Alim eyed me suspiciously as I sat down, probably already aware of the secret that sizzled in my brain. He shoved a cappuccino toward me, gesturing. “I got this for you.”
“So thoughtful of you,” I told him, sounding sarcastic. I gave him a meaningful smile and took a long sip. “I don’t suppose you have anything big to report in the twenty-four hours since we last saw one another?”
“What?” Alim asked. His smile faltered. “No. I just had that business meeting. And an early night.”
“Ah. Not all of us can have big, dramatic nights, now, can we?” I said to him, chuckling.
“Come off it. Who did you get to sleep with you this time?” he asked, his cheeks reddening with jealousy.
“Actually, Alim, I returned to our agreement, knowing that if I fought just a bit harder, committed just a bit more, I could latch our girl into seeing me again.”
“The American?” Alim asked, aghast. “There was no way she was going to see you again. She hated you, man.”
“Turns out a bit of apologizing and a bit more sweet-talking will always get the job done. I should have relied on it to begin with,” I told him, tilting my head.
“So? What happened? Is she going to go out with you again?” Alim asked, leaning in conspiratorially. “Surely she has more self-esteem than that…”
“It’s not an issue of self-esteem, Alim. She sees something in me. And it’s not because I’m a sheikh. It’s because I’m handsome, charming, and a good conversationalist. I’ve wooed her, wholly and completely, and it’s time for you to see just how far my charms can go.”
It was a mess. But I felt I was high-rolling, impressing my friend. I stood up from my empty coffee cup, pointing toward the door. “And tonight, we’re going out together. Just the two of us.”
“Is that so?” Alim asked, hardly able to comprehend my words.
“It is.”
It wasn’t. At least, not yet.
As I marched from the cafe, I lifted my phone and texted Angie, knowing that I had the power to influence her. I had the money awaiting her. The first ten thousand dollars had been a taste, luring her deeper. And her exclamatory text, which read: “I can’t believe we’re doing this. But okay, count me in,” had assured me she was in for the ride.
“I’ve just spoken with my friend,” I wrote to her, “and I think we should go out on a date tonight. We have to prove that we’re rekindling our relationship. Or kindling it for the first time, maybe. You in?”
I walked down the road for a few minutes more, anticipating the text back. But it didn’t come, not for another two hours. By then, I felt rattled and strange, fearing she was going to back out. We had no written agreement. I realized she could have taken ten thousand dollars from me and bounced.
But as I perched over my lunchtime sandwich, I received the message back.
“Fine. I guess we’ll have to start this at some point. What time?”
The message was stunted, without the usual excitement I received from women I took out on dates.
Feeling dejected, I puzzled over it for a moment, nibbling at the end of my sandwich. The bread was growing soggy. I dropped it back onto the plate. Why was this girl getting under my skin? Was it really that I was so frightened of losing to Alim?
“Let me pick you up at seven, like a proper date. That way, if Alim follows me, he’ll think he’s seeing something romantic between us. What’s your address?”
“Can’t we just meet there?” Angie responded moments later. Another blow!
“Fine,” I typed out, irked by her stubbornness. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. It’s a hole-in-the-wall downtown called Tommy’s. Paparazzi normally don’t follow me there.”
“Sure. See you there.”
I found myself anxious, my stomach stirring for the next few hours. Even my normal routine—lifting weights at the gym, meeting with my father to discuss what was happening in parliament, and shopping for the perfect new suit for the date ahead—did little to calm me down.
Shrugging into a perfect dark grey suit, I gazed at myself in my bedroom mirror, certain that I would sweep Angie off her feet that night. How could I not? I was desired by half of Al-Jarra. People couldn’t stop saying my name.