The Plus One: A hilarious feel good romantic comedy, page 6
Was it my parent’s fault? Did they raise me to be unsuccessful in love? Are the voices in my head giving me the wrong advice?
Saul would lament to Dario that everyone wanted him to offer a definitive answer as to why. Why they were divorcing. Why they were fighting. Why they couldn’t find ‘the one’. The questions varied, but the answer was always the same. You needed to be happy with yourself before you could expect to be happy with anyone else.
That, and accepting changes in your life with grace and acknowledging that sometimes shit happens that you can’t control.
I examine my fingers and I’m satisfied that the ring is well hidden enough and that everyone in the room will be too entranced by the NYSharp branded products laid out before them and lulled into a trace with the blend of eucalyptus and neroli in the air to even notice.
Dario and I take the two vacant chairs closest to the entrance as Gloria is speaking with the executive from Sutton Partners at the opposite end of the room, and his assistant is handing out small bottles of hand cream as everyone walks through the door.
She’s smiling but her body language is saying I don’t have the energy to pretend to like you today.
Gloria turns around and holds her arms in front of her, stretching them like a mother would do to welcome her child home, but everyone learned to recognize it as her way of silencing the room, and everyone complied.
“This is such an exciting day for everyone at NYSharp. We’re unveiling our exclusive line of NYSharp branded products and we need to push forward and launch our promo campaign to align with the summer release of our travel and leisure issue,” Gloria makes a fist with her slim manicured hand in an effort and style that seems as if she’s trying to summon a motivational speech equivalent to Churchill’s war rally.
I begin to giggle as I imagine Gloria saying, ‘This is our finest hour’ in a jowl stuffed manner.
Gloria shoots me a glare and Dario jabs my ribs and I silence myself.
I’m only saved by the fact that Gloria knows I tend to giggle when I’m nervous and not necessarily out of disrespect, and she has no idea that she triggered the recent outburst.
Everyone in the room ignores my snorting laugh and immerses themselves in sampling the lavender-citrus scented lotion we were given when we arrived.
Everyone, that is, except the executive from Sutton Partners.
He looks down at his shoes to keep from laughing.
The first thing I notice about him is that he is strikingly handsome. Tall, but not lanky, with an athletic build and natural charm that radiate through his green eyes. He has an easy smile and seems at ease with being the center of attention.
My eyes then divert themselves to his left hand and I notice that he doesn’t have a ring on his finger. That’s the second thing I notice about him. But then again, I think back to Charlie who regularly wore his, as well as the white gold diamond bands I currently have on my finger.
But then there’s a third thing I notice and can’t ignore. Above his good looks, charms, and apparent lack of marital status, he’s also the cause of my upset this morning. Standing next to Gloria with ease and charisma is the ‘thanks hon’ who stole my cab earlier.
He looks directly at me and smiles, and I realize he doesn’t recognize who I am. Dario repaired my haphazard hairstyle and I shed my teal sweater at my desk. My white sleeveless top blends me into the crowd and I become ‘one of the staff’. I look down at the lotion and clench my fists. This is going to be a long day.
9
I decide to call him Chet. Not to his face or if I ever find myself speaking with Gloria about him, but only to myself and Dario. I don’t know anyone named Chet nor do I have a definitive personality trait I’ve associated with the name, the way I did with Don Julio or Adonis. The name rolls off my tongue faster than I can explain it and it finishes with a sting of dislike. I realize it’s perfect for him.
“You know, there’s a real avoidance issue in that,” Dario interrupts my rant to comment on my propensity for giving people names of my own choosing.
“Oh, look at him!” I whisper. “He’s all cocky and too sure of himself, and,”
“And handsome and single,” Dario finishes for me.
“Handsome or not, he’s a jerk,” I declare. “And I don’t need to know his name anyway since I’ll never see him after today.”
Gloria and Chet step away from the room to give the staff a chance to sample and talk about the collection of products in the middle of the table. Gloria wanted everyone’s feedback on the products before deciding to go ahead with full production.
Everything from the label, the feel of the bottles, and the quality and scent of the products themselves. Gloria would rather postpone the launch than have a tawdry product stamped with her company’s name and logo. However, everyone in the room knew that for the products to make it this far they were already exquisitely positioned for the market launch.
“Everyone can have a bad moment,” Dario says. “Don’t let it discount people so quickly.”
The woosh of the heavy glass door being pushed open echoes in the room. Gloria and Chet walk behind my chair and the scent of his aftershave hits me rising above the other scents that have filled the room.
Gloria thanks Chet and his ‘team’ (a young intern who I’m sure isn’t getting paid enough) for their presentation. Chet steps forward and begins to speak and he looks directly at me when he starts to thank everyone for their time and input. His voice is sultry and smooth, and I feel a rush of warmth rise to my cheeks and I try to shield my face with Dario’s body.
He rambles on about partnerships and productivity and consumer reach and all I can think about is his voice. I push away the attraction and focus on what I know about him. He’s a jerk, and the only thing worse than someone being a jerk is when they also happen to be good looking.
I’m the first to stand when the presentation comes to an official end, but I fail to make it out of the room before Gloria calls my name.
I turn around, hoping my cheeks have released their blush and I tuck my left hand next to my leg to hide my ring since I know very little escapes Gloria’s attention.
“I need you to stay behind for a moment,” Gloria points over my head to Dario. “And you too, Dario.”
Chet’s intern begins to pack up the display sign she propped up on the whiteboard, sliding it into an oversized portfolio and zippering it shut.
“I need you to bring this forward to Gerard when you’re in Paris, so I hope you were paying attention,” Gloria says and then smiles.
I laugh but I’m not altogether sure that I did pay all that close attention to Chet and his presentation. I thought the private label branding exercise was a done deal and that we were all there to feed an ego or promote corporate unity, or something like that which Gloria often will talk about.
“How exactly do you want me to use this to promote your collaboration idea with Mr. Couteau?” I ask, now feeling even more intimidated at the thought of representing NYSharp for a project of this magnitude. At least Dario will be with me, I’m sure he was paying attention.
“Oh, and Dario, you’re not going to be able to go to Paris with Kenzie,” Gloria adds. “I’m going to need you here to supervise the first stages of the launch. We’re going to need to move fast if we are going to beat the competition at grabbing the attention of customers.”
“What? No!” Except it’s not Dario protesting the change in plans, it’s me.
Six eyes are fixed on me as the intern scurries out of the room making sure the door is closed behind her.
“Pardon?” Gloria asks, but it’s more of a directive and not a question. She had no interest in me repeating what I said.
I suddenly felt self-conscious with Chet watching me unfold at the mention of having to go to Paris without Dario and I want to scream.
I immediately apologize and indicate my outburst has been sponsored by the excessive caffeine in the mochaccino and the frustration because of the jerk who stole my taxi that morning and almost made me late.
A flicker of recognition crosses Chet’s face and I take a step forward. He looks down at my skirt and matching shoes and squeezes his eyes shut but doesn’t turn away. He’s standing behind Gloria and instead of ignoring my comment or looking away, he mouths the words ‘I’m sorry’ as I’m trying to hang onto the anger that’s propelled me this far.
I’m the only one who notices, and it takes me by surprise, stopping my rant mid-sentence.
“Right, so we’re good?” Gloria asks.
I stare at her. “About what?”
“Paris and Gerard.”
“Oh, yeah, that,” I put my hand on Dario’s shoulder. “Don’t you think that Dario and I would work well as a team? I’m not as experienced as he is when it comes to product launches and he also speaks French fluently.”
Gloria rubs her chin with her right hand and tucks her left hand under her right elbow, “Are you feeling a little unsure about meeting with Gerard?”
“It’s just that it’s such a huge deal to get Mr. Couteau to agree to collaborate with us and I don’t want to blow it,” I insist. “I know how important this is to you and NYSharp.”
Silence fell in the room and everyone was waiting for Gloria to come up with a solution.
“I can go,” Chet offers.
Gloria twists around and grabs hold of his hands, “Really?”
Chet shrugs his shoulders and smiles, “I need to be in Paris anyway so I may as well help however I can since this deal will benefit both of our companies.”
Gloria turns and her eyes lock onto mine.
“Kenzie? Does that work for you?”
At this point, I have two choices.
One. Tell Gloria it absolutely most definitely does not work for me, after which I turn and leave and pack up my desk and give up being able to live on my own in Manhattan and move back in with my parents.
Two. I graciously accept Chet’s offer and tell Gloria that I’m looking forward to the opportunity to represent NYSharp in Paris.
In all my failed dates, weird hook-ups, or nightlong parties, I can most definitely say I’ve never done the walk of shame. That is until now.
The hall seemed to extend as I walked toward my desk and away from Chet. At some point during my rant, my deodorant stopped working and the seam of my top was beginning to stick to my skin.
I plop down in my chair and drop my head to my desk.
“Do you want to tell me what happened in there?”
“Facing Charlie is going to be hard enough at #OnCloudDavis but I’d at least thought I’d have you with me,” I stammer.
“You’ll be fine. You’re stronger than you think you are,” Dario tried to console me, but I was having none of it.
“Easy for you to say,” I begin to panic, and I can feel my breath quicken and I push my hand to my chest. Breathe, I tell myself. Dario is soon by my side and begins to rub my shoulders.
“Look, I’ll make sure you have everything you need to deal with the Davis clan and when you have to meet with Gerard, I’ll be on stand-by,” Dario promises. “Even if it’s the middle of the night here.”
I’ve lost count of how many weddings I’ve been to over the years since my marriage ended. For the most part, I expertly avoided the vows and the exchange of promises to be there forever, blah, blah, blah. I’ve gone solo or with dates, usually Dario, and even the odd blind date like Don Julio. Except that one didn’t turn out, so it’s a bad example. But still, I know I can do it. It’s just another wedding in another city.
The problem is it’s not just another friend. It’s Charlie and I’m growing more convinced than ever that I made a huge mistake and shouldn’t have walked away. This is the point where I begin to recite all the things that could’ve happened in my life. Kids, house, trips. I count the holidays, Christmas Eves, and anniversaries.
Is this like a seven-year itch? Except instead of wanting to run away, I want back in.
“Kenzie?” Dario is shaking my shoulders and I realize I’ve drifted off into my void of what-ifs. It’s always a dark and lonely place and I rarely chose to go there.
“Sorry,” I apologize and turn on my computer and pull up the specs on the proposal I want to pitch to Kristoff Hudson, the editor of NYSharp for the next edition.
I’m deep in thought when the scent washes over me again. My head springs up and looking down at me is Chet.
“You left before I could give you my card,” Chet holds out his hand and waits for me to take his card.
I hand him mine and promise to contact him to arrange a time to meet in Paris before we meet with Gerard. He thanks me and turns to leave.
Dario clears his throat and I look at him
“What?”
Dario raises his eyebrow and nods toward the elevator just as Chet steps inside.
I blow off Dario’s suggestion that Chet is a good substitute for him in Paris, and I remind him that I’ve closed my dating app profiles and that I’m taking a break.
“A break from what? Bad dates?”
It’s a good thing I love Dario and trust him in my life. Next to him, Mr. Darcy is the only constant in my life that I can trust.
After I make Dario promise to visit Mr. Darcy every day and refill his water and food bowl I begin to try and accept the prospect of Paris on my own. Which, normally, would be an exciting prospect. But with Chet sidelining my meeting with Gerard Couteau and walking into #OnCloudDavis with only my Valentino Garavani clutch on my arm, and ‘the mother’ glaring me down, I was suddenly feeling unsure of the choices I’d made in my life.
My fingers crawled across the keyboard filling my page with ideas for the next edition of NYSharp as my mind actively ignored the white gold band on my left hand.
I twisted the rings around and looked down at them. My nails were painted in the same shade that they were on the night Charlie proposed and first slipped the large diamond on my shaking finger.
I remembered how excited I was to say yes and how much I knew I loved Charlie and that I was excited to spend the rest of my life with him.
So much has changed since that day. But then again, I lie to myself a lot like that.
10
I successfully avoided speaking with Charlie on the phone. Short texts were the key, especially ones that weren’t sent fueled by the third glass of merlot.
‘Couldn’t find the ring, sorry, it was a long time ago.’
He responded with, ‘np’ and I knew it was anything but no problem. I lived with Charlie. I knew what wasn’t a problem (warm soda, rainy Sundays, and burnt toast) and what was a problem (mismatched socks, weak coffee, and missing engagement rings).
I was hoping he would renege on the invite (geez, we made a mistake with the numbers Kenzie, and ex-wives weren’t supposed to be invited) and save us both the awkwardness of seeing each other for the first time since I left.
But he didn’t renege.
There was one final text that he sent as I was packing my bag and making a list for Dario so he wouldn’t forget anything for Mr. Darcy’s care.
‘Safe trip. Can’t wait to meet Peter.’
Peter? How’d he know about Peter? I hadn’t dated him for months, but still? I ran through our list of friends and wondered who would’ve told Charlie who I was dating, and if so, why didn’t they update him? But why was he asking? Or did he?
Shit, this was weird. On a scale of not so much to uber, it was uber.
I hadn’t specified that the plus-one I checked off on the invite was for Dario, and I had little interest in explaining my relationship status hours before I was going to leave for my flight.
‘Oh, yes Charlie. I screwed up again, so I’ll be coming solo. That won’t be weird will it?’ Not a text I was going to send.
I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and called Dario and he answered on the first ring.
After explaining the cause of my latest freak out, Dario suggested I just not go.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t go to the wedding, Kenzie,” Dario said. “You don’t owe him any explanation either.”
He was right. Why was I making such a big deal out of going? I could still go and enjoy my room at Hôtel Le Walt Paris that looked out directly on the Eiffel Tower (all expenses paid courtesy of NYSharp) and no one would be the wiser. As long as I showed up for the meeting with Gerard Couteau I would be in the clear. I relaxed, thanked Dario, and reminded him that Mr. Darcy was expecting him later that day.
Hours later I was standing at the check-in counter handing my passport and reservation number to the airline clerk.
She began to type away on her keyboard, her face changing from a ‘we’re your friends in the sky’ face to a deep look of concern. “Oh, dear.”
Not typically the words you want to hear from your tailor, gynecologist, or airline check-in clerk.
“Is there a problem?” I ask. I know the ticket was paid for since Gloria had her assistant handle the booking of the flight as well as the hotel as part of the bargain to meet with Gerard Couteau while I was in Paris.
“It seems we’re overbooked on this flight,” she imparts this bit of knowledge on me followed by a high-pitched giggle. Her name tag reads ‘Shirley’ with a small smiley face drawn at the end of her name.
“And that’s my problem how?” I ask.
“I can’t get you on a flight until two days from now.”
“But I’m booked on a flight leaving today,” I explain. “Which means you need to find me a seat on that flight.”
Her cherubic face transitions and I’m now faced with an even meaner version of Mrs. Jacks, my high school Spanish teacher, who took a warped sense of comfort in humiliating students in front of the entire class.
“There are no seats available,” Shirley reiterates but this time more slowly, so that I am sure to understand her.
I roll my eyes to express my displeasure and I realize that one day I’m going to eye-roll myself into another realm.
