At seven o’clock on the dot that night, Harper and I walked into Grey Dog’s café on Carmine Street in the West Village.
“He’s late,” Harper whispered, looking around frantically.
“You don’t even know what he looks like,” I said, scanning the restaurant myself. “How can you tell he’s not here?”
“I just have a feeling,” she said. “If he were here, he’d have an eye out for us.”
“So he’s fashionably late,” I finally admitted. “He’s an artist—he doesn’t live according to the clock in the same way other people do. It’s better this way—we’ll sit down first so there won’t be that awkward shuffle at the door. Relax. I’ll order you a soy latte.”
As Harper worriedly picked out a seat, I headed over to the coffee bar. I’d picked Grey Dog’s because it was a total artist hangout, funky yet casual (which seemed to fit Trevor’s personality) and because the giant chalkboard menu hanging behind the counter touted a huge selection of vegan-friendly sandwiches and salads (perfect for the nutritionally conscious Harper). True, she stuck out a little in her pearls and black Ralph Lauren sheath dress, but I knew that wouldn’t matter once lucky couple number one hit it off … assuming he ever showed up.
“Flan,” a guy’s voice said behind me. Phew—it was Trevor. Oh, and he was hugging me. “Wow, you’re all grown up. You look great!”
“Thanks,” I said, paying for the lattes. “My friend Harper got us a table over there. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
“Oh,” he said, looking a little disappointed. “She’s here already? Did I misunderstand? I thought the two of us would have a chance to catch up and your friend would show up later.”
Yikes, thank goodness Harper was out of earshot. She would’ve been out the door quicker than you could say gauche. I glanced at her sitting over in the corner. She’d just spotted me talking to Trevor and gave a tiny wave.
“See?” I gestured at her to Trevor. She was a knockout, even when she looked as nervous as she did now. “Now, don’t you want to meet her?”
For half a latte, I hung around Camille and Trevor’s cramped table to help make sure the matchmaking ball got rolling. Trevor seemed polite, if a little bit reserved. Harper was charming, but kind of stiff.
“So what are you painting these days, Trevor,” I asked, when their conversation lulled for a moment.
“I’ve been doing some animal portraits,” he said. “In fact, do you still have Noodles? I always had this vision of painting the two of you together.”
I don’t know why that comment took me by surprise, but I found myself stammering, “You know who loves Noodles? Harper! In fact, she loves all animals. So much that she volunteers at the SPCA on weekends. Isn’t that right, Harper?”
Harper nodded, but chose not to elaborate.
“Cool,” Trevor said. “So, this portrait of you and Noodles—”
I looked at my watch. Crap! It was already seven-thirty. I was going to have to book it if I wanted to check in on Amory before she and Phil went inside the theater.
“Actually, I’ve really got to run. Harper, tell Trevor about your Great Dane. I think that’s a puppy portrait waiting to happen. Have fun!”
I ducked out of the café quickly, leaving them both with sort of stunned looks on their faces. But it would probably be a lot easier for them to talk if I wasn’t there directing the conversation, right?
On my jog over to the Provincetown Playhouse on Macdougal, I pulled an SBB and went just a little bit undercover. I wanted to catch a glimpse of lucky couple number two without Phil recognizing that I was spying on him. Even though Alex was down with my project, I didn’t want any crazy-Flan stories getting back to him. So I slapped on the biggest pair of black D&G sunglasses I’d been able to pillage from my mother’s accessories trunk, and pulled a feathered fedora over my head. Not total incognito, but if I stayed far enough away, I figured no one would recognize me.
Luckily, when I spotted Amory and Phil, they were way more at ease with each other than Harper and Trevor had been. Amory looked like she was doing her impersonation of Hillary Clinton, and Phil was cracking up. Awesome—they were totally picking up where they’d left off at the bowling alley. My work here was done!
I decided I even had time to run to the bathroom before I dashed over to Charles Street to Mary’s Fish Camp to observe Camille and Saxton. But just as I was coming out of the bathroom, I saw Phil heading to the men’s room. Amory must still be waiting outside. I dropped my eyes, grateful for the fedora’s cover.
“Flan?” he asked. “Is that you? Are you joining us? Great hat, by the way.”
Whoops, maybe my cover wasn’t as good as I’d thought it was.
“I forgot you two were coming here tonight,” I lied, unconvincingly. “I just stopped in because I, uh, really love the fountain sodas they sell at the concession stand. But I’m on my way to meet a friend for dinner. Enjoy the show!”
“Wait,” he grabbed my arm. “Before you go, I have a confession to make.”
Huh?
“That note you got the other day from a secret admirer? I know you thought it was from Alex, but ever since I met you at the premiere, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” He looked deep into my mortified eyes. “My cousin goes to Thoney and I had her slip it in your locker.”
“But—” I stammered. “You’re Alex’s friend. And Amory’s my friend.”
“And she seems perfectly nice, but if you told me I had a chance with you—”
“No way! No!” I practically shouted. What was happening? This guy was definitely trouble.
Eventually, I’d have to break the news to Amory, but I could still see her waiting outside the theater for her dream date to come back from an innocent trip from the bathroom. The only thing I could do right now was get out of there. I looked at Phil. “Let’s just forget this whole conversation ever happened, okay? I have to go.”
“Flan—wait!” he called, but I was already dashing for the back door.
Out on the street, I did a few of the calming breathing exercises that SBB swore by before an audition. I was still a little shaken up by the time I got to Mary’s Fish Camp, but in order to focus on lucky couple number three, I tried to put the whole Phil fiasco out of my mind.
Come on, Camille, I thought as I peered through the window of the tiny fish shack for her long mop of hair. Please be your charming self so I can feel like at least one date is going right.
Finally, I spotted her and Saxton sitting at the bar and sharing a plate of mussels Provençal. She’d taken my advice and looked like a total bombshell in her green leather pencil skirt. Whoa—and was that Saxton’s hand I saw on her knee? Normally Camille played the prude card for at least three dates. But on-the-rebound-Camille looked down at his hand and even gave him an encouraging smile.
Well, I guess it was finally a score for Flan the Matchmaker. This was by far the date I’d been most wary about, but incredibly, it looked like Cupid had finally touched down. I decided not to jinx it by sticking around any longer and turned south on Seventh Avenue for my final check-in of the night.
During the five-block walk to Bedford Street, my racing around finally caught up with me. I was exhausted, and although I’d been watching other people eat a lot of food, I hadn’t had a chance to eat a thing myself. Assuming my checkup on Morgan and Bennett went off without a hitch, maybe I could give Alex a ring and see if he wanted to meet me for a late dinner at Tartine, our favorite French place on West Fourth.
Rejuvenated by my plan, I sped up to tackle my last order of business. The restaurant Moustache was the preferred Middle Eastern joint among city foodies and right up both Morgan and Bennett’s alleys. As I turned west on Morton, I expected to find the two of them waiting in line for a table outside and making hesitant introductory conversation.
Then again, I wouldn’t have put it past Bennett to suggest they make a quick stop at some of his favorite (i.e., dusty and disgusting) West Village comic book shops. I shuddered, remembering the way my allergies always acted up in those dingy basement shops he loved so much. Then again, Morgan might be much less allergic to superhero comics than I’d been back in the day.
But when I reached the meeting spot for lucky couple #4, what I saw stopped me in my tracks.
My ex-boyfriend Bennett and my ex-boy-hating friend Morgan were leaning up against a lamppost—totally making out!
I froze, then quickly ducked behind a parked car. I didn’t want to look at them, but for some reason, I couldn’t turn away. Bennett was doing that thing where he ran his fingers through her hair and—whoa, why did I feel really nauseated? Suddenly, meeting up with Alex for dinner was the very last thing on my mind. My heart was racing and my palms were slick with sweat. What was happening to me?
I couldn’t possibly be jealous … could I?