“Speaking of intellect, how’s the glamorous life of a beauty executive?”
“I’m going to burst your bubble. Glamorous and executive aren’t part of my everyday vocabulary. There is news, though.”
“Tell me! I need something more than eco-friendly diapers to spice up my week.”
“Sustainable diapers are exciting,” she said. “But let me fill you in in-person. Are you free tonight? To get a drink?”
“Did you forget that I’m breastfeeding? No alcohol for me, but I’m up for a night out.”
“Cool, ‘cause I figured out what I want… but chances are not looking good.”
“I’m dying to know. Text me a time and place.”
“Will do. Can’t wait!”
That evening, Orchid hurried along the avenue. With few commuters, she made good time to the Pyramid nightclub. Sitting at the curb was an idling cab, its windows reflecting her slender figure in a post-punk black minidress with silver-toothed zippers.
She paid the bouncer and pushed through the doors into the black-painted dance club. Ever since the childhood trauma of witnessing her parents’ accident, she needed to calm her nerves in busy places. It was a quiet night in this dive. She stilled her trembling hands, and checked for the exit, her escape route. This was an automatic response she had adopted as a teen.
One red sign shone at the hallway leading to the bathrooms. EXIT.Good.
Orchid spotted Mandy, who had secured a spot at the edge of the room and loped across the sticky floor to join her. Mandy wasn’t only her best friend; she was her confidante.
“Sorry, I got lost in research,” Orchid apologized, and hugged her friend.
Mandy raised her voice over the percussion notes. “As long as you made it. Now spill the beans. Your call has me on the edge of my seat!”
Even though Orchid’s ebony-lined eyes and edgy attire telegraphed an effortless cool, she knew that Mandy could see through that.
“You told me you figured out something. Tell!”
“Chances are, like, nil that I’ll get it,” Orchid said.
Mandy pushed a ruby-shaded cocktail towards her. Orchid clinked her tumbler against her friend’s glass of Perrier. “Thank you,” she said, and sipped the cool drink.
Mandy straightened on her bar stool, ready to dig into what Orchid recognized as her favorite problem-solving mode. “Let’s see. What do you want more than anything? I know. Tickets to Fashion Week. Or that thrifted Dolce & Gabbana peony-print dress.”
“Better peonies than orchids.” Orchid said. It wasn’t just her pet peeve over orchid everything; it was the memory of her mother’s dress, the one decorated with peonies. “Good guess, but no.”
“Girls’ night with your bestie?” Mandy stirred her sparkling water with a paper straw.
Nothing like Mandy’s optimism to buoy spirits. “Love you. Okay, second best.”
“A tattooed god who eats calculus for breakfast and gets into every club in the city?” Mandy gave her an impish grin, swinging her blonde bob.
“That sounds awesome, except you know I can’t trust anyone. Dating’s not in my future.”
“Aww c’mon,” said Mandy. “I need to live vicariously through my single friends.” She tilted her head towards the end of the bar.
She glanced in the direction of Mandy’s gaze. She saw a burly fellow with snake tattoos that ran along his thick neck. He seemed to be glowering at the ground. Counter-culture level: a near-perfect six. Not high enough to trigger cultish fears, and not low enough to screamwannabe.
The two friends became immersed in their conversation. The increased hum in the place made it harder to hear each other speak.
Hang on. Next to tatt-guy, a young David Beckham lookalike curved long fingers around a bottle of beer. Eyes thick with lashes met her gaze, and her chest thumped with something akin to recognition. Impossible. They’d never met. Yet his eyebrows lifted, as if she had sparked something in him, too.
Orchid tossed the split-second connection into her brain’s dustbin, along with today’s forgotten dry cleaning.
She downed her drink and refocused on Mandy. “Get your mind off guys. What I want more than anything has to do with work.”
