Year of the Chick (21 page)

“And this is my friend Arjun.” Eleanor stepped aside as he approached, this full-fledged Indian man.

He flashed a friendly smile and started talking. “Hey there, Eleanor’s told me a bit about you.” He didn’t have an accent at all, but I could sense that he was here for a reason.

What’s going on?

“Romes, I need to help Andrea scope out some guys. Why don’t you two get a drink before last call?” She walked away with a wink, and before I knew it Arjun was leading me to the bar.

This time I did need a drink, so I sipped it hard as he told me about his job in the city. He was nice, with a good sense of humour too.

Nevertheless, I fumed at the thought of being set up with a guy, any guy, when Eleanor knew damn well I was already “occupied.” And why an Indian guy? Eleanor had at least six white friends who were cool and single. So why did she run for the first spicy man she could find?

Maybe she’s trying to arrange me, just like my parents.

I excused myself in a quiet rage, heading straight towards Eleanor and Andrea.

I grabbed Eleanor by the shoulder and spun her around.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I yelled. I wasn’t sure if she could hear me over the music, but her lip-reading skills would fill the gap.

“What are you talking about? Don’t you like Arjun? You guys would be perfect together!” She smiled her warmest smile. As if that would make a difference.

“Oh I see, he’s perfect because we have the same coloured skin? Because we’re from the same culture? Is THAT your view then? Cultures shouldn’t mix? Then why are we even friends?!”

Eleanor’s face rearranged into an angry expression. “That’s not what I was trying to do! He has the same sarcastic humour as you, I thought you guys would hit it off!”

“And that’s the other thing! Who are YOU to go around setting me up, when you know what’s going on with me and James!”

“Oh THAT? Well actually I have no idea what’s going on with you and James. Does HE even know? And believe me I’m rooting for you, but he is not your boyfriend. He’s not anything to you until you meet. YOU NEED TO ACCEPT THAT!”

Wow, low blow.

I heard myself growl, an actual, audible growl, as I contemplated slapping her across the face. Or maybe I could take someone’s glass and smash it against her head.

So how did my night go from “living in the moment” to THIS?

Chapter Seventeen

I awoke to find half my body hanging off the side of the bed, arms dangling freely like a corpse.

What time is it?

It was barely even eleven a.m. Way too early to deal with the day.

I turned the other way to find my pudgy cat Tommy sitting on my pillow. He looked angry.

“Hey precious, did anyone give you breakfast?” My words only came out in a whisper, as I’d clearly lost my voice from the night before.

His angry expression changed to widened eyes and a desperate meow.

After two stumbling attempts, I rose from my bed and in an instant my head started throbbing.

Here comes the hangover.

My stomach felt rotted and empty, but the simple thought of food set my vomiting cylinders in motion.

Whatever was churning inside I managed to send it back down, as I slowly made my way to the basement. I grabbed Tommy’s food dish and started to remember the events from the night before.

Blue T-shirt guy, feeling guilty for being an “almost-’ho,” El trying to arrange me with her Indian friend...oh yeah, THAT.

I poured some kibbles into Tommy’s bowl, as my emotional thermometer started rising.
That bitch is just as bad as my parents.
There was so much more I could’ve said to her last night, but all I could do was storm right out of the club. I remembered Amy and her boyfriend trying to stop me, but I almost knocked them over as I darted for the exit.

I also remembered the eighty-five dollar cab ride home, which could have been avoided if I’d slept over at Eleanor’s like I’d planned. On the other hand, eighty-five dollars so I didn’t have to see her face?
Worth it.

The only thing I remembered after that, was stumbling into the house at three a.m.

I looked myself up and down.

At least I’d somehow managed to put on my pajamas.

I dragged myself up the stairs and back into bed. I was not going to deal with Eleanor today, but my parents would be home in a few hours. This only left me two more hours to rest, before I’d have to scrub off all the booze that was encrusted on my skin. So I drifted, all the way past drooly land, into the valley of slow rhythmic breathing, and right up to the doorstep of vivid dreams.

But then I remembered my car. My car that was sitting abandoned in the train station parking lot.

Dammit.

***

By four o’ clock my parents were comfortably home with their cups of tea in hand, and the television spewing out their favourite Indian soap opera. As for my car it was safely in the driveway now, but only after a twenty-dollar payment to my younger brother, since I’d forced him to crawl out of bed and drive me to the station.

Sitting in my room (and perfectly able to hear that goddamn Indian show), I cranked up the music on my laptop. A moment later I turned my attention to a script, an edited script that James had allowed me to preview. I was so excited to read the words that defined his biggest passion. I sank my teeth into page after page, captivated by every engrossing description.

His story was a tale of true love mixed with harsh realities; from social-class divide, to conflicting ambitions, to years apart, this script made the online thing seem easy.

Two hours later I sent him my reaction with some special encouragement. This script was going to be his worldwide breakthrough. It felt so good to know that, but even better to tell him in my very own words.

On the slightly negative side, he still hadn’t mentioned anything personal in his e-mails of late. I didn’t want to be greedy, as I very much appreciated the writing talk…but is that all we’d be from now on?

What about the flirting? And what about his visit to Canada?

***

I zipped in and out of the aisles of the liquor store, my eyes darting back and forth the entire time. Someone might’ve thought I was nervously preparing to rob the place, but my eyes were only darting to keep a close eye out for Indian people. Or Indian men to be exact, since Indian women weren’t supposed to drink, and therefore wouldn’t ever be seen in the aisles of a liquor store.

Which of course meant that neither should I.

Yet here I was, looking for the perfect bottle of wine for Jayla’s engagement party. Yes, my now-engaged rebellious Indian friend was back in Canada.

And she needed the perfect wine.

I tried to concentrate on wine labels, but I still couldn’t fathom that Jayla was even in the country. She’d announced her engagement in an e-mail seven months ago, and since then I’d gone from dead inside, to hopeless, to intrigued, to infatuated, to happy, to in love, to frustrated, to angry, and now to worried. Seven out of nine were attributed to James.

A lot had happened and she didn’t even know a thing about it. But in under an hour, I would get to know a lot about her. Her man, her ring, and her halo of happiness. If only I could introduce her to a man of my own: “Hey, do you mind logging into Facebook for a sec?”
Right.

I eventually found a reasonably-priced bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, straight from the vineyards of Chile. To be honest I didn’t know shit about wine, but a “friend of a friend” had brought it to a party once, so I was sold.

I paid for the bottle and grabbed it in one fluid motion, excited to have made it through my liquor store visit without any Indian contact.

And that’s when I bumped into an Indian spy.

By “Indian” I meant he even wore a turban, just like my father once had. He stepped aside to let me pass, but not before eyeing the following: me, the bottle, then me once again. He may have even shaken his head in disapproval, but I didn’t wait around to find out for sure. How could I? Any longer and his brain would scan my face through his “Indian facial recognition program.” The last thing I needed was this man to find out who I was, so he could go and tell my dad that I had broken “prohibition for women.”

I unlocked my car and hurried in, to save myself from any further judgment by the Indian look-outs. Carefully placing the bottle in the passenger’s seat, I referred to Jayla’s e-mail print-out, complete with the directions to her parents’ house.

It wouldn’t take long to arrive at her house by five o’ clock on a Saturday. And all I had to do was be home by eleven. I was actually surprised by the generous curfew, but I suppose it had to do with Jayla being Indian. Not to mention that her parents would be there to chaperone.

Of course I didn’t feel the need to tell my parents she was marrying a white guy, or that her mother was a lover of the wine.

Details, details...

***

I turned the corner to Jayla’s street with my mouth gaping open. It was mansion after mansion, with manicured lawns expertly maintained, and a three-garage minimum standard.

As for Jayla’s home it did not disappoint. Four garages and a lawn complete with beautiful shrubbery.

And is that their Benz in the driveway?

I was shocked by the wealth of her parents. I’d worked with her every day for two whole years, and she’d never even mentioned it once.

I approached the huge double-doors with the heavy bronze-plated knocker. Or maybe it was pure bronze, what the hell did I know? Tapping it three times, I stood there and nervously waited.

No one came.

There were cars parked all along the street. Maybe it was hectic inside and no one could hear me.

I banged it again with double the force, and finally the door opened.

“DUDE!” she screamed.

It was Jayla, in a spaghetti-strap floral-printed dress, perfect for this warm autumn day which was more like the last bits of summer. And the jet-black hair draping down to her elbows? Well that was perfect too.

We suffocated each other in a hug, finally stopping for a breath ten seconds later.

“You look amazing!” I exclaimed.

“So do you Romes! I’m LOVING the pink lacey top, you’re so much girlier than I remember!”

Yeah well things are different now…I’m a woman in love.

She grabbed the bottle of wine from my hands, a motion that put her engagement ring into the spotlight. It was a beautiful rock, raised on a pedestal and sitting on a platinum band, which itself was adorned with six mini diamonds. Yet another perfect thing.

“Oh and by the way, why didn’t you ring the doorbell? When I walked by I
thought someone was breaking down the door
!” She snorted. “Loser.”

Oops.
I shrugged my shoulders. “So listen, I have a question. Since when are you SUPER rich?”

Jayla shook her head. “I’M not rich. I live in Sydney where I only buy things on sale...but my parents? They do alright.” She winked and led me down the hall.

I walked through the enormous kitchen, which was marble countertops for miles. Meanwhile I smiled at the various strangers who were picking out their appetizers. A bunch of them were older and probably relatives, but there was also at least a dozen party-goers closer to my age. They might have been Jayla’s high school friends or university pals, but all in all they were a glowing and attractive bunch.

Jayla stopped at the patio door which led to a beautiful yard, complete with a deck, gazebo, and multiple lounge chairs surrounding a man-made pond. At least twenty people were already milling about, strolling through the yard and enjoying champagne.

Suddenly she steered me by the shoulders, and back in the direction of the appetizers. “Go eat some food, mingle with Laura and her SEXY boyfriend, and we’ll catch up later for a serious session. I just have to go downstairs and help the men.” She rolled her eyes. “Translation: my dad and Adrian can’t figure out how to unhook the speakers. We need some tunes outside dude!” She laughed and skipped down the stairs.

Laura’s already here? Laura and DAVE?

I’d been hearing about “gym-boy” for almost two months now, but had yet to finally meet him for myself. By now he was more than just a gym-boy, as Dave and Laura had been spending nearly all their extra time together. Coffees, dinners, romantic summer walks in the city, they’d been inseparable.

I couldn’t spot them in the yard, so I grabbed a plate and filled it with appetizers. I chose vegetables, chicken kebab, and a spring roll.
It’s not THAT unhealthy.
Then I grabbed a glass of champagne from a tuxedo-vested man serving drinks.

Dressed up servers and champagne? Do I even belong here?

With hands full I carefully made my way outside, bumping into an Indian granny as I did. The granny patted me on the shoulder, nodding and saying “Ohh!”