too, Gillian.”
I snorted. “Yeah, right. At best I’m cute. But he probably won’t call me anyway.”
“Of course he will. And when he does, you have to let me know right away.”
I laughed. “Okay…you’ll be the first to know.”
I hung up and started some desultory cleaning. I had the fan on at full blast but was soaked with sweat within minutes. God only knew when I’d have enough money to buy a new air conditioner.
My cell phone rang. Anita again, I thought, with another tidbit of gossip about David. “Hello?”
“Gillian? Hi, it’s David Wentworth.”
My knees turned so weak I had to sit down. I pushed a sweaty strand of hair out of my face. “Oh, hi, David, how are you?” I said in my best faux-casual voice.
“Fine, and you?”
“Fine.” My palms were sweating, and I had to work hard to maintain a normal tone.
“I wondered if we could get together tomorrow night. Are you free?”
“Um, yes, I think so. I mean, yes, definitely.”
“Great. I thought we could have dinner at Francesca’s on Fifty-Second Street. Do you know it?”
“Oh, sure.” Actually I’d only read about it—Francesca’s was the new chic restaurant for celebrities and the super rich. I couldn’t afford a cup of coffee at that place.
“I have a six P.M. meeting…do you mind meeting me there around eight?”
“Sure, that’s fine.” I felt relieved. I didn’t want David to see my crappy apartment—or my crappy building or my crappy neighborhood, for that matter.
“Perfect. I’m really looking forward to seeing you again, Gillian.”
“Me, too, David.” We made small talk for a few minutes and then hung up. I was so proud that I’d managed to get through the conversation without sounding like Minnie Mouse or making a complete ass of myself.
I immediately dialed Anita’s cell. “He called! We’re having dinner tomorrow night at Francesca’s.”
She was almost as excited as I was. “That’s fast work. He must be really into you. And dinner at Francesca’s…he wants to impress you. What are you going to wear?”
“Oh, god, I hadn’t even thought of that. I don’t have anything good enough…what am I going to do?”
“Relax, your best friend is an expert at dealing with fashion emergencies. I have this really cute new Versace miniskirt that would look great on you.”
“Anita, I can’t fit into your clothes! I’m six inches shorter and twenty pounds heavier.”
“Well, okay, we’ll bag the miniskirt idea. But I can bring over accessories and makeup. I’ll be there are soon as I can.”
Twenty minutes later we were rummaging through my pathetic wardrobe. “What about this long green velvet dress?” Anita suggested. “You always look so pretty in it.”
“Too formal and too hot. I usually wear it for family holiday gatherings.”
“Okay…how about this blue suede suit?”
“Too businesslike.”
Anita refused to be discouraged. “All right. How about the skirt from the blue suede suit with a pretty blouse? This white lace one has a nice low neckline—you definitely won’t look too businesslike.”
I tried on the outfit with strappy white high-heeled sandals. I was pleased until I turned around to get a rear view. “Oh, my god, my ass looks huge!”
“No, it doesn’t,” Anita disagreed firmly. “You have a great ass and great tits. I wish I had your assets…then I might actually have a shot at the Victoria’s Secret catalog and the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.”
I turned to look at her. She was dressed in faded jeans and an old T-shirt. No makeup. As usual, she looked spectacular. Anita had incredibly long, lean legs; Audrey Hepburn features; feline green eyes and short jet-black hair. It was impossible for her to look bad. I dismissed a twinge of jealousy.
“Okay, I’ll trust your opinion. I’ll wear this outfit. Now what about accessories?”
We finally agreed on her gold San Marco necklace and matching bracelet, with discreet gold hoop earrings. She also loaned me a white pashmina. She applied makeup and wrote down instructions so I could re-create the look the following night. When I studied myself in the mirror I felt like a princess—a much prettier, more sophisticated Gillian.
“Okay, just one last thing,” said Anita. “Underwear.”
“Anita, he’s not going to see my underwear!”
“You never know.” She smirked. “Besides, even if you don’t end up in bed with him, pretty underwear will make you feel more confident.”
“I guess so…. I do have a new bra and panty set I bought at Victoria’s Secret. Aunt Mary gave me a gift certificate for my birthday.” I showed her—a push-up bra and modest bikini panties in apricot silk trimmed with ivory lace.
“Perfect. You’ll give David Wentworth the biggest hard-on of his life.”
“Anita!” We collapsed into laughter.
It was nearly midnight when she left. “Now remember, I want to hear all the details right away. Have a wonderful time.” She winked at me as she closed the front door behind her.
The following night I splurged on a taxi even though I couldn’t afford it. I didn’t want to take the subway or bus to Francesca’s and dishevel my appearance. As I stood before the restaurant door, huge moths of nervous tension fluttered in my stomach. I closed my eyes and took three long, deep breaths, trying to center myself the way I did before going onstage or in front of a TV camera.
The hostess was a coolly elegant black woman in a low-cut ivory evening dress. “May I help you?” she asked with an imperious glance at me.
“Yes, I’m meeting David Wentworth.”
“Of course. This way please.” Her voice was a degree or two warmer, but her expression suggested that she still couldn’t imagine what I was doing there.
“Gillian. You look wonderful.” David rose and leaned over the table to peck my cheek. Even that brief contact was enough to make my heart race.
The hostess dropped a menu in front of me and then leaned far over the table to hand one to David. Her boobs nearly popped out of her gown. I glared at her. She ignored me. David seemed oblivious to the boob maneuver and my outrage.
We quickly ordered wine and entrees. I tried not to feel intimidated by the chandeliers, the priceless Persian rugs, the fine china and crystal.
David
