights are blue and pulsing, and immediately I feel like my body is buzzing with electricity. I can feel the steady strum of the music through the soles of my feet. The DJ is in the middle of the room, surrounded by dancers moving around him on the dancefloor. The club has floor to ceiling views of the city, and one entire side is open up to a rooftop deck and the chilly night air. A few brave, nicotine-craving revelers stand out there, their silhouettes dramatic against the New York City skyline. Kate squeezes my hand tightly at my side and I can hear her squeal a little. We look at each other with enormous grins and wide eyes.