High Heels in New York (15 page)

“I know. But,” he looked around the restaurant, “if we sit here not saying anything then people are really going to think we’re together.”

“How do you figure?”

“Look over there,” he said motioning to a couple in the corner booth. “Now, you see how they won’t even look at each other when they talk?

“Yeah.”

“Married.”
He said, “Now look over to the couple sitting by the front window. You see how the girl is twirling her hair with her hand and giggling like teenager?”

“So?”

“They’re on a date.”

“You can’t tell just by looking at people whatever they are dating, married or anything.” Melissa dismisses his claims and orders a cup of coffee.

“Yes you can. It’s called body language,” he said, taking a sip of his soda, “take you for example, you haven’t stopped touching your right hand, where your ring used to be. That tells me you’re thinking about your ex.”

“I am not,” Melissa said defensively.

“And you haven’t looked me in the eye, not once, which means I make you nervous.” He grinned.

“You don’t make me nervous,” s
he said, looking at him in the eyes and trying real hard not to look away.

“Okay you can stop now. You’re scaring
me
.” he said,
playfully
covering his
face with his hand.

Unexpectedly, she laughed.

“She laughs!” He said mockingly.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “So what are you like a body language expert?”

“Something
like
that.”

“Oh, so you’re not going to tell me what you do?” She asked, wondering what indeed he did for a living.

“I steal cell phones from devastatingly beautiful women and
then take them out to lunch,” h
e
said
.

Melissa grabbed the salt shaker off the table and threw it at him. It was an unexpected move that even startled her.
But ironically, she felt as ease with him. It was nice to talk to someone who hadn’t been privy to all the bad things going on in her life. And she was glad that at this very moment she could pretend that her life was perfect, the way it used to be.

They spend the next hour talking about random things and not once did she think about Jonathan or her job
or the fact that she was broke
. When a crowd of people entering the diner startled her, she realized she had stayed longer than she ha
d planned. “I really have to go,
”
she said, looking at her watch.

“Oh. Okay,” he said, gloomily. Then he
took his wallet out of his back pocket and paid for the
check
with cash.

“Thanks for lunch,”
Melissa
said,
standing up and walking out of the restaurant.

“Thanks for the lovely company Miss Melissa De La Rosa,” he said smiling and
following closely behind her. Once outside, he
hailed a cab for her. Within seconds, a yellow taxi cab stopped at the curb. Although she was flattered, she didn’t have the money to take a cab and was embarrassed to tell him. “You didn’t have to. I can walk back to work from here. It’s not that far,” she said, heading off in the direction of her job.

“A gentleman always pays,” he said, handing the cab driver cash and telling him to take her wherever she needed to go.

Mellissa had to admit that if she had been available to date, she may very well have given him a chance. But she wasn’t. Not with all the drama in her life.

“Okay. Well,” she said, stepping inside the cab, “See you around.”

“I hope so,” he said.

#

Melissa listened to Regina babble on about how she needed to get to Valerie’s house fast and failing miserably at explaining to her why she couldn’t interview that
heffa
. She realized that she really had no choice in the matter but to quit her job. At the very moment she said those two words she felt powerful, almost like a superhero.

“You’re quitting?” Regina asked, laughing at her. “Melissa, this is the fashion industry, not a popularity contest. If I had quit all the times I had to interact with someone I didn’t like I wouldn’t have this damn magazine.” She pulled out a cigarette and lights up. “So get over it.”

“But.”
Melissa interjected.

She grabbed a pen from her desk and jotted down something on a piece of yellow post-it. “Here’s Valerie’s address.
She’s expecting you in an hour.” She said, handing Melissa the paper. “If you do a great job, like I expect you will, I may give you that fashion column you’ve been asking for.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.
But not because I like you.
I like your work. And you’ve managed to make Lisa’s writing more entertaining. That says a lot.” She waved a hand, dismissing her. “Now go.”

Melissa didn’t know what to do. Her own column would be
a dream come
true. But, in order to get it she had to be in the same room with none other than the bitch who stole her man.

She wondered
,
what would Marilyn Monroe do?

Finding herself in front of her all-time favorite place in the world, Melissa couldn’t help but walk inside Bloomingdales. She was supposed to be on her way to see Valerie but figured that five minutes wouldn’t hurt. After all, she wasn’t in a rush to see Valerie.

Once inside Bloomingdales, Melissa knew exactly what her first stop was going to be, the Alice & Olivia section. She’d been dying to get her hands on this elegant fur coat that would look awesome with her favorite winter boots. So, she took the escalator to the second floor and was pleasantly surprised to see it was tea day at the Joe Malone fragrance counter.

“Hi Mel!”
Rosario yelled out to her from behind the Joe Malone counter, waving her hand enthusiastically.

Melissa waved and walked over, “Hi Rosario.”

Melissa met Rosario six months ago when she came in with the goal of doing some damage on her credit cards and in turn Rosario earned a big fat commission check.

Rosario, walked over to her, as her super curly brown hair bounced off her shoulders.  “They let you out early?”

“Something
like
that,” Melissa said, sitting down on a plush white chair and taking in the wonderful aroma of grapefruit and Assam that lingered in the air. At $300 a bottle, their perfume was, in her opinion, worth every single penny. Especially because you could mix and match scents to create your own signature fragrance.

Rosario served Melissa a cup of mint tea in a beautiful and dainty tea cup. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been better,” Melissa said. “I’ve had such a bad day. I needed to come here and release my stress.”

“The day isn’t over yet,” Rosario assured her.

“Don’t remind me,” Melissa said, taking a sip.

“I’ve been holding something for you,” Rosario said, walking behind the counter and pulling out for a divine black and white box. “It’s a limited edition.”

“Really?”
Melissa asked, smiling ear to ear. She slowly took off the silver bow that was wrapped around the box and then
opened the box. Low and behold there were six
collectors
size bottles of eau de
parfum
. You can’t imagine her excitement.
“Oh my goodness!
This is divine!” Melissa screamed. “I’ll take it.”

“Great because at this price it’s a steal.”

“Thanks,” Melissa said, digging in her bag for her credit cards and catching a glance at the time. “Damn, I have to go.”

“So soon?”

“Unfortunately,” Melissa was sure Rosario’s commission check wasn’t looking to nice with the measly $195 she just spent.  But it looked like she wouldn’t be putting in too much time in her Nirvana quest today. “Maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow. I have to do that thing called work,” she groaned.

“Oh, sorry,” She said and handed Melissa back her credit card.

“Me too.”

Rosario leaned in close and whispered, “No. I meant that I was sorry your card was declined.”

“What?” Melissa shrieks. “That’s impossible. Run it again.”

“I ran it three times already.”

Holy mother of all that is fashion! This can’t be happening. Melissa’s face flushed red from embarrassment. She quickly thinks of something to say. “I bet someone stole my identity. I hear that happens to people all the time,” She said, trying to deflect the blow to her ego but it wasn’t working.

Rosario just stood there, arms crossed in front of her chest. Slowly, Melissa handed her back the gift set. Her fingers gripped the box tightly. Melissa had never been so humiliated in her entire life. She stares at Rosario and realizes that standing in front of her was no longer her shopping liaison. Nope. Standing before her was …an employee.

#

After being escorted out of Bloomingdales for lack of money, Melissa decided to stop by the bank and find out why her ATM card was telling her lies. What she didn’t expect was to have an epiphany.

Who ever said money is not important has never wanted or needed anything. Melissa had never been a money hungry bitch. Money is just something that she needed to survive. Some people need a lot. Some people need more and some people need slightly more than others. Melissa was the type that needed more than everybody else. Why? Because living in Manhattan meant that she was expected to wear designer labels, eat out every night, hang out at the most posh places and live in an over-priced apartment. They were the necessary
surviving skills of a
Manhattanite
. And Melissa was just about to find out exactly how little surviving skills she really had.

“Something is wrong with my account,” She told the sadistically dressed bank greeter who walked Melissa over to an office in the back and told her to take a seat. A few minutes later, a short, burly of a man shuffled into the office and closed the door behind him. “Good evening. How can I help you Mrs. De La Rosa?”

“It’s Ms.,” Melissa corrected.

“Right.”
He said, waiting for her to tell him why she was there.

“There’s something wrong with my account.”

“Okay,” he said. “First I’d like to confirm the number of accounts you have with us and then we can go from there.”

“Just a checking account,” she said, handing over her debit card.

“I see,” He said, typing something into his computer. He had a huge hairy mole on the side of his neck that she tried desperately not to stare at. It was very difficult.

“It seems Ms. De La Rosa, that you’re funds have been transferred and is currently in the negative.” He said, typing away again.

Melissa shifted in her seat and leaned in closer. “Excuse me? What do you mean transferred?” She asked in disbelief.
An
overdraft?
She had never over drafted anything in her entire life. This was absurd. She quickly discerned that Mr. Mole man was looking at someone else’s account.

He turned the computer screen so that she could see it for herself. All of the money that she had in the entire world was really gone. And to make matters worse she owed the bank thirty five dollars because her rent check had bounced.

“I don’t understand. I didn’t transfer any money. Where did it go?” She asked him.

Mr. Mole man turned the screen around, typed some more and then dug that knife called life a little bit deeper into her back. “The prefix of the account number tells me the funds were sent to an off shore account.”

“Are you freaking kidding me? Who transferred it?” She felt faint.

Don’t say it. Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say, Melissa repeated over and over in her head.

As the words escaped Mr. Mole mans’ lips, she could feel her heart sink to the bottom of her chest. “Mr. Jonathan Henry.”

11

Strutting down the bustling Manhattan streets, Angie kept her eye on the prize, a lead role in an upcoming movie called Show Stoppers.  There was a small buzz starting circulate around the production and she wanted to get her hands on it before other actors got wind of  it. So, after begging Charlie for hours and promising she would be on her best behavior, he gave in.

The downside was that she had to wake up earlier than usual just to make sure she had enough time to get a full body tan, makeup airbrushing and get her hair styled just right. Angie knew that at her age and with her reputation, anything less than fabulous would not work. So, sporting six inch, red
Ila
Miranda heels, short black skirt and very revealing top, she headed to the meeting.

She had been waiting all year for this meeting. Finally, Marty Steinberg was going to give her a shot to read for the role as the teacher in the remake of Top Gun. She was finally going to
be able to show them that she was perfect for the lead role and even though it was a remake, from what she read of the script, it was going to be a movie well done. Her excitement was through the roof.