Love Love (5 page)

“
Oh my God, Gabby. When are
you going to get a clue? You’re beautiful! That’s why everyone is
staring. Do you know how many women would kill to look like you
without having to slather shitloads of makeup on their face? You
don’t even have to try and you’re gorgeous. Hell, you get out of
bed in the morning and you’re a guy’s wet dream. That’s just
sickening, even to me.”

I let out a frustrated
groan. That’s the total opposite of everything my parents said when
I was growing up. It was always about them not liking the clothes I
picked out, or wanting me to cut my hair a different way, or how
I’d look prettier with makeup. I remember my mom taking me to
Macy’s and making me sit through one of those complimentary makeup
sessions at the Clinique counter. Afterwards she always
bubbled,
see how much prettier you look
now
? Isn’t every parent supposed to think
their child is beautiful? That their child is smart? That their
child is worthy? She’ll never know how deeply her comments hurt
me.

A huge sigh leaves my chest. “Can we
just go check out my dress please?”

When we get to the store, I eye the
dress again in the window, and know it’s perfect. Fran waits
outside the dressing room while I try it on. The dress moves over
my body and once it’s in place I realize why it caught my eye. It’s
just like everything else in my closet. The blue satin looks even
prettier up close, it has a high neckline so it’s not too
revealing, and it falls below my knee. It doesn’t really accentuate
anything, which is why it works for me. I tend to pick the boring,
traditional clothes lacking pizzazz, while Fran’s choices are
always funky and accentuate what she’s got. She won’t like this
dress because it’s too conservative.

I walk out of the dressing room and
Fran’s mouth hangs open. I guess she feels the same way.
“Gabby…that’s the dress you were dying to show me?”

“
Yes, why?” I try to act
innocent, but even I know this dress is boring with a capital
B.

“
Honey, it’s too
conservative. There’s not an ounce of skin showing. We need to find
you another dress.”

I certainly know my best friend and
that alone is a good feeling. Predictability wins out, however, and
my mouth turns down in a pout. Suddenly I’m eight years old,
standing in front of my mom, trying to convince her to let me
choose my own clothes for school. “But I like this one, Fran,” I
whine.

“
Sweetie. I know you have a
tendency toward the conservative, but come on, you have to let
loose a little. Show a little morsel. You have an amazing figure,
but you hide it under all those clothes.”

“
I don’t want to look like
a slut, Fran!” I practically shout and see a woman whip her head
around and peek at us through a rack of clothes.

“
Gabby, showing a little
cleavage isn’t going to make you a slut. Sleeping around is the
only thing that will grant you that very special title, so you’re
in the clear.”

Fran starts rifling through racks
looking for the perfect dress for me, which, quite frankly, makes
me nervous. Our sense of style is just so completely different.
After an hour of trying dresses on, I’m about ready to throw in the
towel. Then I see her eyes light up. “That’s the one!”

It’s an olive green satin dress with a
low cut scoop in the front and a V in the back, cut slightly above
the knee. Something I would never wear. “Fran, that’s way too
revealing. I can’t wear it!”

“
Try it on, for heaven’s
sake. Can you just do that for me?” She gives me her best puppy dog
eyes, and I have no choice but to concede.

I don’t look in the mirror until I’m
zipped. At first glance the fabric and cut seem to show way too
much skin, but if I’m honest with myself, it makes me feel
sexy.

Fran eyes me appreciatively, a
satisfied smirk on her face. “Am I good, or am I good? That dress
is perfect!”

I stare blankly at Fran. “I don’t
know, Fran.”

“
Gabby, you look beautiful.
Really, honey. I mean, come on, you’re five foot seven, with
beautiful chestnut hair, gorgeous blue eyes, and a great figure!
When are you going to start realizing this?”

My mother’s voice plays
like a record in my head.
Gabby, dear.
That dress shows too much of that curvy figure and it makes your
legs look skinny. It’s not flattering at all. In fact, it’s an
unattractive look for you.

Fran’s eyes meet mine. “Well, we both
know your mother’s like the scarecrow from your favorite movie…you
know, the one that doesn’t have a brain.”

Excitement builds as we make our way
over to the Sky Bar, the new lounge on the Upper West Side. After
my new dress and Fran’s pep talk, I’m definitely up for some fun;
maybe a little harmless flirting. Maybe more. Who knows. Maybe I
should let Fran set me up. Or maybe this is my sexual frustration
talking. It’s been a while.

We enter the bar and it’s wall to wall
people. Ugh. Sweaty bodies are rubbing up against me and the body
odor is offensive. Someone just grabbed my ass. Gah! A shattering
sound catches my attention and I look over to see a nervous
waitress anxiously scooping up glass from the floor, trying to hide
the red consuming her pretty face. I scan the room. Everyone here
seems to be looking for something. A good time, a few drinks, an
escape from their day, a sexual encounter, or even love, I suppose.
As that last thought hits me, I wonder why anyone would go looking
for love in a bar. I mean, let’s be real, this isn’t the place to
find the key to your heart. The key to your vagina,
maybe.

As I ponder my thoughts on the
philosophy of life, Fran taps me on the shoulder. “What do you want
to drink? The usual?”

“
No way, Fran. Screw that.
Tonight I’m living on the edge. I’ll have a lemon drop.”

“
Wow, Gabby.” She swipes
the back of her hand across her forehead, feigning surprise.
“That’s your idea of living on the edge?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Why,
what’s wrong with a lemon drop?”

“
Sweetie. Lemon drops are
for college girls, not a gorgeous, sophisticated woman like
yourself. You really want to take a walk on the wild side? I’m
ordering you a martini with an olive.”

I let out a frustrated groan. “Okay,
Fran, whatever.”

Fran and I take a seat at the bar and
wait for our drinks. My eyes wander and I scope out the crowd,
hoping to find someone that might be worth a second look. Anyone
with emerald eyes. Realizing I forgot to tell Fran about my
encounter, if you could even call it that, I start to tell her when
she cuts me off. “Fran, you’ll never believe what
happen—”

“
Please tell me you took
that guy Scott you work with right across your desk and had your
wicked way with him!” Leave it to Fran to think it was about hot
sex. She’s always having hot sex, or thinking about it. God, I do
envy her sometimes.

“
As appealing as that
sounds, no. I was on my way to work this morning when I saw the
hottest freaking guy in creation.”

Fran waits expectantly for
me to elaborate and is disappointed, as usual. “That’s it?
That
was your interesting
morning?! I hope there’s more to tell that makes it
interesting
.”

“
Well, there isn’t really.
Except that he was hot and seriously sexy. Tall, with shiny black
hair, sparkling emerald green eyes, golden brown skin, and a rock
hard body.” I didn’t tell her about the orgasm I practically had
right on the street, or that my panties almost disintegrated the
moment I saw him.

“
Please tell me you tackled
him and ripped his clothes off. Or, at least got his phone
number.”

That does sound appealing. The idea of
hot sex with no commitment might be the way to go. At least it
would be a great distraction. “Fran, as much as the idea of that
turns me on, all I did was embarrass myself when he caught me
staring. I’m sure he didn’t think twice about it. He probably gets
it all the time.”

Fran waggles her eyebrows.
“Oh, I’m
sure
he
gets it all the time.”

I smack her shoulder. “Do you ever
think about anything besides sex? Nevermind, don’t answer
that.”

“
Hmmm...well, no, and why
would I want to? Gabby, let’s be honest, you need to get laid. It’s
been a while, and you’ve been very cranky lately, not to mention
the fact that I found an excessive amount of empty Swedish Fish
bags and Hershey’s Kiss wrappers when I was taking out the
garbage…a telltale sign. We need to remedy this situation and fast.
You’re not yourself, but I’m sure it’s nothing a good, hot piece of
ass can’t take care of.”

I crinkle my nose. “Oh my God, Fran,
you’re incorrigible!” She’s not paying attention to me anymore, but
looking toward the end of the bar. “What are you staring
at?”

Her hand fans her face. “Check out
those two hotties over there!”

I see two tall, honey blondes in very
expensive-looking gray suits, one with blue eyes, the other with
brown, both with muscular physiques. Blonde isn’t really my
preference. They make their way over after they catch us staring.
The one with blue eyes speaks first.

“
Hi, what are you two
ladies drinking?”

Fran immediately pipes up. “Vodka
tonic, and a martini.” Then she moves closer to me and whispers
“I’ll take the one with the sexy birthmark.”

I smirk and look over at her. “Don’t
worry about me. I’ll just take whatever’s left.”

Blue eyes leans in and extends his
hand. He’s handsome, I guess, with a broad smile and a cleft in his
chin. “I’m Blaine, and this is my friend, Kyle.” Kyle’s birthmark
accentuates his full lips and he looks a bit like a Calvin Klein
model, except with a suit as opposed to the fabulous tight-fitting
underwear. Judging by the way he fills out his suit, I imagine he
looks great in his underwear, too. Both of them.

Fran, of course, starts. “I’m Fran,
and this is Gabby.”

“
Pleasure to meet you,”
they both say at the same time.

We all giggle a little nervously.
Fran’s making eyes at Kyle and I’m hoping the floor will open and
swallow me.

“
This is the first time
we’ve been here,” Kyle says. “What about you?”

“
Yes, this is our first
time, too,” I agree, trying to make sure they’re aware I can
actually speak. “So, what do you both do?”

“
We work at a hedge fund on
Wall Street.” Of course.

“
What about you two?” Kyle
asks, and I notice he moves closer to Fran.

“
I work at an interior
design firm,” I respond. I keep my answers short in hopes that
they’ll tire of us, or at least me, and move along.

“
Graphic design studio,”
Fran says, polishing off her second vodka tonic.

As we continue to make what
I feel is boring conversation with Blaine and Kyle, the drinks keep
coming, and the martinis are giving me a good buzz. After drink
number three, I notice Blaine’s arm sneak around and massage my
waist. Needless to say, I’m not
that
buzzed. I immediately move his
hand away and see the smile on his face turn into a frown. No
matter how fuzzy the alcohol is making me feel, it’s not enough to
want a one night stand right now; not with this guy
anyway.

Nothing about Blaine interests me and
I find myself tuning him out and checking out the other guys at the
bar. A warm body finds the seat next to me and a musky aroma floats
in my direction. It smells familiar and I suddenly feel
nauseous.

I anxiously turn to Fran. “I’ve got to
get out of here.” The smell is invading the void in my heart and a
longing is taking over, one that I can’t cope with because it just
hurts too much.

“
What’s wrong?” A look of
concern crosses her face.

What am I supposed to tell her? She’s
heard it all before…that every night when I close my eyes I see
Clark’s face, his smile, hear his voice…that I still smell his
musky scent…that sometimes I try with every bone in my body to
remember what it felt like to have his arms around me. She knows I
end up sobbing some nights because it’s getting harder and harder
to remember. I don’t want the memory; I want Clark. “I just need to
go, Fran.”