23
MATT PICKS US UP in a sleek white town car, complete with snobby French driver. Or should I say ‘chauffeur’. Matt looks fantastic in a classy dark grey three-piece suit, and fashionable brown belt and shoes. Sparkly cufflinks peek from under the cuffs of his blue shirt. His hair is slicked back, coupled with a five o-clock shadow lining his jaw. He smiles when he guides the both of us into the car, a hand casually pressed on the small of my back.
“Damn, boy,” Corrie whispers in my ear.
I smile and cuddle close to her in the back. Matt climbs in and sits next to me on the other side. I’m sandwiched between two beautiful blond people. I wonder what is going on in Matt’s mind. Is he picturing a naughty threesome? He’s a man… of course he is.
I enjoy the view outside the car window. The architecture is overwhelming, and the energy of the city makes me a little nervous. I always feel more at ease in quiet, calm environments. Nature is my happy place.
What if Oscar gets serious with Sophie? It’s just a matter of time until he finds someone who is willing to commit to him. It probably won’t be Sophie because she lives in Paris, but it will be someone. I wonder if he’ll still want to go hiking with me if we are no longer friends-with-benefits. We could remain friends, I suppose, but I can’t see that ever working out.
The building is glorious — I am in awe. It’s a classic example of old European architecture. The outside walls are white painted brick, dotted with black wrought-iron balconies trimmed with red flowers and topped with red awnings.
The venue is classy as hell. Mark might be a total womanizer, but the man knows how to throw a party. The doorman smiles at both Corrie and I as we enter. Matt walks to the concierge desk and speaks with a tall Frenchman in broken French. I’m mildly charmed. Meanwhile, Corrie and I are gawking at the coffered ceiling, sparkly chandeliers and bigger-than-life pillars and arches, like two bums at Buckingham Palace. Suddenly, I feel unworthy in my cheap Forever 21 dress.
Corrie is probably wearing designer, and she’s got her Louboutins on — she fits right in. “Wow, this place is fantastic. Mark might be a total jerkoff, but he knows how to pick a venue.”
“Just because you’re rich, doesn’t mean you have class,” I point out.
“Truth.”
Matt finally finds his way back to us. “We’re a little early,” he tells us. “Why don’t we sit here for a while, and see if we can meet up with anyone else.”
We settle at a small table, topped with a centerpiece of white roses. Corrie and Matt make small talk. Matt tells her all about his dad’s real estate law practice. Corrie talks about her soon-to-be-ex’s commercial law practice.
They’re boring me to pieces. I almost want to take a little nap right here, in this very fancy silk upholstered arm chair. My eyes are half closed but they pop open when I spot Oscar and Sophie walk in. He’s dressed beautifully; grey slacks and a black jacket, worn with his Abercrombie & Fitch black t-shirt. He looks good.
But not as good as Sophie.
I sigh.
What is it with French women? They always looks so beautiful and classy. She’s wearing a cute polka-dot black dress. Her hair is up in an intricate bun, her lips are dotted red, and the soles of her tall heels are red too — probably Louboutins. She looks like a precious porcelain doll.
I look down at my shoes — I got them on sale, off season, for nineteen dollars. I had a $20 gift card so they essentially cost nothing. I loved them, but now I hate them. I stare at her shoes, obsessed with them. I bet they’re not even comfortable. Mine might be cheap, but they’re pretty comfy.
I inch closer to Corrie, and bend my mouth to her ear. “Are those Louboutins?” I ask with a nod in Sophie’s direction.
Corrie studies her feet, brows furrowed. “Can’t quite tell.”
Sophie spots us first. She smiles wide — she looks like a perky model in a toothpaste commercial. “Oh, hello, my friends.”
We’re not your friends, you French hussy.
I shake my head. I’m not quite sure what’s come over me.
Oscar turns around and catches sight of me. He does a double-take, and his gaze darts quickly over me before settling on Matt and Corrie. He doesn’t look at me again. Not once.
We all exchange elevator hugs and fake French kissy-kissies. Following a bit of idle chit-chat, Sophie suggests that we move along to the dining room. She knows where it is — she’s apparently been here before. As we walk to our destination, we’re trailing Sophie and Oscar. They’re huddled close together, and his large hand finds its way to her small waist.
“Those are the real deal,” Corrie whispers in my ear. “Louboutins.”
Bitch.
The dining room is stunning; sparkly chandeliers, ornate crown molding, gold balconies and muted shades of creams and whites with red accents. The centerpieces are majestic arrangements of red and cream roses. Corrie fits right in with her red dress.
We are led to a private room, which is just as nice, but a little darker; coffered ceilings and mahogany walls accentuated with classic paintings and Victorian mirrors. A long dining table grounds the space. It’s hiding under a crisp white table cloth dotted with small vases of white roses.
Corrie and I both take a seat next to each other, on the pretty upholstered gold and cream chairs. Matt sits next to me, on the other side. The three of us seem to be inseparable. I feel protected by them, invincible against Oscar and his perfect, sophisticated date. Three always outnumbers two.
