The Pull of Destiny (2 page)

“I
don’t think me not being there will ruin your chances with this one,” I said,
patting her arm reassuringly. Even though their first date was off to a pretty
bad start. I mean, the guy had asked to meet with Robyn at the subway, for
goodness sakes! All of her other boyfriends, as short-lived as they might be,
at least had enough class to pick her up by car. I wasn’t being a snob, but
Robyn, even though she was one of the most down to earth rich girls I had ever
met, was still a Fifth Avenue princess. She had been on the subway a couple of
times (I made sure of that) but never to meet a guy she was going on a date
with. “Just be yourself. Make eye contact. Smile. Tell him his cologne smells
good. You’ll have him whipped in no time.”

We
made our slow, torturous way down the subway station stairs, getting pushed
this way and that. Robyn kept a tight hold on me (if that’s even possible), her
eyes darting from one place to another. She hated the subway, always thought
people were about to steal her Louis Vuitton purse.

“Why
you, though?” she asked suddenly, keeping a watchful eye on the panhandler who
flirted with me every morning on my way to school.

“Why
me what?” I asked absently, my ears cocked for the announcement of the next
train.

“Why
do you have to be the one to give Luke his homework? Doesn’t he have friends?”

Robyn
sulked better and longer than anyone I knew. I looked in her dark brown eyes
and knew she wasn’t impressed. For some reason, she really thought I was her
dating good luck charm.

“They’re
maybe too busy to do something as ‘trivial’ as take him his homework,” I said
musingly. “You know, they’re probably partying on a Monday afternoon or something.”

Robyn
raised her arms in the air, scowling. “Well, he could send his chauffeur to
pick it up! You’re not his maid!” Noting the looks people were giving her, she
shifted closer to me, lowering her voice. “Or did he hire you and you didn’t
tell me?”

I
smiled. It was nice that Robyn was so indignant on my behalf (even though her
motives for being indignant were glaringly obvious) but it wasn’t enough to
change my mind. Tagging along on her dates made me feel pathetic. If I had a
boyfriend, we could double date but guys who wanted to date Celsi Sawyer were
few and far between. Nobody at Dalton wanted to date a girl from the Barrio and
it was probably a good thing. I knew I could never be flirty, pretty Robyn with
a multitude of guys dying to date me, or Shazia, whose shy innocence attracted
lots of interest, and I was fine with that. My vice were the sappy romance
novels I had stashed under my bed and as soon as I got home, I planned to curl
under my blanket and lose myself in someone else’s (infinitely) more
interesting world.

But
in order to do that, I had to get away from Robyn, which was harder than you’d
think, simply because she refused to be left alone down here. So I was stuck with
her, waiting for interchangeable ‘Mr.’ Right’ of the month, a guy called Todd
who was on the varsity football team. Todd was tall, blonde, handsome, a good
kisser (according to Robyn) and would probably put a girl like me to sleep.
Unfortunately, Todd was running late.

“I
think it’s just a nice thing to do,” I replied, shrugging. My book bag was so
heavy that I felt the strap digging painfully into my shoulder and I shifted it
onto my other shoulder, looking around the congested station for a sign of
Todd. None.

“You
know what your problem is?” Robyn faced me, her hands on her slim True Religion
jeaned hips. “You’re too nice, Celsi. You don’t get something for nothing. Tell
him that, and then tell his rich ass to pull out his wallet and pay up.” She
glanced around the station and leaned in closer to me, a strand of her hair brushing
my cheek. “I mean, you have to take the subway for him and it’s dirty in here.”

“Sweetie,
it’s okay. I have to take the subway anyway, remember? I don’t have a driver or
a limo,” I reminded her placidly. An embarrassed expression flitted across her
face, her cheeks flushing.

“God,
I’m sorry, I- forgot. It’s not that dirty down here, you know. And riding in a
limo is overrated,” she said hastily.

I
couldn’t stop a grin from darting on my face. “It’s cool, girl.” Looking over
Robyn’s shoulder, I caught sight of Todd’s lanky frame coming down the stairs.
At last! “I gotta go. And Todd’s coming.”

I
hugged Robyn, who immediately began to go into pre-date jitters. “OMG, is my
hair alright?” she asked in a frantic whisper, patting her perfectly coifed
blonde curls. “Does my makeup look good?”

I
rolled my eyes. Typical Robyn behavior. “You look great,” I reassured her.
“Just remember what I told you and you’ll be fine.”

Breathing
heavily, Todd came up behind us. “Hi Robyn,” he said shyly, gazing at Robyn as if
she was truly ‘the one’.
Wait for it, bud. You’ll be kicked to the curb just
like the rest of ‘em
. Looking at him, I gave him two weeks. His rep as a
good kisser would save him. He spared me a glance. “Hi, Chelsea.”

IT’S
CELSI, DUDE!

“Hi,
Todd,” Robyn and I said in unison, a lovesick smile on Robyn’s face as she
gazed at him like she too had found her Prince Charming. Time for me to take my
leave.

“I
gotta get going, guys,” I said, thanking my lucky stars that the train had just
pulled up to the platform. “Have fun!”

Robyn
gave me one last desperate look as I walked to the train. Before the doors
shut, I heard her say wildly, “I love your cologne, Todd! What is it?”

Todd’s
pleased reply- “Hollister.”

I
smiled as I found a seat. For years, I’d been giving Robyn relationship advice.
It worked, surprisingly, since I had never had a boyfriend. 17 years old, a
couple of dates (playing matchmaker was one of Robyn’s hobbies) but no
boyfriend. Well, according to the romance books I read, I wasn’t alone. Unfortunately
for me, in the romance books, the heroine found her Prince Charming at the end
and lived happily ever after. Not me. I’d come to the painful conclusion that
only a lucky few found their soul mates. My mom didn’t, what made me think I
would be so lucky? Of course, I actually don’t know if my mom found her soul
mate or not. She abandoned me at my aunt’s when I was 5. I was over it, even
though every time the doorbell rang, my first thought was ‘she’s back!’ My aunt
told me not to hold out hope that she’d come back, but I still did. All people
like me could do was watch Cinderella over and over and put ourselves in her
glass slippers. I can’t be the only person who does that, can I?

***

The
subway trip took less than 15 minutes and I was standing in front of the
majestic red-brick building that was 720 Park Avenue, gaping at the people
walking in and out. A lady draped in pearls and fur (PETA had to know about
her) stalked to her stretch limo, a tiny yapping dog in her arms. An old man in
an expensively tailored suit was being escorted through the door by his much
younger looking wife who was wearing a tight fitting designer dress.

I
looked down at my outfit and groaned. Cheap looking (and just plain cheap)
white parka jacket and matching boots, a fuzzy white flat cap from Target and a
pair of wash faded jeans I found in Forever 21 on clearance. My look was
presentable for school (sure, I couldn’t afford designer labels, but what of
it?) but I figured they probably had a dress code for a place as elite as this.
No jeans allowed, definitely
.
They are so not gonna let me in.
Still, the file my fingers were clenched around was my immunity. I had to at
least try.

Taking
a couple of calming deep breaths that didn’t help in calming me, I walked in,
striding purposely to the gilded elevator like I had every right in the world
to be there. The Astor’s lived in the penthouse (naturally). Almost there...

“Excuse
me, young miss. Who are you here to see?”

There
was no doubt which ‘young miss’ the snooty voice behind me was addressing. I
was the only person in the lobby under 30. Quaking, I turned to face a tall man
with a pinched, pallid face. His eyes flicked down at my outfit and he totally
disregarded me.

“I
have a delivery for Luke Astor,” I said, standing my ground, even though my
first instinct was to run for the hills. The guy was creepy! Put a black cape
on him and he could moonlight as Dracula.

“Very
well,” he said colorlessly, stretching his hand out to me. “Leave it with me.
I’ll be sure that he gets it.”

In
other words, hand me the damn delivery and get the hell out of this building,
you’re lowering the tone of this place.

I
narrowed my eyes. No way was he getting in the way of me getting my tea in the
Astor penthouse. I hadn’t come all this way for nothing, you know!

“I
was told expressly to deliver it into Luke Astor’s hands,” I said clearly, glad
that my voice sounded strong. I was sure this guy was sapping my energy.
“Sorry. You’ll have to let me go up.”

I
thought that would sway him, but to no avail.

His
lips tightening, Count Dracula said, “I can’t just ‘let you go up’,” in a
cutting tone. “Master Astor left explicit instruction not to let anyone up to
see him. I’m afraid you’ll have to give me the package.”

Clutching
the file closer to me, I looked up at Count Dracula. “I didn’t say it was a
package. It’s a file of important documents for Luke Astor’s eyes only.”

I
wondered why Luke didn’t want visitors. He was the most outgoing person I knew,
always surrounded by his friends and hangers-on.
Does he have the mumps?
I grinned to myself at the thought. Now that would be a sight.
Wait, did I
get vaccinated for the mumps?

Grudgingly,
like he was doing me a super huge favor, Count Dracula turned to the phone on
the wall. “I suppose I can call to find out if Master Astor is expecting
anything,” he said shortly.

I
shrugged. Sounded good to me.

An
idea popped into my head as he picked up the phone. “Tell him it’s Joanna
Winthrop,” I said hastily as he dialed a number into the handset. He barely
nodded to let me know he’d heard.
Snobby jerk.

The
definition of awkward would be if Joanna was up there with Luke. God, I hoped
not. That would be so embarrassing for me.

The
concierge spoke quietly into the phone in official tones, glaring at me
occasionally. I kept my face neutral, my fingers cramping from keeping them
crossed so long.

Please
let Luke let me go up. Please let Luke let me go up.

Finally,
Count Dracula hung up and turned to me, his entire attitude changed.

“I’m
sorry, Miss Winthrop,” he said fawningly, bowing in my direction. “Master Astor
will see you. Please allow me to escort you upstairs.”

I
shuddered.
No thanks!
If I got on an elevator with him, I would go
insane!

“That’s
okay, I’ll get there myself,” I said casually, wondering what Luke had said to
the Count to warrant such a change. And was he a new employee? Surely he should
have known that Joanna and I looked nothing alike. Firstly, Joanna wasn’t
black. But I wasn’t going to argue. I thanked him as he eagerly pressed a
button to open an elevator for me and stepped in, my mind on another obstacle.
Boy, Luke was sure gonna be mad that I wasn’t really Joanna. And twice as mad
that I came bearing homework. Standing in the empty elevator, I allowed myself
a grin at my quick thinking. Posing as Joanna Winthrop, who just happened to be
Luke's ex, sure had its merits.

I
rode up in the elevator all by myself until I belatedly realized that it was
exclusively for the penthouse. Unnecessary but cool nonetheless.

The
elevator opened out onto a landing and I stepped out, wishing I had more eyes
to take in all the lavishness. Bright lights accentuated the open space and
expensive looking rugs and paintings decorated the foyer. It was beautiful.

A
burly Mexican door man barred me from moving further into the foyer.

“May
I help you, ma’am?” he asked politely.

“Yeah,
I’m Joanna Winthrop,’ I replied confidently. “I’m here to see Luke.”

I
was feeling cocky. I had gotten past Count Dracula and this guy, while big,
looked like a pushover.

“Ma’am,
you’re not Joanna Winthrop,” he said, looking me over slowly.

Or
not.

“Huh?”
I said, racking my brain for something smart to say.

“Miss
Winthrop comes here once or twice a week,” the door man explained as I raised
my eyebrows.
Huh, guess she really does have a little something something
with Luke. What do you know?
“Besides, Miss Winthrop is Caucasian.”

I
grimaced.
Right.
I’d come so far, I couldn’t be stopped now! It was time
for me to go hard or go home. And I didn’t have expensive cookies at home like
the Astor’s definitely had. That being my motivation, I launched into honesty
mode.

“Okay,
fine, I’m not Joanna Winthrop,” I conceded, leaning in closer to him and
speaking in a low voice.