JESSIE
“So then what happened?” I ask Nat excitedly as we unpack wines into the new (to us) floor-to-ceiling refrigerator.
“Then we went to this really great steak place, which I wouldn’t have thought I would have liked because it’s all dark wood and red leather booths and old guys hanging out. But it was fun, and Giovanni was cool and easy to talk to and…” She shrugs. “I don’t know. It was fun.”
“So did you sleep with him?” Holly asks Nat as she polishes glasses behind the bar. “Get under someone to get over someone and all that?”
I crane my head forward a little, jealously waiting for Nat’s answer.
“No,” Nat snaps, slightly offended. “He kissed me a couple of times before dinner, and we made out for a couple of hours afterward. He was really sweet. Oh, that reminds me…” Nat proceeds to smack me on the arm. Hard. “By the way, thanks a lot for telling him about the kissing test.”
“I was helping you,” I assure her. “It’s weird that you get rid of a guy if he doesn’t kiss you by the middle of the first date.”
“It’s not weird. It’s survival of the fittest. If a guy doesn’t make a move, that means he’s not an alpha male. And I need an alpha male.”
“Yeah, because that’s been working out so well for you,” I point out sarcastically.
“You hush.”
I decide to back off.
Holly takes a moment to put down her polishing cloth and stare into space. “A couple of really sweet kisses, then dinner,” she says, then shakes her head and goes back to work. “Man, what I wouldn’t give for a night like that. I don’t even remember the last time a guy took me on a real date. I mean, what straight man do you know who’s willing to go to the opera?”
“Your time is coming,” Nat promises. “Sven will be back soon, and this will work. You just need to calm down a little when you’re around him.” Then she quips, “And if he really likes you, he won’t subject you to the opera.”
“How can you say that?” I whine to Nat. “La Traviata is one of the most emotionally stirring, beautiful pieces of all time.”
“A story about a hooker with TB who still has an easier time finding a guy than me,” Holly deadpans. “I’ll admit, that certainly stirs up some emotions.”
“Your time will come,” Nat repeats. “We’re gonna make that happen if I have to use a pound of bacon and a trip wire.”
“So what were the kisses like?” I press, not wanting to hear details at all and yet desperate for them.
Nat shrugs, embarrassed. “They were nice. He’s nice.”
“Why are you being so coy?” I ask in frustration. “You didn’t sleep with him already, did you?”
“I said no!” she exclaims, appalled. “It was our first date.”
“Didn’t you sleep with Marc on your first date?” Holly asks her.
“I most certainly did not,” Nat insists.
Holly narrows her eyes at her. Nat rolls her eyes in response. “Okay, maybe technically. But we had known each other for months and months. So it was practically, like, a twenty-sixth date or something.”
“So, has he asked you out again yet?” I press.
“Yeeeaaahhh, that was almost a little too alpha. He asked me to see The Barber of Seville with him in a couple of weeks before our date was even half over,” Nat tells me. “Plus I’m going to his place for dinner tonight. And he’s coming to the opening Thursday. I think he was going to ask me out for Saturday night, but obviously I’ll be here, so that won’t work.”
I squelch my urge to exclaim, “I LOVE The Barber of Seville,” but only because I can see that won’t help Giovanni’s case any. Damn, Nat gets to see a glorious opera with an even more glorious man, and she doesn’t even know how lucky she is. I kind of resent her for that.
“The Barber of Seville won’t be so bad,” Holly tells Nat.
“Will there be subtitles?” Nat asks with a tone of dread.
Holly counters with, “Yes. And there will also be a good-looking guy buying you dinner, so who cares? Some women have to go to sporting events that last an entire Sunday afternoon just to get that kind of attention.”
“Fair enough,” Nat concedes. She reads one of the wine bottles. “When did I buy us Sauvignon Blanc from Fresno?” she mutters to herself.
As Holly and Nat start conversing about wine, I can’t help but stare at Nat and fight off a tinge of jealousy. How can she be so nonchalant? She landed the perfect man, and she’s acting like it’s nothing.
And then I start to get a little angry. I have practically gift-wrapped this exquisite present for her, and she seems reluctant to even pull off his first ribbon.
But as Nat said just a few days ago, sometimes you know exactly why your girlfriends are still single. “So, is tonight the night?” I ask her.
Nat seems almost startled. “TMI. But no. With a little luck, I’ll be straddled on top of him on his couch all night, getting all hot and bothered while fully clothed.”
Holly looks up to the ceiling as her shoulders fall, then says wistfully, “Oh, the climbing all over each other like you’re teenagers. The first few dates are always so fun. Like when you make out in the car.”
“That reminds me a little too much of Marc. Since we sometimes snuck out at lunch—”
“No Marc!” Holly and I exclaim to Nat in unison.
“Jinx,” Holly says to me. “You owe me a Coke.”
And suddenly, like a crashing wave, the idea that Nat gets to make out with Giovanni is making me very jealous, and I don’t want to hear any more details. I decide to change the subject by asking her, “So, are you going to wear your red dress on opening night?”
Nat shakes her head. “Nah. That only goes well with a super-spiky pump, and we’ll be running around serving all night. I figure jeans, my purple Converse sneakers, and a black T-shirt that says I DRINK WINE BECAUSE I DON’T LIKE TO KEEP THINGS BOTTLED UP.”
I can feel the wrinkles forming between my brows. “That’s what you’re wearing on opening night? Jeans and sneakers?”
“That’s what I’m wearing every night,” she tells me. “I bought tees with an assortment of phrases: FORGIVE ME FATHER, FOR I HAVE ZINNED. That shirt’s red. HOW MERLOT CAN YOU GO? Obviously, that’s in a Merlot shade of purple…”
“What is wrong with you?” I snap at Nat. “It’s opening night. And there are going to be a ton of men here, including Giovanni.”
She shrugs. “Technically, it’s the third date tomorrow. How much effort do I really have to put in here?”
I want to bite her.
Holly turns to me and says, “My T-shirt is pink and says I LOOK FABULOUS FOR MY VINTAGE in glitter.”
Nat points to Holly. “You know, I think you are the one woman I know who could pull that off.”
“The pink or the glitter?” Holly asks.
“Well, yes,” Nat answers.
“Well, no!” I exclaim. “So am I the only one here who is dressing up? Holly, didn’t you buy a new dress?”
She shrugs. “I did. But without Sven here, it just suddenly seemed kind of pointless.”
“Pointless? By that argument, the only time you’d ever wear nonperiod underwear and a matching bra is when you knew a guy might be spending the night.”
Judging from Holly’s wide-eyed expression in response (imagine her saying, “Duh,” with her eyes), I can’t help but groan. “Gross.”
Nat unloads the last two bottles and puts them in my row, where there is still room. “Jess, if you want to dress up, no one’s stopping you,” she tells me. “It’s not a big deal either way.”
“But it is a big deal!” I argue/whine. “In about twenty-four hours, all of our lives are going to change. When was the last time that happened? College graduation? When you moved away from home to go to college? Holly: when you had your first opening night? Or Nat: the first time you saw your ‘Written by Natasha Osorio’ credit on TV? We don’t get a lot of moments anymore when we get an eciah, and see our futures suddenly get brighter. Particularly not at our age. I want to celebrate that.”
I give both of my friends my best cocker spaniel don’t-you-want-to-share-that-cupcake? pleading eyes. Holly breaks first. “Fine. If it’s that important to you, I’ll dress up.”
“Thank you!” I say, clapping my hands several times and running over to hug her. Then I set my sights on Nat. She makes a show of sighing, “All right. I’ll wear the red dress. But just on opening night. Then I’m right back to my Chucks and my puns.”
“Yay!” I say, trotting back to pull her into a hug. “I love you! Thank you!”
Without thinking, and still hugging, I give her advice. “And you should not sleep with Giovanni on the third date. It makes you look easy.”
“Yeah, guys hate that,” Nat deadpans.