I'm such an open book, except for my actual book, that someone who's barely met me feels confident that my life is so boring and safe that they put their multimillion-dollar sports career in my hands.
I start to sweat. Okay, no pressure here. "Are you alright?" Xavier asks. His hand gently rubs my bare upper back, which makes my breath—as irregular as it already is—hitch. Through another round of coughing, I give him two super cheesy thumbs up.
"I'm" —cough, cough— "gonna go"—cough—"to the restroom. Excuse me." I finish with a loud cough that draws the attention of everyone within a ten-foot radius.
I head to the restroom to regain my composure after almost asphyxiating, as well as to try and prevent the panic attack that is most definitely brewing.
The bathroom is nicer than my apartment. I can't resist. I freshen up my makeup, pull out my phone, and open ClikClak. I film myself with the camera held above and slowly turn to get a panoramic view of the most incredible bathroom this side of Buckingham Palace.
With a voice filter, my own words sound like a movie trailer announcer.
When your date takes you to one of the swankiest joints in town, but you almost die choking on an hors d'oeuvre. But at least you get to use a bathroom that's nicer than most people's homes!
I'm pleased with the results, so I finish up by adding my tags #datenight, #surpriselove, #swanky, and of course, #xoxo.
I'm about to leave when the door flies open and one of the servers rushes in. She slams the door shut and presses her back to it as if barricading out some evil force. She rips off her mask as she mutters "No no no no no," under her breath, obviously unaware that she's not alone in the bathroom.
"Are you okay?" I ask. It's stupid because she's obviously not.
Her head jerks up. "I need to get out of here. I need to leave. I need the earth to swallow me whole right this very instant." She leaves her post at the door and looks wildly around the room. She stands in front of the window, a small rectangle up by the ceiling. "Be honest, do you think I'll fit through there?"
I'm not sure anyone over the age of six would fit through that rectangle, but on the other hand, I don't want her to think I'm calling her fat.
"It can't be that bad." I put my hand on her arm. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad. And trust me, I've done tons of super embarrassing stuff in my life. This moment will pass, and trying to squeeze out an opening the size of a vagina is not necessary." And then, because I'm a dumbass and I've had too much to drink and I'm awkward, Ikeep talking. "I mean, hell, I just married a man I barely know. But that's me, the good little wifey. Anything to support his career."
Maybe I can flush myself down the toilet.
The server looks up, her big brown eyes wide. "You got married?"
"Yeah, like literally a few hours ago. I'm not saying it was wrong or I'd take it back, but you know, we all do questionable things sometimes. You'll live."
She jerks her head toward the door. "Did you marry one of these guys? One of the Buzzards."
A growing sense of fear travels up my spine. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to say anything. Like, it's not a done deal, but on the other hand, would we be here if it wasn't?
I give the best answer I can. "It's complicated, but sort of. Why? Does your escape plan have anything to do with someone on the Buzzards?"
Any information I can find might help Xavier. I mean, it can't hurt, right?
She tilts her head. "Of course it does. I haven't seen him in a few years, but of all the banquet venues in all of Boston, he has to walk into mine."
"Did you dump a drink on him? Spit in his food? Accidentally lick him?" My mind goes through all the possible ways to make a fool of oneself, some learned from experience.
The server looks horrified. "No, nothing like that. Just, well, I … he … well, we hooked up. So, yes, there was licking. It was a while back, but the licking was quite purposeful. I was a soccer player too, at least I tried to be, and now he's a professional, and I'm serving canapés."
"Well, I don't know your story, but you're here doing honest work. Nothing to be ashamed of unless something happened during your time together."
Now she sighs, a million miles away. "No, it was fantastic. But there's a chance I may have freaked out and ghosted him. I wish I hadn't, but then when I tried to contact him again, he was a big star, and I didn't want to seem like a cleat chaser."
Seeing as how I've never been the ghoster, only the ghostee, I'm not sure I'm in any place to give my new friend advice. That doesn't stop me though. "I say you just get out there, do your job, and if he approaches you, be candid and honest with him. That's all you can really do, right?"
She goes over, looks in the mirror, and runs a finger under her eyes to fix her running liner. Then she re-dons her mask and washes her hands.
That action alone is enough for me to give this place a five-star shout-out on Yelp. Hygiene is a plus in my book.
I smile at her. "I'm Ophelia, by the way. Ophelia … Henry." I stumble over my new name.
"Hannah LaRosa."
