Diary of a Working Girl (21 page)

In fact nothing he says is really audible at all. It’s more like this hungry, I-want-you language that only the both of us understand.

I couldn’t even explain it to you, because really, no two other people have ever experienced something like this. Truly. Too bad this will be the last time they do.

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N i n e

Plan B

All through the following week my assignment becomes more difficult to concentrate on. The millions of men around me have become faceless, barely noticeable. And that is probably because my plan to sleep and desist has gone awfully awry. I realize the full extent of this one night, when I once again am taking in the lovely length of Liam’s bare limbs and tight buttocks. After a few too many glasses of wine and a whopping four hours doing the most enjoyable things, glancing at my sleeping wunderkind, I get a fabulous idea. I absolutely cannot believe it has taken so long to come up with this! It was staring me in the face (and plenty of other places I won’t mention here . . . ) the whole time! Lane Silverman is about to save the day—
and
her sanity.

Quietly, I tiptoe to my computer and pop an e-mail over to Karen, my editor at
Cosmo,
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around, and say instead that meeting The One happens when and where you least expect it. In my excitement and urgency, I add some convincing arguments of both personal and professional natures that seem appropriate and poignant. Glancing back at Liam (who’s just made the cutest little grunt) and reading it once again over a glass of wine, I am amazed that I was able to capture my feelings so perfectly in words, and so I click and send.

I am really thinking like an award-winning journalist now.

What’s the award journalists get? The Nobel prize? The Pulitzer?

Whichever it is, I’m surely on my way. And so I find myself on the way back to my Mr. Right Now Backfire turned Mr. Right.

But when I am awoken at 7 A.M. by the jingle of a new e-mail, I delicately slip out from Liam’s arm and over to the computer to learn that my editor doesn’t quite see things in the same way.

What is she doing up so early anyway? Sitting poised, ready to record the hour, minute, and second I screw up? She probably writes it in her day planner: 7:00—Monitor Lane Silverman’s screw-up status.

Lane,

While I am so glad you find me the most thoughtful, wonderful, fantastic, open-minded editor you have ever worked with, I regret to inform that you will have to stick with the original plan.Yes, Liam does sound absolutely “dreamy” as you put it, and a “real” British accent does put him on a whole other level, but it looks like you’ll have to table your bloke for some other time, sweetie. If it really is an “otherworldly” love, perhaps the two of you will be meant to be in your next life. I guess this is what they mean when they say,

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bitch for this, but if you really want to go for it with Liam, then I’ll pay you a finder’s fee for the story idea and pass it along to another writer.That’s the best I can do.This is
Cosmo
, after all—not some supermarket tabloid—so consider your choice wisely. But from what you’ve told me of your electricity, cable, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Citibank Visa bills, I gather you’ll want to stick with writing the story. It’s your call, darling.

Best,

Karen

P.S.: If you decide to skip out on Liam, would you mind passing my number on to him? Thanks.You’re a peach.

Surely I did not mention the tower of bills, ready to topple over on my desk to my editor at
Cosmo
. I would never do a thing like that. It’s so unprofessional. So childish. So obviously NOT ME.

Let me just take a look. . . .

Crap. I. Am. A. Moron. I take a moment to collect my hopes from the basement, where they have now crashed down and look over at the two hundred pounds of fleeting happiness on my bed.

There is a reason people use the phrase “too good to be true.” I am about to become well versed in it.

I’ll have to continue as planned. There is, however, no way I am giving Liam’s number to that girl. She’s probably blond and five foot ten, dressed perfectly in a matching sweater set and trim leather pants. In your dreams, Karen.

So, I e-mail Karen back, letting her know that I will absolutely wash Liam out of my hair as of this moment and continue on as planned with the article. I do apologize, I add, but it seems I have misplaced his number, and therefore, will unfortunately be unable to pass hers on (noting, of course, if I should ever happen to run 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:05 AM Page 163

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into him again, I will surely do my best to play the part of that chubbiest of cherubs—Cupid).

One month, one week, and one day left.

Time for a new plan.

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T e n

Plan C

And with that, my onenight of peaceand normalcy and bliss since this whole thing began is over. Time to call in the troops for Plan C. I e-mail Seth first thing when I get to the office to see if he is up to going out this evening. I spend the better portion of the day silently reciting the mantra, “Seth is The One. Liam is not.” I type it into a Word document over and over again under the thought process teachers enlist when they have children write over and over on the chalkboard, “I will not pull Sally’s hair.” The possibility of hiring a hypnotist to permanently implant this idea into my brain crosses my mind more than once. I will not think about Liam.

I will not think of his soft, squishy lips, the sweet smell of sweat on his body, or the way he was trying to tell a scary story that couldn’t be completed because of the laughing spells that infec-tiously overtook the both of us.

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Seth. Seth. Seth.
Seth’s Good Points
, I name a new document, type the words at the top in bold, and begin a bulleted list:

• Excellent copier repair skills

• To date—not one instance of typing “their” where he meant “there,” or vice versa

• Cute butt (not as cute as Liam’s)

• Sweet

• Flirty

• Works at my company

• Is very good at converting currencies I am just stapling this list as an addendum to Seth’s official checklist when I realize: Currency—Liam seems to have a lot of that. Thus far, he isn’t miserly with it, either. The first gift of a dozen white roses was absolutely gorgeous. The card read, simply, as if I’d written it myself,
!
The second was a tastefully naughty powdery pink teddy from La Petite Coquette. (I have been going there, promising myself to return tomorrow, and never having any intention of doing so ever since I was old enough to realize my tastes far exceeded my budget.) The card read,
Wear me
. I said,

“You don’t have to ask me twice.” The third was another arrangement of twelve white roses, sent to my apartment with a card that read,
These are so beautiful. I can’t help but think of you when I see them.

Could you just die?

And you know what else? Liam makes me feel so sexy. He’s always telling me that sex has never been so fulfilling before. So

“innovative.” I am sexy in sweatpants. I am sexy in an old T-shirt.

Basically, I am just sexy. As a matter of fact, I am existing inside the warm confines of a sex cocoon, where even crossing the street serves as an aphrodisiac. Career, family, friends, all come in a 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:05 AM Page 166

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definitive second to the main attraction of life—carnal knowledge.

Can you feel any closer to someone than when they are walking towards the spot where you are standing—arms grazing sides you have bit, licked, sucked; mouth opening to reveal the tiniest peek of a tongue that has been intimate with peaks and valleys of your body’s topography that now feel illicitly exposed, though covered in clothing?

I am a beauty queen, a goddess. Why has no man made me feel this way before?

Checklist #128 Liam (Last Name TBD)

1. Reads
NYTimes
: ˛

Notes: No actual proof, but, media career basically demands this, so, definitely, yes.

2. Has job that will allow for romantic trips to exotic locales; always insists wefly first class, feeding each other sorbet with a tiny silver spoon: ˛

Notes: Lives in exotic locale! Works in exotic locale! Has family summer home in exotic locale! Duh!

3. Puts passion above common sense/practicality: ˛

Notes: Reference memory of warm chocolate cake (stain from which he still cannot remove from his shirt), also reference little powdery pink thing from La Petite Coquette which defies common sense with its very existence as a $380 non-supportive series of lace strands that serve no purpose other than to be anti-practical and pro-passion.

4. Is British (depending on nature of remainder of checklist, this can , on occasion be fulfilled with valid British heritage documented on family tree, but British accent is most desirable): ˛

Notes: No family tree necessary! Woo hoo!

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5. Makes me get That Feeling: ˛

Notes: Reference dates one to five, as well as the 23,400 or so minutes since I first saw him during which skirking responsibility, dropping things, and completely forgetting where I am going and why are commonalities.

6. Knows how to be direct, e.g., Richard Gere,
Pretty
Woman
: ˛

Notes: See #3 above. (warm chocolate cake incident) 7. Has roses waiting for me when I get home (even when I am working at home he always finds a way): ˛

Notes: Twice! no women’s intuition needed here!!!!!

8. I am unable to pass a Victoria’s Secret without dashing inside to find some new lacy, sexy thing with all sorts of straps that go God-knows-where to surprise him with, and when I do, he never says something as ridiculous as, “You must get dressed now, we are meeting my parents in ten minutes”: ˛

Notes: See newly acquired Victoria’s Secret credit card bill.

9. He is so beautiful, maybe not to everyone, but to me, that I wake up in the middle of the night and spend hours just staring at the angle of his jawline, the arch of his brow: ˛

Notes: Although am aware that beauty can be fleeting, HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

10. If we ever do argue, it is always with bitter rage, arms flailing, and tears burning in front of a fountain in Central Park or by the tree in Rockefeller Center, or somewhere equally cinematic. But, then, without fail, we make amends—always meeting in the middle of the route between his home and mine (as we both have the urge for reconciliation at the same moment), and come together in the most passionate lovemaking both of us have ever experienced (once we’ve gotten inside, of 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:05 AM Page 168

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course), and thank God that we have found each other. After, we spend the evening laughing uncontrollably at the littlest things, like the way he says, parents with the same A sound as in apple and coming to unique realizations about things—like how amazing it is that people now only drink bottled water, when before they’d never thought twice about drinking from a tap: ˛

Notes: Have actually shared this criterion with Liam, and he insisted we act out an argument right in front of Central Park fountain (Rockefeller Center tree obviously not up in springtime).

He was fantastic actor, screaming, “How could you possibly have made love to that Frenchman when you knew it would tear my soul right from my body, leaving a gaping hole that will always bear your name!!!!!!” We then met at the top of Union Square, dramatically made amends, and went home to, well, you know.

Giddy and sweaty, little to no effort was required to find folly in the fact that he wears tight red underwear! And doesn’t plan on changing this habit anytime soon!!!!!!!!

11. Witty statements are always on the tip of his tongue: ˛

Notes: Best to date (via telephone): “Why am I not in your bed being naughty right now?”

12. He teaches me things I never even knew I had to learn: ˛

Notes: Slimy sushi–tolerance, chocolate cake versatility.

All of my friends could have moved to Costa Rica and I don’t think I would have minded in the slightest. Of course, I’d act all teary-eyed when we exchanged good-byes and well-wishes, but all I’d really be thinking is, okay, hurry up and go already so I can get back to Liam! What’s the holdup?

Liam would never waste time with pleasantries and formalities like that. He gets right to the point. He shows me he can’t stand to have the distance of clothing between us—no matter how 21430_ch01.qxd 1/26/04 10:05 AM Page 169

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filmy and sheer the garments I’ve taken to wearing around him may be.

The second he arrives at my door, he says, “I haven’t been able to think of anything but you all day.”

He begins unbuttoning buttons, often tearing garments right off of my body (the expense is nothing in comparison to the intensity of the display). He’ll barely even close the door before we are on the floor straddling each other in never-before-seen ways.

You might think this an odd way for a millionaire to conduct himself. And I would agree. He tosses aside all of the stereotypes of his class. He is much more like a leather biker jacket sort. He’ll curse at any opportunity—just toss profanities around like adverbs, as in, “This steak is fucking fantastic.”

I’d never known cursing to be so sexy. It adds such intensity to everything.