Her laughter ends in a small chuckle. “I don’t know about you, but when a guy asks you out, leads you on, spends two months making you fall in love with him, and when you finally tell him how you feel, he tells you that he loves you too, but..” she stops, “what were the exact words again?”
I don’t answer. I don’t want to remember. Sometimes, it’s still too painful to think about.
Laurie is right. I spend too much time thinking about Jack Weyland. The most renowned features writer at Gilt Traveler, a world-famous adventure traveler, and the man I’ve been in love with, silently and unrequitedly for the last two years.
Immediately after college, I’d gotten a job at Gilt Traveler, one of the many publications owned by Gilt Magazines. I fell for Jack on my first day in the building post-interview, when he walked past me in the lobby. I’d been starting as an assistant to Mark Willis, the senior features editor, and was on my way to the elevators when a tall, dark-haired, confidently handsome guy, had sauntered towards me, making me stare. He’d winked at me, and I’d almost tripped in my three inch heels.
I didn’t know who he was at the time, but I found out soon enough. By some divine providence, he also worked at Gilt Traveler. He was a gifted writer, handsome, charming, and nothing like the guys I’d known in college. He asked me to dinner, making me the envy of all the girls at Gilt, because he had never dated anyone from the office.
It was magical. Or so I’d thought. By the end of the week, I was sleeping with him. Before long, I knew I was falling in love with him. Stupidly, I told him how I felt, and he responded by telling me that I was sweet, and he loved me too, but that he could never commit to any one woman, and would only hurt me in the long run if he tried.
“I mean it when I say I love you,” he’d said earnestly, with a passionate expression that had always made me feel as if I was the most special person in the world to him. “It would mean a lot to me if we could be friends after this.”
Laurie is still waiting for me to respond. I close my eyes, trying to block out the sad memory. “He said that he can’t commit to just one woman.”
“That,” Laurie says. “When a guy does that, he’s an asshole, and you don’t stay friends with him for any reason. You wouldn’t even be going to Chadwick’s party tonight if Jack was in town to say ‘Hey Rachel, why don’t we go and hang out at this-or-that café. I’ll be so charming and funny, while I take pleasure in the fact that in just two months with me, I made you incapable of falling for anyone else.’”
We’ve had this fight a couple of times, the one where she tells me how unhealthy my friendship with Jack is for me, and I try to defend Jack and the fact that two years after he broke my heart, I’m still in love with him.
When I don’t reply, Laurie, uncharacteristically, lets the matter rest. She sticks one final pin in my hair and steps back, looking at her handiwork. Most of my hair is held up in an up-do that’s intentionally messy, but stylish, with a few strands framing my face. It’s lovely.
I meet Laurie’s eyes in the mirror and smile my appreciation. “Thanks.”
She smiles back. “No biggie. Now go to that party and have fun.” She winks. “In case you change your mind
and decide to rock Chadwick’s world. I left a present in your purse.”
Eyeing her suspiciously, I go to my bed and pick the black clutch, opening it and rolling my eyes at the ‘present’.
“I definitely won’t need these,” I say with a laugh.
Laurie shrugs. “The night’s not over yet. Allow me some hope.”
LESS than an hour later, I’m in front of the Oyster room, an exclusive restaurant and bar on the second floor of the Swanson Court Hotel. From the exterior, it’s impossible to guess that there’s a party going on inside.
Pausing on the corridor outside the doors, I catch my reflection in the glass and thank my stars for Laurie. She also helped pick out my clothes, a dark-green dress the same color as my eyes, with a suggestive décolletage, and a hemline that ends just above my knees, paired with black heels that add four inches to my modest five foot five.
Satisfied that nothing is out of place, I push open the doors and step into a quiet ante-room occupied by a smiling hostess, who directs me to another set of doors that open directly into the restaurant. Inside, the party is in full swing, seemingly containing all the stylish, artsy, or creative young people in New York City. That’s not surprising. Chadwick Black, the celebrant, is an award-winning photographer who sometimes does work for Gilt Traveler.
From the entrance, I glimpse a few people from the office, and then Chadwick across the room, whispering something to an impossibly slender blonde, who’s giggling at whatever he’s saying. Typical Chadwick. He loves to flirt, and he’s been trying, very good-naturedly, to get into my pants for ages. I take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, my eyes still on Chadwick. He’s good-looking, very good-looking, with long brown hair, caramel eyes, and a charming smile that gives him the appearance of being the harmless, friendly-yet-incredibly-hot guy next door. I know better, his love for women is generous, nondiscriminatory, and definitely not monogamous.
He looks up from the blonde’s ear and notices me. Grinning, he excuses himself and comes over. “Rachel honey,” he exclaims above the loud pop music, then kisses me on both cheeks before leaning back to look at me. “You look stunning.”
“So do you,” I reply, dodging a second round of kisses, “Great party.”
“I know, right?” He takes my hand, and there’s a flash as someone takes a picture. I don’t have as much social clout as some of the other girls at Gilt, so I’m not worried that my picture will appear in any of the fashion or gossip columns.
Chadwick is still talking. “I have great friends who realize that there’s nothing more important than celebrating the fact that twenty-eight years ago, I came into this world for the benefit of women everywhere,” he proclaims.
I chuckle. “You’re so full of it.”
“Yeah,” he replies with a charming grin. “But you love me.”
“I do.”
“Then why won’t you let me show you just how crazy I am about you?”
I swat him on the arm. “Because I love myself too much.”