“Six?!”
“I was nervous about the party.”
“And I’m sure twelve hundred milligrams of caffeine helped calm you down.”
“I feel fine.”
“Rachel, what about Jdate?” Amy stirred something in a Le Creuset pot. “I thought that was your plan.”
“Yes, it is.” I adjusted my fishnets. “But I have to take every opportunity I get, don’t I? Life doesn’t just throw eligible men in one’s path. This is my year of yes. Yes to Jdate, yes to parties, yes to beautiful men knocking down my door.”
“I see.”
“Who knows, I might even be joining you in Married Town before too long.”
Amy snorted bitterly.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. I’ll tell you later. Ryan just got home.”
“I have to go too.” Sumira’s heels were clacking in an echoey parking garage. “I’ll pick you up at seven thirty, Rach.”
“Perf. Time to get my eyebrows waxed. There’s a new place around the corner from my apartment with good prices.”
“Have fun tonight,” Eva said. “I’m taking Jennifer to the Comedy Underground.”
“Good luck! Hope it goes well.”
At seven thirty, I examined myself in the mirror one last time. I’d chosen my green wrap dress. Mom had pointed out that it was quite flattering on me, and she was right. Excellent cleavage. If I was trying to meet men that night, there really was no point in hiding the girls away. I turned to examine my derriere in the mirror.
It was also VERY short.
I’d put on some black fishnets to make it a little more modest. Bonus: the fishnets looked excellent with my black velvet block heels.
My eyebrows were still a bit red, but they would be fine shortly.
They were not fine. THEY WERE NOT FINE. Sumira took one look at me and marched me back upstairs to my apartment.
“Ice them.” She touched my brow bone gingerly.
“It burns!” I moaned while she taped an ice pack to my head.
“Just give it a second.”
“My brain is frozen. My eyebrow makeup is running into my eyes.”
Sumira gave me a look and then noticed my nail polish.
“Come here.” Ten minutes later she had fixed my manicureand my makeup. “You look great.” She looked in the mirror over my shoulder. Not only were my eyebrows still inflamed, but my entire head was now red from the ice pack. Still, the outfit was working for me. Operation Never Butkus was back on track.
When we arrived, the party was in full flow. It was at the Seattle Art Museum, so there were these very sophisticated—I think—sculptures hanging from the ceiling and very artistic (read: flattering) lighting. There was a DJ on one side and a huge table of food and an open bar on the other.
We went straight for the bar, because duh, and on the way I grabbed a plate and filled it with oysters—only ten; I didn’t want to seem gluttonous by taking a full dozen—becausefree oysters. After I slurped them down, Sumira handed me the signature holiday cocktail—some sort of bubbly cranberry concoction—and we made the rounds.
Sumira looked breathtaking. She wore a shimmery, drapey black dress and thigh-high stiletto boots. Heads kept turning when she walked by; I felt like I was with a celebrity. The whole thing was dreamy. It was like a movie montage of a glamorous party, drinks and laughter flowing freely. If my eyebrows were still red, I didn’t notice. I felt so confident.
Sumira introduced me to her boss, an absolutely charming man who offered me a job on the spot while speaking directly to my breasts. Glancing over his shoulder, I saw that someone was staring at me. Agog, I accidentally stared back for several seconds because I didn’t know whether to believe my eyes: this had to be the most beautiful man in Seattle. Chiseled jaw, big, liquid eyes under thick black brows, dark wavy hair cut short at the sides. You know, that haircut that says,Hello, I am wealthy and hip.I slowly scanned his body with my eyes—impeccable suit—and received a shock when I saw a strip of bare ankle: he was wearing loaferswith no socks. That look was just so insouciant and WASPy, it made me shiver to my core. I blinked and looked away, downing the rest of my drink.
