Sounding none too impressed, she asked, “What was it this time?”
Last week, I had asked Mr. Vozzo to stop calling me sweetheart. The week before I asked him — ever so kindly — if he could please stop tapping me on the tush every time I walked passed him. Every time I bring something up, he has the same response. “I didn’t realise I was doing it… sweetheart.”
I wouldn’t mind so much if Mr. Vozzo were an eighty year old. The fact is that Mr. Vozzo is barely forty, married and thinks he’s God’s gift to women. The sad thing is, I need this job. Yes, it’s a crappy office job, but the pay is above average, I get four weeks of vacation a year plus dental. A far cry better from working in the diner I had been working at.
“Oh, you know, the usual. Just that he please only ask me to lunch if it’s business related.”
Stacey gagged. “The little worm! He’s married!”
“Oh, I know. I reminded him. Subtly, of course.”
Yeah. About as subtle as a mule wearing fishnets.
Stacey sighed. “I’m sorry your boss is a dick.”
Smiling, I muttered slyly, “Are you sure you don’t work for Hallmark with phrases like that?”
At least that managed to get a laugh out of her. “Okay, enough chitchat. You’re gonna freak when I tell you what we’ve got.”
That peaked my interest. “We’ve got something?”
She responded in a singsong voice. “We’ve got something!”
“Alright then. Lay it on me.”
She puffed out a long breath. “Are you sitting down?”
I shook my head. “No.” Taking a long look at the questionable stain on the empty bench next to me, I muttered, “It doesn’t look safe to sit right now.”
Completely ignoring me, she let out a shrill, “Good! Are you ready for this?”
“I’m ready, baby. Sock it to me.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
I rolled my eyes and let out a long drawn, “Stacey!”
She giggled into the phone. “Okay! Alright! I’m just giddy. Sorry. I’ll tell you.”
“You better because I’m about to hang up on yo’ ass.”
She let out an exasperated. “There you go again!”
I burst into laughter. “Oh my God, will you just tell me!”
She blurt out. “We got vouched!”
Confusion crossed my expression. “What?”
“We got vouched. We’re vouched!”
Clearly not following, I mumbled, “Uhhhh…”
“Frost! We’re finally going to Frost!”
I gasped, “Really?” I gasped again, “Really really?”
She laughed in my ear. “Really really! The guy vouching us uses the family business. His name is Christopher Robin.”
I bunched my nose in an attempt to not laugh. “Isn’t that the kid from Winnie the Pooh?”
“What? No. He’s a real guy. He’s real. And he’s vouching for us this Saturday!”
I shook my head in disbelief. “How did this come about?”
She sighed. “Well, he’s been trying to get me to go out with him for a while and every time he asks, I tell him I can’t, but when he asked me to Frost…”
I wince. “Oh, Stacey. Tell me you didn’t. You did not whore yourself out so we could go to Frost.”
Her hesitation is as clear as day. “I- Um- Okay. I won’t tell you then.”
I can’t believe she did that. “Stacey! Don’t you even like him a little?”
Her words tumble out in a rush. “I do! I really do like him and he’s a total fox, Em, b- but every time my dad’s around he’s a total kissass, and I hate that.”
Oh. I saw the problem.
No one wanted a man without backbone.
But I always believed in giving people a chance. “Maybe you should make Saturday a day to see him on neutral ground. It’s true that he might only be doing that because of the business your dad offers. Give him a chance.”
“I told him I’d have a drink with him. That’s all.”
And he accepted that? Holy cow, he must really be into her. “Then you have that drink. And you drink it good.”
A voice calling Stacey sounded in the receiver. “Listen, I have to go. Be ready by seven. We’re having pre-drinks drinks at Joes. Love you!”
Finally, Saturday came and I spent my day relaxing. I gave myself a manicure and pedicure, I put a face mask on, shaved and scrubbed myself till I was near-raw.
I needed to wash the weeks stank off of me.
Friday after work, I went to my favourite boutique, Safira, because I needed something new and way out of my price range to wear to Frost.
You didn’t go to Frost wearing rags. You wore diamonds, emeralds and rubies.
Of course, all I had were my zirconia’s to match my pleather handbag.
This would not do.
As soon as I walked in, I spotted Tina, the owner. What I loved about this place was that Tina always treated you more like a friend than a customer. She remembered people by name and what they bought the last time they were there. She truly has a passion for fashion.
She beamed. “Emma! Black and white strapless cocktail dress!”
I smiled back. “I need your help.”
Her smile fell. “What are we looking for?”
I pursed my lips. “Something to wear to Frost.”
Her eyes widened. “I love that place!”
Hold up. What? “You’ve been there?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Uh, yeah. My husband and I own part of it.” She chuckled. “You should’ve said something earlier, I would’ve vouched for you.”
My mind started to tear up.
All this time. We could’ve gone all this time.
Never mind. I sighed. “What does one wear to Frost?”
She dragged me over to the long mirror and stood behind me. “Look at it this way. You’re the cupcake. And it’s my job to frost you.” Giggling, she leaned forward and whispered, “I might’ve had a part in naming Frost.”
Lifting my arms up by my sides, I uttered, “Do what you do. But I’m on a budget.”
She winked as she walked over to the clothes racks. “I think we can work something out.”
That’s how I came home with a little black dress. And I didn’t come home crying poverty either.
Tina is the shit.
I curled my hair, leaving it down in loose waves, added eyeliner, mascara and glossed my lips.
That was it.
I’d never really been one for a lot of makeup.
I slipped on my new dress, slid on my white pumps, and waited. Seven oh five, my phone vibrated.
Stacey: Get your butt down here!
Rushing down, I squealed when I spotted the taxi right out the front of my door. “Oh my God, I’m so excited!”
We headed to Joes, our local bar for a few drinks then close to ten pm, we walked the two blocks to Frost. As soon as I spotted the lineup, my stomach dipped.
Something was going to go wrong. I could feel it in my very soul.
I’d always been able to tell when something big was about to happen. My grandmother called me sensitive. I called it being a worry wart.
Stacey, Laura and Ally stared at the line in the same way I did. Probably because it went all the way down the block then circled down a side street.
Ally asked, “Are you sure we’re getting in?”
Laura aired her own concern. “Are you sure this guy is legit?”
Suddenly, Stacey lost some of her confidence. “I- um- I think so.” She straightened. “We’re on that list. He said we are. Let’s go.”
Stacey led us to the front of the line. The first thing I saw was him.
Oh sweet Jesus.
He was divine.
Dark hair, green eyes, strong chin, taller than me by a solid foot, his arms crossed over his broad chest looking something like a Greek god.